A large man, standing tall with his arms folded over his chest, nodded his head toward the door as Madigan strode to the front of the line. She gave him a small smile before she swung the door open and stepped into the crowded bar with music pulsing through the room, vibrating through the floor to her feet with each step she took.
The last time she lined up, the same bouncer had waved her and a few other girls through, mumbling something about pretty girls not having to wait. She’d hoped he’d remember her for the next time, and being proven right gave her a small confidence boost as she slipped through the crowd toward the bar. That bouncer had never been on her list of people to check. Not the right body type, but the way he held himself seemed different anyway. His eyes seemed kind.
Maybe I come here too often. I don’t want to be recognized, but this is it. One of two places that all my suspects have in common.
Waiting for her turn with one of the bartenders, she scanned the upper level of Wild Card for her target of the night.
Allen White.
Number Eleven.
Single, residing in an apartment on the bad side of the city, and rarely going home alone after a night of work as security at Wild Card.
A few of the men she’d crossed off her list sat in the V.I.P. section together, but no sign of Allen. She’d seen him, standing guard by the stairs, up there where the owner, Mickey Clarke, sometimes held meetings with his employees.
If I could just confront him. Ask him straight to his face who he hired to break into Grace’s home and attack her. He’s too powerful. Too dangerous.
Whoever attacked me must have told him it was the wrong woman. They had to know someone screwed up. Maybe that’s why no one’s come back for me.
Her worst fear, the one she rarely let her mind focus on, crept in, threatening to take up space while she stood in the middle of the lions’ den.
Whoever screwed up and attacked me could have been punished. Dealt with. Maybe even killed.
After grabbing her Jack and Coke, she shuffled away from the bar toward her usual spot on the dance floor, or by the table in the corner. She could see everything from there, including the exits.
Where are you, Allen?
Pushing her way through the crowd, she emerged on the other side by a small row of tables and sat down with her back to the corner, crossing her legs, getting comfortable for the long haul.
Maybe he called in sick. Maybe Mickey has him out on another special errand.
“This seat taken?” a guy asked.
She put her head down as she rolled her eyes.
How many times have I been asked that by some drunk asshole hoping to score?
“Yeah,” she hollered above the music, “sorry.”
“Pardon?” he shouted.
She looked up at him, a man she’d never seen before, and he stared at her, smiling.
“Please?” he asked. “I’ve been dancing since ten. My feet are killing me.”
Haven’t heard that one. Maybe it’ll be good for my cover to not be the lonely girl gawking in the corner for a little while.
“Yeah, alright,” Madigan said. “I’m just—I’m not much of a talker.”
Grace would laugh if she heard that.
“Pardon?” he hollered and rested his hands on the back of the chair.
Why am I telling him that? Why do I have to be so awkward? Why do I need to make sitting with a man, a potentially nice man, more difficult than this has already become?
“Nothing.” She shook her head, and he laughed a bit before shrugging.
“Okay,” he said and picked up the chair, hauling it toward the group of people around a table a few feet away, most of whom stared at her, smirking.
Great. Misread that one.
As she took a large gulp from her glass, her cheeks flushed, and a man approached her from the dance floor, laughing.
Great, has everyone seen how awkward and alone I am?
She kept her head down once more, but his scuffed black dress shoes stopped in front of her table. His faded jeans hung a little loose on him, and as she looked up to meet his gaze, he was still smiling a tight-lipped smile.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
He shook his head, but as she tried to peer around him at the doors, he blocked her line of sight. “That was cute,” he said.
“What?”
“You thought that guy was hitting on you, and he was just,” he broke into laughter mid-sentence.
“Nothing gets past you,” she huffed, her cheeks growing hotter by the second. “Listen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”
“Looked like you wouldn’t have been opposed to some company.”
Who is this guy?
“The right company, which you’re not.”
She grabbed her drink and stood, walking around him toward the dance floor.
Better not to make a scene. I can’t risk being noticed.
“You can’t help me,” he said, “but I can help you, Madigan.”
She froze as her name took her breath away and turned around. He stood in the same spot—still smiling—with his hands in his pockets.
“Who…” she started.
John’s friend. Please be John’s friend.
“You were supposed to be wearing blue,” he said.
Madigan exhaled, and the next breath soothed her.
If this jerk thinks we’ll be working together…doing anything together, he’s got another thing coming.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m not going to be needing your help. Whatever John told you, he was just overreacting. Trying to look out for me, but I don’t need—“
“He didn’t tell me much, actually,” he said. “He asked me to come meet you here and said you’d tell me the rest. That I should help you however you wanted.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s all he said?”
“Well, he said it could be dangerous.” The man smiled and walked toward her. “Now I’m not sure if he meant you—or whatever you’re tangled up in.”
