Page 43 of Jack of Hearts
“Tell me you don’t want it, cousin, and I’ll call you a liar.”
“Go straight to hell,cousin.” As soon as he lifted his head, she reared back with as much force as she could muster. God, that hurt, but hearing the crunch of bone was worth the pain.
“Fucking bitch.”
He let go of her, and she scrambled up the steps. As she ran, she looked back to see her cousin holding his nose, blood pouring through his fingers. Inside her apartment, she slammed the door, turning the lock. She dropped her purse on the floor before racing to the kitchen, grabbling the largest knife out of a drawer. Dragging a chair back with her, she shoved the back of it under the doorknob.
She stood back, heart hammering as she stared at the door. As she listened for footsteps on the stairs, she spied her purse on the floor. She snatched it up, taking her phone out. There was only one person she wanted, and she called him.
Alex scowled at his laptop screen, frustrated that he’d come up blank again. No matter what keywords he tried, his mother’s trail had gone cold the moment she’d walked down that dusty road, never to be seen again. Not that he had much to go on other than her married name, and with that he’d found his parents’ marriage certificate with her maiden name on it. Neither of those names showed up anywhere since the day she’d left. Wherever she’d disappeared to, she’d done a damn good job of losing herself.
Giving up for the time being, he turned to searching for information on Madison’s father. Since there weren’t any witnesses to the hit-and-run, there wasn’t much to go on. He scrolled down to the interview a detective had conducted with the newspaper’s editor. According to his editor, that night Parker had worked late on a story that he’d sworn would be front-page news. Unlike other stories that he’d shared with his editor before publication, he’d been secretive about this one. That jived with what Madison had said.
“Interesting,” Alex murmured as he read that the editor had claimed Parker didn’t seem as excited as he would have expected a reporter who was about to break a big story to be.
What would make an investigative reporter both secretive and perhaps not particularly happy about the story he was writing? Only one thing came to mind, and he called Nate. After telling his brother what he’d learned so far, he asked Nate for his take.
“Sounds like the story was personal.”
“Yeah, my thinking, too. What if he was on to the Alonzos? That would definitely be personal, and because of worrying about his wife’s reaction, he might not have been all that happy about the story. It would have been a good reason to be so tight-lipped. Think we could get Rothmire to okay Taylor or Rand doing a follow-up interview with that editor?”
“I’ll call Rothmire in the morning. You feeling any better?”
“Yeah, a bowl of chicken soup from the deli and a couple of cold capsules helped.” He was fighting a head cold, and Nate had kicked him out of Aces & Eights when Alex had sneezed on his big brother one too many times.
After hanging up, he leaned forward and punched up his pillows. He took a drink of the hot tea with lemon, honey, and whiskey he’d made. The soothing liquid eased down his sore throat. Leaning back again, he pulled up some of Parker’s previous work. The man had been good, and his stories were hard-hitting, many of them exposing crooked public officials.
He was halfway through a story on a councilman who’d taken bribes to push through building permits for a developer with a history of cutting corners, when his phone buzzed. Thinking it was Nate calling back, he scrolled his thumb across the screen without looking at it.
“What?” he said.
“Alex?”
At hearing Madison’s voice, he shoved his laptop aside. “Yeah. Hi, Grasshopper.” For the past two weeks, he’d checked his voice mail constantly, hoping for a message from her. Every time his phone had buzzed, his heart had raced, thinking it might be her. But she’d not called, texted, or left a message, and he’d forced himself to stay away since it was what she wanted. Next to watching his mother walk down that dirt road without a backward glance, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. For two weeks, there had been an ache in his chest from missing her.
“I need you,” she said, her voice quivering.
“Where are you?” He shot out of bed, his phone to his ear.
“Home. Come in through the front.”
“Madison ...” The call disconnected. It took only minutes to change from sweatpants to jeans and a T-shirt. He slipped on his shoulder holster and a lightweight jacket. After taking a couple of cold pills and drinking a hot toddy, he decided he’d best take his car even though he could get to her faster on his bike. Keys in hand, he headed to the elevator. As he waited for the door to open, he called Nate and gave him an update so his brothers would know where he was.
Ten minutes later—and thankful he hadn’t been stopped for speeding—he pulled up in front of the entry to Madison’s apartment. Why was the door wide open? Any other time, he would have waited for backup, or at least called Nate or Court, but Madison was in there. He eased up to the entry and, seeing blood on the floor, he palmed his gun. Careful not to walk in the blood, he quietly made his way up the stairs. At the top, he tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked.
Although he wanted to slam his shoulder against the door, he had no way of knowing who would be on the other side to greet him. She’d said to come to the front, but what if someone had forced her to say that? A sneak attack suited him better, and he backtracked down the stairs, careful not to make any noise.
Fear for her kicked up his adrenalin, but he stepped outside and took a few deep breaths, calling on his training to get him to the place he needed to be. Until she was safe in his arms, all she could be to him was a job, one he had to do by the book. Although if he were going by the book, he’d wait for that backup he should have asked for, but fuck that.
When he reached her bedroom window, he tried lifting it, only to find it locked, which was as it should be. Her bedroom was dark, and from her panicked phone call and the blood in the foyer, he seriously doubted she was snuggled up in bed, asleep. Taking a chance, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around his fist, breaking through a corner of the window. He unlocked it, then slipped his jacket back on.
No one greeted him when he eased into Madison’s room, and because it was dark, he made his way to her bedroom door using his memory of the layout. Thankfully, she was a neat person—something he’d noticed on his numerous visits—and he didn’t stumble over anything tossed onto the floor.
“Jesus,” he muttered when her cat let out a hiss. Alex looked down to see Hemingway crouched next to him in the doorway, the black devil’s hair razor sharp on the ridge of his back. He reached down and placed a hand on the cat’s head. “What’s happening here, buddy?” he whispered. The cat hissed again.
He’d never been anywhere in her apartment besides her bedroom, and he wished now he’d asked her for a tour. Across from him was an open door that he guessed was another bedroom, her roommate’s maybe? A dimly lit lamp sat on a table next to the bed, and he slipped into the room, making a thorough check. Once satisfied it was empty, he eased down the hallway.
Coming to the end, he paused, lifted his gun, and edged into the living room, keeping his back to the wall. Huddled in a corner with a large knife clutched in her hands, Madison caught his movement, and the moment she recognized him, she dropped the knife and lunged for him.
