For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) (5 page)

T
he children’s screaming
laughter lifted Madelyn’s spirits, even though they laughed at her. To be correct, they laughed at her and the poor kid groaning and rolling on the sand. She’d worked the football past mid-field and was clipping along at a good pace. She dribbled around a defender and on to the goal, but miss-stepped and slammed right into him. Not one of her best moves.

Granules scraped across her hand as she brushed away the sand caked to her sweaty legs. She rubbed away the soreness in her side where his elbow had connected with her ribs. Then she leaned forward, lopped her arms under Sauda’s pits, and hoisted.

“Nice defense,” she gasped.

The poor guy stayed crouched, bracing his hands on his knees.

Games usually lasted until lunchtime and often picked back up in the evenings as the sun began to fall off the sky. Guilt plagued her through the first match. Having fun while her friend was missing seemed wrong. But her mind had run marathons all night over Nichole’s disappearance. She needed an escape. Football was just the thing to do that. It required energy and focus.

Sauda reset with the rest, ready to play. She hadn’t had time to think. But the crowd thinned. This was their last game and her reprieve would come crashing down around her.

The ball sailed just over her head, jarring her from the seeping worry. She jumped, bumped the canvas with her forehead, and then guided it down her body. Redemption. She launched herself down the field and straight for the goal. The kid she’d plowed braced for the impact that never materialized.

Madelyn rocketed the ball up over the goalie’s head. It bounced off the tip of his finger and fell into the goal—the goal being an imaginary line in the sand the players knew by heart. The point sent her team into revelry with cheers, sweaty hugs, and chants. In the second line of their victory song she saw a most unusual sight.

Deacon was in his usual spot twenty yards away under the shade of a huddled group of palms, but his position was most peculiar. His feet, all four of them, jutted into the air and his head was half-buried in the sand. He emitted a laughable groan of pleasure. That noise, up until now, had belonged only to them. He made the sound on those rare occasions when he stopped moving long enough to relax and unwind with a belly rub. And now he was getting a belly rub from Mr. FBI.

She covered her mouth to keep from trenching sand with her jaw. Deacon, while sweeter than pie, was as messed up about people as she. Leaving the cheers behind, Madelyn went to reclaim her dog. “Deacon,” she called from twelve feet out. He snapped to attention. Looking dutifully guilty, he hurried to her heel.

Nathan Brewer stood and dusted the sand from his worn jeans and University of Mississippi T-shirt. She stopped as though she’d run into a wall. Boy had she. The abruptness of the impact stole her breath.

The agent tilted his head. His gaze studied her for a moment before turning that scrutiny on himself. He checked his fly and then patted his big hands over a taut chest. She wished his physique were the only shocker she had to deal with at the moment. Because it was enough.

“What?” he begged, coasting his fingers over the individual bumps of his abdomen.

Madelyn shook herself and continued toward him. “It’s just. I haven’t seen an Ole Miss shirt in a long time. It surprised me.”

He crossed sturdy arms over his chest and twitched a brow.

“I went to college there, but I’m sure you’ve read that in my file.”

“I haven’t read your file.”

“But you have it?”

“What happened to Deacon’s belly?” His chin jutted toward the pup in question. “Those scars are pretty…”

“Grisly,” she supplied, letting him change the subject.

“That’s the word.” Gaze zeroed in on her dog, he leaned forward. His arms unfolded and he stroked Deacon’s head as if consoling him.

With him so close her words strained to leave her throat. But she swallowed and managed a response. “I don’t know.”

“Adopted?” Nathan asked, straightening.

“Rescued.”

“How long did it take?”

“What?”

“For him to trust you?”

“Thirteen tanks of gas worth.” She wrinkled her nose at Deacon.

“Did you lock him in the car and drive until he finally broke down and gave you a chance or what?”

“It just took a long time,” she hedged, wishing she’d gone with that answer in the first place.

Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets. A mischievous smirk collected on his supple lips.

“It’s a long story,” she explained.

“I’m listening.”

Madelyn shoved the loose strands of wet hair from her face, wiped the sweat on her damp shirt, and then realized she looked like hell. And for the first time in a long time, she actually cared. His gaze flitted about her face, but didn’t seem to notice her ratty shorts or soaked tee.

“When I need to think, I drive. Finals were coming up at the end of my junior year. So, I hopped in my truck at the time—a gas guzzling 1980 Chevy Blazer—and started driving. I made it to the north side of Holly Springs National Forrest when I saw him hobble into the woods.”

“That’s damn near Tennessee.”

