He glanced at Madison’s house. Her car was in the driveway, but he didn’t see her anywhere. She must be inside, either chasing her toddler or doing some work. He couldn’t be positive, but his best guess was that the woman worked at home.
His jog slowed to a walk, and he kept his ear attuned for any more sounds. Nothing. He must have imagined the earlier noise.
He tried to be satisfied with that, but he wasn’t convinced. He
was
a detective. His finely trained instincts told him to stay on guard.
Something crashed in the distance. The sound had definitely come from Madison’s house. His muscles tensed. He should go back to his house, get his gun. But everything in him screamed to get to her house, that time couldn’t be wasted.
He ran across crunchy grass toward his neighbor’s brick ranch. His gaze scanned the house as he approached. Nothing appeared out of place. The closed shades made it impossible to see inside.
He crept onto the wooden porch, grabbing a baseball bat left on a rocking chair. Slowly he twisted the brass handle of the front door.
Locked.
Something else crashed inside. A woman cried out.
He pictured Madison’s pretty face and imagined the horrors that might be going on inside. Adrenaline surged in him. He backed up and, on the count of three, charged forward. His shoulder impacted with the door. Wood split, cracked, then crashed.
The foyer stood before him. Dust and wood particles settled to the tile floor. Then an eerie quiet filled the space.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Brody stepped over the door, his ears attuned for any telltale signs. Bat in hand, he peered around the corner into the hallway.
A shadow passed by a door in the distance.
Sucking in a deep breath, he braced himself for whatever was to come.
* * *
Blurry. Fuzzy. Jumbled.
The drugs—whatever the masked man had injected into her—caused Madison’s thoughts to swirl.
Fight it, Madison. Fight it.
She couldn’t let herself fall into unconsciousness. The rope around her neck would choke her if she did. She had to resist the urge to close her eyes. Fight death. Fight for life.
Her head bobbed forward and the rope dug into her neck. She jerked back. Gulped in a breath.
Lord, give me strength.
But her limbs felt like gelatin. The stool she stood on wobbled. The man who wanted her dead would return and finish his cruel game.
A moan escaped her, the sound guttural, desperate.
Her head fell forward again. She gagged. Pulled her head back. Gasped for air.
Lincoln.
She blinked, trying to find focus. She had to fight this for him. The boy couldn’t lose two parents before he reached the age of five. Tears pricked her eyes as her son’s sweet face flashed in her mind. She needed to be there for him, to comfort him when he got hurt, to tuck him into bed at night.
Her tears made breathing hard. She couldn’t let herself fall into despair. She had to stay strong.
But how long could she stand here? How long before the drugs kicked in and knocked her out completely? Was there any hope of surviving?
Her eyes darted around the room. Where had the man gone? And had she heard a crash or imagined it? What was the madman planning next?
Her head dipped. Her airway constricted.
Not much longer.
She jerked her head back, fighting to stay lucid. But tiredness closed in on her.
A figure appeared in the doorway. Not again. What would her attacker do this time? She cried out, tried to back up. The rope tightened around her neck.
“It’s just me.” The man rushed toward her.
Madison blinked. Her neighbor? Or was this a hallucination? Maybe she’d already drifted into an unconscious state and the drugs were playing tricks on her mind.
“Madison.” He muttered the word. His arms encircled her waist and raised her up. She gulped in breaths, thankful for relief.
But her relief was short-lived. Her head whirled. Blackness closed in on her.
“Don’t fade now. I’m going to get you down. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, but it was already too late. Everything went dark.
TWO
T
he nightmare from Brody’s past flooded his mind, making nausea roil in his stomach. Horrifying images and intense emotions flashed through him, each one feeling like a sock in the gut. He blanched before pushing the thoughts away. No time to dwell on that now. If he didn’t act quickly a woman could die in his arms.
His gaze searched the room. He had to find something to cut his neighbor down from the ceiling. But if he released her to search for a knife, she’d choke.