“I’m not tangled up in anything. Honestly, this was a misunderstanding, so thanks for being a friend to John, but I’m good.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and rubbing his hand through his neatly styled brown hair. “That’s the only other thing he said—that you might not be very co-operative.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, okay? I’d like you to leave me alone now.”
“Okay,” he said. “I just need one thing.”
“What?”
“I need you to tell him I tried harder to convince you. If he asks.”
A sinking feeling stirred in her stomach.
He doesn’t care to try. Doesn’t care to help me. And why should he? And why do I want him to want to?
“Fine, I’ll tell him.”
“Okay, great.” He took another step closer, standing by her side and leaning toward her ear so he didn’t need to shout. “I’m Luke. I met you here. Told you how important it was to John that I help you. I explained to you I owe him a debt. That it was no trouble on my part. I told you I wasn’t taking no for an answer, and yet I also couldn’t force anything, so I had to ultimately back off. Respect your wishes and whatnot, okay? All good?”
“Yeah.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to give a convincing nod.
“Cool.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again, stepping away, and nodded in her direction before walking past her, disappearing into the crowd of dancing bodies and dark shadows.
It’s not his issue. I know nothing about him. This is for the best.
Despite trying to convince herself, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of John’s mysterious friend being gone for good.
No Luke.
No Allen White.
This night is a bust. I should have been working at Roy’s, earning some money towards moving out on my own.
She swallowed the rest of her drink and left the glass on the table before joining the writhing, grinding bodies on the dance floor.
One more look around, and then I’ll leave.
Swaying from side to side with the beat, she scoured the upper level and V.I.P. booths to no avail. As she gave the bar a once over, she caught herself looking for Luke instead of Allen. As the song finished, she made her way toward the main entrance and tried to remember the route to Allen White’s apartment.
If I need to confront him at his own home, I’ll do it. I don’t have time for this. Maybe I’ll be a neighbour asking to borrow some sugar.
After walking out the doors, the bouncer nodded to her, and Madigan crossed the street. She pulled her bike helmet from her bag as she strode down the busy sidewalk. Two men crossed the street and followed along behind her at the same pace, laughing and stumbling. As she turned the next corner, the pair continued straight, and a sense of relief washed over her.
Another set of slapping footsteps against the pavement rounded the corner and followed her. She glanced over her shoulder, but couldn’t make out the figure down the dark street.
At the next streetlight, I’ll turn around and get a real look.
She passed the streetlight and waited for a few seconds before turning around, but she was alone on her side of the street. An older man in a stained t-shirt stood on his porch on the other side, smoking and staring at her.
I look like I’m imagining things. Maybe I am.
As her bike came into sight just across the next street, footsteps slapped against pavement behind her, and she tightened her grip on her helmet.
What if it’s one of the men on my list? What if I’ve been found out?
Her heart pounded fast, and her lungs fluttered as she crossed the street, picking up the pace. Just a few feet from her bike, she turned around, and a man stopped just behind her.
Grace sipped her tea, pressing the arrow key over and over again, pouring over each wedding photo. Buster flopped down under the kitchen table, partially covering her feet, sharing his warmth.
“Well, hello there,” she said, peeking under the table at him.
Maybe a pet wouldn’t be a bad idea. Not a dog, though.
I’m not here enough.
Maybe a cat.
As she turned her attention back to the computer, the picture on the screen was the first taken after the group had come in from outside, leaving Cory alone.
No wet heads or hair. Same for the next and the one after.
Wide shots gave her pause, studying the crowds of people, but each time she hit the arrow for the next photo, a bit of hope slipped away. The next picture gained her attention as she rested her head on her hand and sipped her tea, studying each of the smiling faces.
The Holdens and the Knoxes, together again.
Both Madigan and her father’s hair glistened in the light, matching up with her story and theory about the snow identifying who had been outside in the first place.
In the next photo, the Maid of Honor, Katie, passed lit candles to two people in a line outside near the limo. One of the older men’s heads shone in the light—one of the men who’d been out smoking. In the background, Todd stood watching as the candle was passed. His hair was wet—lining up with his story of being outside, decorating the limo.
I want to talk to him again.
If something’s going on with him and Marie, he had motive to kill Cory, and opportunity by themselves… but the tracks from the lot to the trees doesn’t make sense for him.
He came back in before the candles were lit according to multiple witnesses. No reason for him to go out and hide when he could come in and have a strong alibi.
Buster rubbed against her feet, restless.
You miss your mom.
“She’ll be home soon,” she whispered, and Buster’s ears perked up.
Reaching beneath the table, she rubbed his soft furry head.
A cat or a kitten would be nice. Maybe once Madigan is gone, and I’m all by myself again.
After finishing what could have been her fiftieth round of going through the photos, Grace wrote down five names on a pad of paper beside her.