“I crossed the state line looking for a place to turn around.” She patted the top of her hair, realized she was primping, and then dropped her arms to her side. “I didn’t have any food to coax him with. So, I pulled over and sat at the tree line. He laid about thirty yards away and watched me for three hours. It started to get dark. I called out to him, but he turned and limped away.”

Madelyn threaded her fingers together. “He wouldn’t come to me, but…” She watched the wind rustle the tips of the palms and considered her next words carefully.

“You saw your pain in his eyes.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. He’d read her file. How else could he know? Which also meant he’d lied. For some stupid reason she’d believed every word that had come out of his mouth. At Nichole’s house she’d experienced a bone deep draw to his no-nonsense manner.

Her gaze flew to Nathan’s, but again he wasn’t looking at her. His haunted eyes examined Deacon. How had she missed it before? Soul deep sadness made the eyes frown even when a person smiled. She swallowed past sudden rawness.

Special Agent Nathan Brewer stood a foot taller than her, mounds of muscles wider, and layers of hide tougher than she. But he hadn’t always been a big strapping man. Madelyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing at the horrible images that flashed in her mind.

“And you see yours.” she croaked.

His gaze met hers, and for a moment on the breezy beach, while the waves roared and children whooped, their pasts walled them in a transparent rectangle and sucked out all the air. His lids closed for a beat longer than normal. When his eyes opened the past wasn’t gone, but he’d shoved it back. His lips curved and suddenly she could breathe again.

“You drove two hours a day to stare at this guy every day for two weeks?” he jutted his chin at her dog.

“Three weeks and two days in the middle of the summer and about two-hundred bucks worth of wet dog food, but he was worth it.”

“He’s awesome.”

“He has his quirks, but then we all do.” Madelyn dug her bare toes into the sand. Well, Agent Brewer, you didn’t come here for my life story…”

“If I had, would you give it to me?”

“Nope.”

He grinned. “Not yet.”

“Not ever,” she said.

“I’m starving. Is there a quiet restaurant nearby where we can talk about the case and eat?”

She could not believe she was about to say it, but it was the truth.

“We can eat at my house. It’s just up the beach. In this town the quietest conversations travel the fastest. Besides, I have to talk to you too.”

Madelyn scanned the area. “Your partner won’t be joining us, will he?”

“He’s not my partner.”

D
eacon wedged
himself between him and Madelyn as they fell into step together. He got the message loud and clear. And if he didn’t get it from the dog, he’d get it from Madelyn’s constrained gate. Not much surprised him these days, but her invitation sank like a sniper’s bullet in the center of his chest. And it seemed to have shocked her as much.

Just three football fields’ distance from the game, about two miles from the small town center, a tiny house the color of honey-baked persimmon disrupted the tan sand and green of the jungle. Despite the color contrast it fit perfectly in the quiet nook of the bay, as though the earth had carved the stop out especially for her home.

She turned the knob, brushed her feet on a narrow rug, stepped inside and opened the door wider for him. Nathan stood, incredulous.

“You need to keep your door locked,” he said in as even a voice as he could manage.

“I was just up the beach.”

“Did you watch your door the whole time?”

She quirked her mouth.

“Where exactly am I going to put a key?” She gestured to her body with a hint of distain.

Given another surprise invitation, he seized it. His gaze stared at her pink toes and worked up the sculpted length of her legs. Sand clung to nearly every inch of available skin from mid-thigh down. Tattered shorts covered the junction of her thighs, but images he shouldn’t have filled in the gaps. A baggy T-shirt covered her torso, but too many times when he’d watched her sprint up and down the sand it had billowed, revealing her tight abdomen and the hint of a grey sports bra.

He swallowed his lust and almost choked to death. Then he met her gaze. “Latch it to Deacon’s collar or around your neck,” he said with a rusty voice. “I don’t care where you put it. You’re a beautiful woman living alone.” That got her back up. “And no matter how capable you are of defending yourself, there’s no better place for someone to catch you off guard than your home.”

“I lock it most of the time.”

“Make it all the time.”

“Come in before I change my mind.”

Nathan shook out his flip-flops and stepped from the sand into the kitchen. Deacon nudged past him and sprawled in the middle of the walkway on the cool tiled floor. Nathan closed the door and twisted the deadbolt.

“You should lock it when you’re home too.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re bossy?”

“Once or twice.”

He stood at the threshold and drank in the simplicity of her home. There were no shrines dedicated to family, no girlie décor. The colors of nature filled the space. Wood ceilings ran throughout with stone tiled floors. White linen curtains at every window rustled in the sea breeze. The house was so open it felt like an extension of the outdoors. Mother Nature herself breathed life in these walls. And that was a very bad thing. With all the windows opened who cared if she locked the doors. But he reserved that lecture for now.