His heart racing, he continued searching with his eyes, looking for something…anything.
Nothing. Just some clothes on the dresser. A hair brush. Shoes. Pillows. Typical bedroom items.
Think, Brody. Think.
His muscles strained. The woman was a deadweight in his arms. She’d lost consciousness and it was only a matter of time before she lost her life.
Adrenaline surged through him. Not again.
He looked at the ceiling fan that held the rope and made a split-second decision. Still holding Madison with one arm, he grabbed the fan’s motor. Using all of his strength, he jerked down on the device.
The ceiling cracked.
He gripped the motor tighter and, yanking up his legs, let his weight do the rest of the job. The entire fan tumbled to the floor, himself and Madison with it. He didn’t bother to brush off the plaster that covered them. Instead he grabbed the rope around his neighbor’s neck. He pulled the noose until it widened enough to jerk it off. Then he went to work on the ties around her wrists.
She lay limp in his arms. He did a quick examination. Red, raw skin surrounded her neck. Torn shirt. Bleeding forehead. But she was breathing. Thank goodness she was breathing.
Any minute now an ambulance and the sheriff should be here. He’d grabbed a phone from a table in the foyer and hit 911 before proceeding down the hallway.
He gently shook the woman. “Madison? Madison? Can you hear me?”
She moaned.
What exactly had happened in here? Had the woman—who had seemed mild mannered enough—flown into a rage before deciding to end her own life? Could that be what the sounds were that he’d heard? It was the only explanation that made sense.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Help’s coming,” he whispered, pushing the woman’s hair back from her face. “Help is coming.”
He only hoped they’d get here fast enough.
* * *
Brody paced the hospital hallway, waiting for the doctor to give him the go-ahead to speak with his neighbor about what had happened. The rubber soles of his athletic shoes squeaked against the shiny linoleum floor, the noise offset by the sound of machines beeping and nurses murmuring and a lunch cart rattling.
He couldn’t get the image of Madison hanging by a rope attached to the ceiling fan out of his mind.
It reminded him so much of Lindsey…
He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t go there. He had to ignore the memories that slammed into his mind with enough force that an ache began to throb at the back of his head.
Instead, he replayed the events from today. What would drive a woman with a small son to try and commit suicide? He knew her husband had died in an auto accident a few years ago. His cousin had told him that much. Had Madison, who always seemed so pleasant and warm, decided she couldn’t take it anymore? He would never have guessed her to be the type, but he’d also learned in his years as a detective that you never knew what went on behind closed doors. The most put-together person could in reality be a total mess, just be a master at disguising it.
Something nagged at Brody. Though it appeared his neighbor had tried to commit suicide, something felt wrong. He remembered the noise he’d heard as he jogged outside her home. It almost sounded as if she was being attacked. The noise must have been coming from Madison, though, because there was no evidence to suggest foul play.
“Detective Philips?” The nurse behind the counter called him. He could tell by her gaze that she found him attractive. He knew enough to be able to read that from her wide smile and doelike eyes.
He stepped forward. “Yes?”
She dangled the phone toward him. “The sheriff wants to speak to you.”
He crossed the hall and took the phone, giving the nurse a brief smile. “Detective Philips here.”
“Just wanted to let you know that we found a suicide note. I don’t know what Madison did before hanging herself. The house is a wreck. But it’s definitely an attempted suicide.”
Brody wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed. He’d wanted to believe his neighbor wasn’t capable of wanting to end her own life. He didn’t know her, but perhaps he’d made up his own version of what she’d be like. She seemed to have everything so together, to be such a loving mother. She wouldn’t purposely leave her son an orphan…would she?
“Thanks for letting me know.” He cleared his throat. “What did it say?”
“Basically that she loves her family, but she can’t get over the heartache of losing her husband. Poor girl has had a bad run of luck since Reid died. I’ve known her since she was in diapers. I never thought I’d see this day. Never.”