Todd Leaver
The two men with cigars
Madigan Knox
Madigan’s dad, Bill Knox
“That’s it,” she muttered. “If the killer is from the wedding, those are the only people who were outside at about that time. The killer could have worn a hood, though…”
Glancing down at her phone, she wondered what Mac and his daughter were up to. With no new revelations, she didn’t need to call him, but she felt the urge to. To tell him that according to the weather, only five guests appeared to have been outside during the time Cory was murdered.
And maybe to hear his thoughts. His voice.
She pushed the cell phone aside and closed her laptop. “Bedtime,” she said.
Buster sat up and peered at her from under the table.
“You’re not coming into my bed,” Grace laughed, “no sir.”
Buster crawled out from beneath the table, ready to follow her wherever she went next.
I’m glad Madigan has you.
Despite their lack of discussion about Madigan’s attack, she knew it had affected her. It had changed her sister in a way that was difficult to even think about, never mind bring it up with her. The security system, not to mention Buster, gave Grace solace that Madigan would be safe at home, even if Madigan didn’t feel secure.
I should try to talk to her again. I’ve been so absent lately. What kind of a sister am I?
She has to work through the trauma herself, but maybe she would feel better talking to me.
I can only protect her so much. She needs to gain her confidence back. To trust herself, because once she’s not here with me, there’s nothing I can do for her.
Madigan jumped, turning around fully to face the man and drawing her arm back, readying herself to take a swing at him with her helmet. He took a step under the circle of light from the streetlamp above her bike.
Luke.
“What the hell?” she shouted, still keeping a firm grip on her helmet, but lowering her arm. From her peripherals, the street was empty. Even the man on the porch had gone inside.
“Calm down,” he said, not smiling anymore, and without his smile he looked different.
Rougher. More dangerous.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Why did you follow me?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around them before taking a step toward her. “I owe John,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I promised him I’d watch out for you.”
“Even if I said no?” she asked. “You’d force yourself on me?”
“No, nothing like that—“
“Yet here you are,” she said, straightening her posture. “I’ll only ask once more. Please, leave me alone.”
“Whatever you’re doing at Wild Card can’t be good,” he said. “I saw you looking for someone. Were you waiting for someone? You were, weren’t you? John wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t important.”
“So you owe him; he called in a favor, and I’m saying I can’t let you fulfill it.”
“And I’m saying you don’t know the half of the shit you’re getting yourself into being at Wild Card looking for trouble.”
“How do you—“
“That’s the only thing anyone finds there.”
“And you know this because… you work there, don’t you?” she asked. “But I’ve never seen you before.”
“I don’t work there, no, not anymore.”
“But you did.” She took a step back. “Yeah, I definitely can’t talk to you anymore.”
“We don’t know each other, but I know John. He’s like a brother to me. I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bother you, or talk to you, but I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Be there if anything happens. If you decide you need me, because if it’s as bad as it all looks and sounds, you will.”
It is. It’s bad, but I didn’t start it. I have to end it.
“Just leave me alone.”
“Like I said, I won’t bother you.” He took a step back and shrugged. “But you’re going to wish you let me help you. I wish you’d just let me help you so things don’t have to go bad…”
Somewhere inside her, she knew that was less of a possibility than a probability.
What if someone besides Luke had recognized me and followed me here tonight? I’d be in trouble. Alone.
“And how could you help me?” she asked.
“Whatever you’re trying to do in there, I could help you get it done fast. I have the right contacts. If you want to talk to someone, I can make it happen. If you want to find someone, I can find them for you.”
“You must have been in a pretty bad situation to owe John this much,” she said.
He started to smile, but after pressing his lips together, he looked sick. “You have no idea,” he muttered.
She shook her head and put her helmet on, turning back toward her bike.
“John said you were cool,” he said, “but not riding a bike cool.”
“John seems to have said a lot more than you’re leading on.” She swung her leg over the seat and steadied herself, resting on it. “I’m leaving, and if you follow me, I’ll call the cops.”
“If this is the way you want it to go,” he muttered, “suit yourself.”
Too risky to make a visit to Allen White’s apartment without knowing if Luke is following me.
As she rolled out into the street, she glanced into her side mirror. Luke appeared in the reflection, standing where she left him, before she sped up, leaving him far behind.
I can do this on my own.
The wind swept through her hair as she turned onto a main road toward the highway.
Make him pay. Pay for the pain and fear he’s caused me.
I don’t just want to have him arrested…because there’s a chance he’d go free with no proof. I want to make sure he pays for making me afraid everywhere I go.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and as she merged onto the highway, she turned her music on, losing herself to the melody and clearing her mind of the revenge she could barely let herself admit she wanted.
Because if I get back at him—hurt him—what does that make me?
It puts me in control again.
I need to feel in control of my life again.