Madelyn moved around the kitchen, washing this and grabbing that. Her shoulders relaxed. She poured them each a glass of water and motioned him forward.

“I really need to go wash up before I get sand all over the house. Do you like strawberry walnut salad?”

“Sure.”

“Would you mind slicing these up?” She slid a cutting board with a mound of strawberries and a small knife in his direction.

“Not at all.”

She hesitated, turned away, and then whipped back around. “You need to wash…” A long strand of hair dropped into her face as she stared at his hands, already sudsy over the sink. “Oh, right,” she whispered before hurrying around the island, through a tiny living area, and past a heavy carved door.

M
adelyn wanted
to shower and change, but she didn’t want to seem eager or too inviting. So, she only rinsed her legs, arms, and face. She resurrected her ponytail, which had managed to come almost completely undone during the fits of triumph on the beach.

Reentering the kitchen, she stopped. She’d expected Nathan to give up on strawberry chopping for more interesting sport like snooping about her home. Instead, he was putting the goat cheese on top of their otherwise-complete salads.

“You can cook?”

His eyebrow rose. “I wouldn’t call preparing a salad cooking, but yes. I can cook, clean, and do laundry. Just like you can, I suppose. Cleaning and laundry aren’t my favorites, but I’d get fired if I went to work naked.”

She had a hard enough time concentrating around him without the mental picture he forced into her mind. With the image searing her brain, she worked overtime to keep it together.

He placed the bread he’d finished slicing on a plate and asked, “Where do you want to eat?”

“This way.” Madelyn grabbed their drinks, thankful for something to do, and then led the way through her bedroom, which shrank like a funhouse with Nathan inside it. She quickened her pace and pushed through the back door and out onto the back patio.

They stopped in the shade of the house at a small bistro table. She set the glasses on the two-top and heaved a potted plant several feet, allowing her to reach the second chair.

“Entertain often?” He started at the dark water ring staining the deck.

“Nichole is the only person who’s ever been in my house, until today.”

His forehead wrinkled. She expected him to say something, but he nodded and divvied out the plates of food. He passed her a napkin, placed his in his lap, waited for her to pick up her fork, and then gulped down half his salad in only a couple of bites.

Madelyn stared at him in a fog of surreal disbelief. This big man with his rumbly voice, no-nonsense, yet soothing manner, made her home look like a doll house. He made her ordered life look like the ruse it was. She shifted in her seat.

“I’m afraid I’m about to make you more uncomfortable, but I’m not going to dress it up in flowers.”

“Flowers die.”

He tore off a hunk of bread and swallowed it down. “True enough. All right. I’ve been on the Field-Dresser case for nearly three years. A pair of murders occur every year, exactly one year from the last set. The pattern began in St. Thomas, and then moved to St. John a year ago yesterday. I believe he’s begun the cycle in Tortola.”

The metal fork clanged on the ceramic plate and then clattered to the table. Her heart beat so hard she’d swear it left impressions on her chest. Nausea rolled like a wave in her belly. “You think she’s dead, not missing?”

“I honestly hope I’m wrong, but—”

“You are wrong.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she forged ahead. “You’re talking about the women killed by that maniac. He’s in custody. Just last night they showed a snippet on the news about the beginning of the trail.”

“It’s not him,” he whispered.

“What are you talking about? Granted, I don’t have a TV, but I’ve heard people talk about it. And they said the prosecutor had all the evidence they needed to go for the death penalty.”

Nathan set his fork on the edge of the plate. It didn’t make a sound. He placed the napkin next to it, grabbed his thighs, and straightened. “They have every scrap of evidence they need. They have a verbal and written confession from Robert Inman. But one thing didn’t match up between his story and the evidence. That thing is big enough to get the case thrown out. And it’s big enough that when he told me, I wanted to cut him loose right then and there.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not self-employed.”

“What was the thing?”

He simply shook his head.

“Fine, what does all that have to do with Nichole?”

“She matches the profile of the victims. Tall. Dark hair. Trim physique. The timing fits, along with some other things.”

“Like?”

His chest expanded on a breath and he released it slowly. He wasn’t going to answer her question.

Fine.

As the shock ebbed, reason seeped back into Madelyn’s brain. “I think she ran away with someone…a man, maybe. That’s why she didn’t say anything to me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well,” she began. “You know her husband was abusive and jealous enough to make anyone want to leave.”