“No one ever does.”
“Be kind to her, you hear? I’d be there myself, but I’m on my way to a drunk-driving accident. You tell her I’ll be checking on her later.”
“Of course.” He handed the phone back to the nurse, careful not to smile back again and give the woman the wrong idea.
So, it had been a suicide attempt. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He still wore his jogging clothes. He hadn’t had time to go home and change. The sheriff had ordered that he go with the paramedics to the hospital and write up a report. For some strange reason, Brody wanted to hear what she had to say for herself. He’d lost his mom to cancer at fifteen years old, and he couldn’t respect anyone who tried to end their life. It was a cowardly way out.
The door to her room opened and a young doctor with a receding hairline stepped out, clipboard in hand. “You can see her now. She’s still not one hundred percent, so go easy on her. You only have a few minutes. She needs her rest.”
Brody nodded, nausea rising in his gut as he stepped into Madison’s room. His gaze went straight to the woman in the hospital bed, her hair fanned beneath her, an IV in her arm, dullness in her eyes. She didn’t bother to smile as he approached.
As he touched the metal bed railing, he cleared his throat. “Madison.”
She nodded. “Detective Philips.”
“I need to write up a report.”
She touched the sensitive skin around her neck and looked toward the window. Her hand then moved to her temple until finally she looked at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think the drugs have worn off yet. My mind is…not right.”
She’d taken drugs before hanging herself? Had the medication not worked fast enough? He’d never understand some people. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and tried to keep any judgment out of his voice. It wasn’t like he had any room to judge anyone, not after everything he’d done. “Drugs, you said? What did you take?”
Some of the dullness left her eyes and she straightened slightly. Her gaze fully focused on him now. “What did I
take?
I didn’t
take
anything. A man injected me with something.”
Brody rotated his shoulders back. “A man?”
“You thought I was trying to kill myself?”
“There was a suicide note.” His gut instinct had been right. There was more to this story. Had her attacker been in the house when he had broken in? He had to tell the sheriff, get the deputies to start a search. Maybe there was some evidence that hadn’t been destroyed by the crew of paramedics, firefighters and sheriff’s deputies roaming her place.
“The man—the monster—forced me to write the note. Had a knife to my throat.” She closed her eyes, as if the memory physically hurt. When she opened them, Brody saw the pain there. “I thought I was going to die. If you hadn’t come when you did…”
He cleared his throat. “Can you tell me anything about the man who did this to you?”
“He wore a black mask. Medium height. Thin, but strong. His shoes were dirty. Dusty almost. I think…I think his eyes were brown. His voice was disguised.”
“Disguised how? By an electronic voice modulator?”
“No, it just sounded like he was trying to make his voice deeper as he spoke.”
“His voice didn’t sound familiar?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Brody sat down in the chair at her bedside. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me everything that happened. Every detail will be important.”
The door opened and the same young doctor strode inside. “Not right now. She needs to rest. Her body has been through serious trauma and she needs to recover. She can answer your questions later.”
Brody stood. “Time is of the essence here, doc. The more time that passes, the less likely it is that we’ll find this guy.”
“You’ll be the first person we tell when she’s rested up. But now I’ve got to insist that you leave.”
Brody looked back at Madison and saw her eyes were closed. Reluctantly, he nodded and stepped from the room. He’d wait outside the door until she woke. In the meantime, he’d get a crime-scene crew out to her house to look for evidence.
Who would do this to someone like Madison? He didn’t intend to slow down until he found out.
* * *
When Madison awoke again, her head pounded. She’d hoped the events of the day were simply a terrible nightmare, but the beeping of the heart monitor and the IV attached to her arm proved that the attack had been all too real. Tears filled her eyes, followed by relief that she’d survived and anger that the attack had happened at all.
“Reid,” she whispered. Life had been so much easier when she’d had someone to share her burdens with. It still didn’t seem fair that her husband had been taken from her so early. They’d had so much of life left to share together.