Madigan's Wife. Linda Winstead Jones
Inside, she was still unsettled by the experience. Her heart beat too fast, her palms were sweaty and her mouth was dry. The memory of what she’d seen remained solidly in her mind, too vivid. Too real. If it wasn’t for Ray she’d be a basket case right now, she knew it.
So much for her newfound independence.
The three of them walked down the sidewalk to the place where she’d sprayed and kicked the murderer. Again, there was no sign of violence; no blood, no dropped clue. Nothing. Everything appeared to be normal, as if nothing unusual had ever happened here.
Luther closed his notebook again and shoved it into the pocket of his dark suit jacket. He dressed more traditionally these days, thanks to his job in homicide she supposed. Black suit, white shirt, gray tie. His hair was shorter, too, cut in a quite conservative style. She didn’t remember Luther being so conventional. He’d always been as wild as Ray, just in a different way.
“Maybe the man isn’t dead,” he offered tiredly and with a brief spark of optimism. And more than a spark of condescension. “Maybe you saw two men fighting and you panicked and thought…”
“No,” Grace interrupted, annoyed that she had to try so hard to convince Luther of what she’d seen. Dammit, she’d heard the crack, she’d seen the murdered man crumple like a rag doll. “He’s dead.”
Luther grumbled and turned to walk back toward the curb, where his car and Ray’s were parked; one nondescript gray sedan parked before another, vehicles that were forgettable, invisible, anonymous. Cars that would remain unnoticed on the street. Neither of them wanted to be noticed when they worked.
“There’s not much to go on, but I’ll keep an eye out for missing persons and see what comes up,” Luther said casually. “Would you recognize the victim if you saw a picture?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It happened fast, and I wasn’t very close. He had dark curly hair, that’s all I can be sure of.”
The homicide detective sighed: a long suffering, weary, “why do I bother?” sigh.
How could she convince him of what she’d seen? Grace tried not to give in to frustration. Luther would know the truth soon enough, when the body showed up. Then he’d listen to her. She took some comfort from the fact that Ray stood supportively beside her. He believed her.
Deep down she knew she shouldn’t find comfort in the fact that Ray remained with her, reassuring and strong and constant. They weren’t married anymore, and she didn’t lean on him the way she used to. She didn’t lean on anyone. Ray Madigan was no longer a part of her life.
And yet, after this morning’s harrowing experience she did feel much better when she turned her eyes and thoughts to Ray. The world stopped spinning, and it was almost like the old days, when he was a part of her and she couldn’t imagine life without him.
Luther shook his head and bit down on the last morsel of his hard candy with a loud crunch. “So, how do you like being back in Huntsville?”
“Fine,” she said, puzzled that he wasn’t more concerned about the murder.
“Are you going to stick around this time?” he asked as he threw open his car door.
She heard censure in the question, undisguised, open hostility. Of course he was hostile; he was Ray’s friend, had been his partner for years. Ray had forgiven her for leaving, but apparently Luther never had.
“For a while, I guess,” she said uneasily. “You’ll call me when the body’s found?”
Luther gave her a quick, joyless grin as he slipped into the driver’s seat. “If anything turns up, I’ll give you a call.”
If?
Her heart fell as she watched Luther drive away. “He doesn’t believe me,” she said softly. “I know,” Ray answered. He didn’t sound at all concerned.
She looked at Ray, really looked at him. He was dressed in soft, cool blues, yet the morning sun made him appear golden and warm. The light shone favorably on slightly waving pale brown hair and tanned skin. His stance was casual, easygoing, but for the hint of tension in his hands and the set of his neck.
He squinted slightly against the bright sunlight, deepening the new wrinkles around his eyes, and her heart leapt. All her work, her dogged determination to put Ray behind her, had been for nothing. A waste of time. Because right now she was overcome with the certainty that she could hide in the shelter of his arms and he would protect her from anything, from everything. She had the urge to go to him right now, to press her face against that chest and breathe deep, to hold on…just for a while longer. Heaven help her, what she felt for him was so much more than a need to hide.
He’d touched her. She’d touched him. Old desires she’d thought long gone flitted to the surface to tease and taunt her. He looked so deliciously inviting she was tempted to fall into his arms again and stay there. She didn’t, of course. Reluctantly wanting Ray was one thing. Relying on him to fill the void in her life would simply be asking for trouble she didn’t need.
Ray never gave away much with his facial expressions, and this moment was no different. There was no emotion on his handsome face, no annoyance or concern or affection. He was cool and calm, almost indifferent. In spite of it all, she was glad he stood beside her. Where would she have run if not to Ray?
“You believe me, don’t you?” she asked as he headed for the curb.
Before he reached the car he spun around to face her. “Of course I do.” He said the words as if not believing was unthinkable.
She nodded her head as she joined him. He opened the passenger-side door and she dropped into the seat. “Thank you,” she said as he closed the door. She had to learn to put her mixed feelings for Ray aside and accept their present circumstances. He was a friend, the best friend she’d ever had. Anything else was impossible.
She trusted Ray with her life, but she did not trust him with her heart. Not anymore.
He shut the door without responding to her thanks, and for a moment Grace gazed out over the park. It was too early, still, for mothers to be out with their children, as they would be later, so the place was almost deserted. Still she felt a chill, as if someone were watching.
She wrote the warning chill off to nerves as Ray cranked the engine and pulled away from the park.
Cops. He could smell them a mile away, and those two, with the woman, they were definitely cops.
Standing behind a wide-trunked tree and watching the second of the two gray cars pull away from the curb, Freddie laid a hand over his cheek where the woman had kicked him. For a little thing she packed quite a punch. Quite a surprising punch. His jaw still hurt like hell, but fortunately nothing was broken.
He lowered his hands and thrust them impatiently into the pockets of his trench coat, silently cursing the woman. She’d surprised him, caught him off guard. And she didn’t fight fair. If he wasn’t in public he’d cradle his battered privates, as well.
He should kill the woman simply for hurting him, but he never, never killed anyone in a fit of anger. This was business, and he was a professional. Besides, killing the witness now would only give credence to her claims. He couldn’t have that.
At the present time he wasn’t particularly worried. There was no evidence that a crime had been committed. That one cop, the one who had arrived alone, obviously didn’t believe her. Freddie gave in to a crooked smile. The body that currently rested in the trunk of his car wouldn’t be found for weeks, maybe even months. The death would be made to look like an accident, as the client had requested, so odds were no one would even make a connection to the woman’s wild story and the tragic accident that took the life of one of Huntsville’s most respected businessmen.
He walked away from the tree and towards his parked car, limping just a little in deference to his throbbing, aching privates. Just to be safe, he’d dump the old Thunderbird coupe.