“But she didn’t leave him. You said it yourself. She wouldn’t leave no matter how much you tried to convince her he would do it again and no matter how badly he treated her. She didn’t leave.”

She knew he was right. Nichole had been loyal to a fault. Still, she pushed ahead. “Yes, that’s what I believed up until a few hours ago. Last night I did some investigating of my own.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes clouded charcoal black.

Though the change was subtle, she noticed it immediately. She noticed it the way people notice the darkening of the sky before a storm. Gooseflesh prickled her entire body. “Before you lecture me about my place in all this, you should know I got a lead.”

“A lead?” He ground the words between his teeth. “Who are you, Nancy Drew?”

“She was seen driving down the beach at two in the morning, Friday morning, with someone else in the car.”

“Who told you this?”

“Mr. Malik. He’s an old fisherman who lives west of here about five miles up the beach.”

“Old?” His eyes narrowed.

“He’s eighty, but he is sharp as a tack.”

“Okay, what was this sharp eighty-year-old doing outside at two in the morning?”

Madelyn bit her cheek to hide her smirk. “I was curious myself. He said, ‘Sugar, when you get to be my age you don’t sleep much at night and you have to pee every few hours. I like to look at the moon and the stars when I pee.’ He said it gives him a sense of being one with nature.”

Nathan considered that. “If this pans out, you did better than I did last night. Nobody would talk to me and intimidation didn’t go far either.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not very intimidating.” She hoped her bluff was working, because in truth he was intimidating the hell out of her. Every sentence he uttered in his dungeon-dark voice sent chills down her spine.

“I may not be,” he agreed, “but my gun is.”

She blew it off. “Don’t take it to heart. You’re not a local and you don’t have boobs. So, nobody’s going to talk to you.”

“In that case,” Nathan countered with a sly grin, “you only have half of the criteria.” When she cocked an eyebrow he continued, “You’re not a local. You only moved here three years ago.”

“So, you read my file?”

“No. Di…Special Agent Kepler told me.”

Her stomach knotted. “So, he read it.”

“No, I have it locked up. But he did make nice with the courthouse receptionist. She pulled real estate and insurance records for him.”

She nodded, unable to speak for the momentary relief. After a few moments she said, “The locals welcomed me quickly. For some it takes longer.”

“It’s the boobs.”

“Excuse me?” Her cheeks flamed.

“Hey, you brought it up.” He smirked.

“What?”

“That’s why they welcomed you so quickly.”

“No, it is not. I am a nice person and I have taken an interest in the island’s culture, the community, and the children.”

“Uh-huh.”

How dare he talk about her boobs. They were body parts that had not gotten much attention in an uncomfortably long span of time. She’d all but forgotten about them. Even in her wardrobe they blended in like unfashionable accessories. And here this stranger was making her all too aware of their sudden wanting presence. She struggled to ignore the tingling, made worse by his knowing gaze and her constricting sports bra. Setting her jaw she tried to burn a hole in him with her gaze. Undisturbed, he gave her a killer smile and returned to his food.

“You need to eat,” he said after a beat.

“I’m too irritated to eat. Nichole…my friend can’t be dead.”

They held each other’s gaze for too long. She gulped the raw emotions clawing their way up her throat. “Are you finished?” Her hand shot out to take his plate.

His warm fingers encircled her wrist. Instead of going rigid and cold all over, the contact heated her someplace deep inside.

“I’ll get these.” Nathan’s touch slid from her wrist, taking all the oxygen in her body with it.

He retrieved the plates and cups, stood, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Lock the back door on your way in.”

Since when did she take orders from a man? Apparently, this was a banner day. She pulled herself up, sucked in a deep breath, followed his wide shoulders into her house, and locked the door behind her.

Nathan moved through her space with such easy assurance, like he’d been there a thousand times. But then that’s probably how men moved through life, taking every bump and crossroad in stride. He stepped over Deacon, placed the empty dishes in the sink, tucked her uneaten salad into the refrigerator, and then peered out the two wide slats of the window over her sink.

He turned and walked toward her, only stopping when he was within touching distance. “I need you to do something to help with this investigation.”

“Anything. I want to help.” Maybe contributing in some way would dull the helplessness plaguing her.

“Close and lock the bottom slats of your windows. Keep both the doors in your house and car locked whether you’re in them or not. And stop your investigation.”

Madelyn placed her hands on her hips. “Are you worried I’ll take your job?”

“I’m worried you’ll find something you don’t want to find.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest. She fought to block the gruesome images buffeting her mind.

“Hey.” Her gaze found his. “I also need you to give me directions to Mr. Malik’s house.”