MADISON SHOULD HAVE known Pierce wouldn’t let her escape without another inquisition. She sighed and scooted back on the couch. “The note was taped to my front door when I got home, a couple of days after the first time I saw . . . someone . . . watching my house.”
“Typed out, not handwritten.”
“Yes.”
“Do I really have to ask you to tell me what it said?” He stared at her, waiting.
“It said, ‘You’ve been a very bad girl.’ ”
His brow furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She felt her face heating with embarrassment. “Damon said that to me, once, after an argument. He was upset that I’d been on his computer.”
He sat silently for a moment. “Does anyone else know he said that to you?”
“Probably. I was pretty ticked the first time he said that. I called my mom and vented with her. She’s not the best at keeping secrets. For all I know, she blasted it all over the Internet on those social media sites she’s so fond of.”
“The first time?”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “He said it one other time. His voice was . . . cold, angry. I’ll never forget the tone of his voice that day.”
He stared at her intently. “What did Hamilton say about the note?”
“That it was probably some neighborhood kid, playing a joke on the new lady who’d just moved in. In all fairness, he wasn’t sarcastic and didn’t dismiss it, not at first anyway. He looked into it. He sent his officers to ask my neighbors if they saw anything.”
She laughed harshly. “Not that anyone on my street would see anything. Most of the homes around me are vacant for the better part of the year, vacation homes. Right now, with it getting cold, most of the owners are in South Florida.”
“So, no one saw who left the note.”
“No.”
“Tell me about the phone call.”
She kicked her shoes off and tucked her legs beneath her on the couch. “It was after I saw the man in my backyard, by the storage shed. I was eating breakfast. The phone rang. When I answered, a voice on the line said the same thing the note said. And before you ask, no, I didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded . . . odd . . . distorted, like the person speaking was purposely changing his voice.”
“But you could tell the caller was male?”
“Definitely. That much I was sure of.”
“You think it was Damon.”
“Wouldn’t you? Knowing what he’d said in the past?”
He didn’t answer. He typed a few notes on his laptop. “You mentioned you had files from Damon’s computer. You still have those files?”
“Yes, on my laptop, back at my house.”
“We can go get your computer in the morning. What about the pictures you think are missing? Are you certain you saw them before you moved, that you didn’t throw them away when you were packing?”
She blew out a breath. “We’re back to that? Seriously?”
He studied her for a moment. Then he closed the laptop and turned toward her, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m re-looking at all the evidence, trying to figure this out. Casey texted me earlier, saying he wants a sample of Damon’s handwriting to compare to those bogus contracts you gave me. Do you have a sample?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Of course not. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” She rested her head against the back of the couch. “I had no reason to keep anything personal of his after he died. The only reason I kept those contracts was because they had to do with finances. At the time, I thought they were valid investments. But other than those, I don’t have anything with his signature.”
“You’re not giving me much to go on here.”
She rolled her head back and forth against the couch, so frustrated she wanted to scream. It was either that, or shoot someone. And since the only other person in the room was Pierce, she didn’t exactly have any options along those lines.
Drawing a deep breath, she tried to focus on answering his questions without totally losing her composure. “I’ve given you plenty to go on. You saw him yourself. He shot you. He’s real, flesh and blood, and he’s after me. Why? I don’t know. You know everything that’s been happening—the notes, the shooting. He killed that boy this morning, and Mr. Newsome’s missing.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe he killed the boy, or maybe he did something to Mr. Newsome?”
“Both.”
That was it. She’d had enough. She uncurled her legs and stood. “We’re done here.” She’d just reached the hallway when he was suddenly in her way, blocking her. She shoved at his chest. He winced, and she jerked her hands back.
“I’m so sorry. I forgot about your ribs. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He blew out a breath. “Don’t run away from this. I’m trying to help you, and I can’t do that without the facts.”
“I’ve given you the facts.”
His brows drew down. “I don’t think so. How did you push a divorce through for a man who’d been declared dead?”
She froze. “Push it through?”
“No court is going to continue proceedings on a divorce when one of the parties has been declared dead. What did you do? Bribe a judge?”
Her fingers curled into fists. “This is ridiculous. Why would I do that?” Her heart was hammering so loudly she could feel the blood rushing to her ears. She couldn’t tell him she’d wanted that divorce in case her worst nightmares were true, in case the man who’d died in that car wasn’t Damon.
“There’s only one reason I can think of,” he continued, relentless now that he was grilling her.
“I don’t want to hear this.” She turned, but he grabbed her arm.
His eyes flashed as he leaned down, inches from her face. “Eighteen months ago, a man died in a fiery car crash. You buried him in a grave with your husband’s name on the tombstone. But you never cashed in the life insurance policy.”
Panic twisted inside her. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.
“You didn’t think I knew about the insurance did you? It took some digging, but Casey found it. There’s only one reason I can think of for someone not to cash in a life insurance policy. You knew Damon was alive. All this time, you’ve known.”
She pulled her arm, desperately trying to free herself.
“You pushed that divorce through so you wouldn’t feel guilty sleeping around with other men. Did that make you feel less guilty when you slept with me?”
She jerked as if he’d struck her, pain twisting inside her chest. He was treating her like a tramp, as if she’d slept with tons of guys since Damon’s death, and after she’d left Pierce. Was that really what he thought of her? She blinked, determined not to let the threatening tears flow. She wasn’t going to let him know how much he’d hurt her. After Damon, Pierce had been that one bright spot in her life, the light that had made the darkness of her past fade away, if only for a brief time. Pierce was her only lover, besides her husband. Ever. “Let me go,” she demanded.
Instead of releasing her, his grip tightened, and he yanked her closer.
His face twisted with anger. “Did you lie about Damon? Was he really the terrible husband you portrayed him to be? Or did you make all that up?”
She gasped. “What? No. No, I didn’t lie. He was . . .” She glared up at him. “I didn’t lie. He was an evil man.”
“But he never hit you.”
She clenched her fists. “No. Not once. No bruises. He was far too clever for that. Just like now. He’s being far more clever than you, or anyone else realizes. He’s turning everyone against me, making me look like a hysterical female, a fool. He destroyed my family, and they don’t even know it. I alone bear that burden. I alone live with that pain every day.”
“What did he do?” He enunciated each word, slowly, clearly, as if she were a child, and he was forced to speak that way so she’d understand him. “How did he destroy your family?”
She twisted her arm, trying to get him to let go. When he wouldn’t, she jerked her knee up toward his groin, but he anticipated her action, twisting sideways.
“Let. Me. Go.” She gritted out each word.
They stared at each other for a full minute, their eyes clashing like swords on a battlefield. Finally, Pierce released her.
She fled into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.