Meryl Sawyer - Death's Door

What had she been thinking?

Madison still didn’t have a clue. She’d always been closer to her father than her mother. It had begun in early childhood when her father had been more willing to play with her. She’d reveled in the attention and as she grew, Madison took her problems and her triumphs to her father first.

“Why don’t you at least meet Wyatt Holbrook?” Paul asked. “That way you’ll have more to tell your mother when she calls.”

Why don’t you go to hell. Although she was tempted to yell this at him, Madison kept her temper in check. “I need to talk to my mother before I do anything,” she insisted.

She knew she sounded a bit childish, but she did feel the need to talk to…Erin. That’s who she would have called about this as soon as Paul Tanner had spouted his wild tale. Erin’s death had closed that door irreversibly. Never, ever again would she be able to discuss anything with her best friend.

But even if Erin were here, this was a question for her mother and she might not check in for days or even weeks. When she did, the connection might be a hiss of static the way it was last time. But Madison wouldn’t have any choice. She would have to ask this question over the telephone.

She was meeting Rob at Erin’s home tonight to decide what to do with her friend’s things. She could talk to Rob. He had a level head and he was accustomed to listening to people with sick and dying pets, giving him a wisdom and empathy few others had.

Once she could have discussed this with Aiden, but those days were gone. Even if she could, she knew Aiden would insist Paul’s story was true. She could just hear Aiden saying, Why would a man like Paul Tanner make up such a thing?

“I understand how hard this has been for you. These last few days have been tough. Why don’t we go get the bill of sale for the dog?” Paul suggested. “It may help us decide what’s going on here.”

PAUL GAZED at Madison for a moment with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He knew she wanted to get rid of him, to make the whole business with Wyatt Holbrook disappear. Not on his watch. “I’ll drive you out to your place. You can give me the sales receipt. Burgess expects me to bring it to him.”

She hesitated, then finally responded. “Can’t I do it tomorrow? It takes forever to get to Fisher Island and back. I’ve been out of the office for days. I’m swamped.”

“The sooner Burgess tracks down the person who sold your friend Aspen, the sooner he can pursue a valuable suspect or eliminate that person. Don’t you want Erin’s killer found?”

“Of course I do. It’s just that I doubt someone would sell her a dog, then kill her.”

“You never know.” Privately he agreed and Burgess must have, as well. Aw, hell. Maybe not. Lincoln Burgess was a piss-poor excuse for a detective—not exactly the best choice for a complicated investigation. Around the department, they referred to Burgess as “the missing link.” Over the years, it had been shortened to Link. Dumb schmucks thought it was a nickname for Lincoln.

“Well…I guess I—”

Paul stood. “Come on. You can bring the dog with you. I’m in an SUV today.”

“What dog?”

Her wide-eyed, innocent stare didn’t fool him. “The golden retriever under your desk.”

It was a moment before she replied, “You can’t see him from there.”

“No, but I see a few gold hairs on the carpet. Considering this is your first day back at the office, the dog has to be here.” He gestured around at the small cube. “The only place he could be is under your desk.”

She rewarded him with the suggestion of a smile that alluringly tipped the corners of her mouth upward. With her wild mane of hair and no makeup, she could have passed for a woman who’d just gotten out of bed. The thought alone sent a rush of heat through his body.

He cataloged every inch of her face while keeping his expression neutral as if he were thinking about the dog. Yeah, right. Something about this woman made his mind wander to sex every time he was around her.

He resisted the urge to allow his eyes to detour lower to where the V-neck of her T-shirt revealed the shadowy cleft between her breasts. His pulse thrummed just thinking about the way she’d looked when he’d walked into her office and had taken the opportunity to give her the slow once-over. True, he hadn’t seen below the waist—she’d been sitting—but he liked what he could see.

“You’re right. Aspen is under the desk.” She rose from her seat in one fluid motion that he found undeniably provocative even though he knew she didn’t intend it to be. “I didn’t let on I had him because I didn’t want Detective Burgess to take him.”

As they walked out to his Jeep with the golden retriever at Madison’s side, Paul thought about the dog. When he’d heard her screaming and raced into Erin Wycoff’s home, he’d charged through the kitchen, barely noticing the envelope on the counter beside the pizza box. Minutes later the envelope and the dog had been gone.

He’d followed Madison from the office and knew she hadn’t had the dog with her, but he hadn’t realized it wasn’t her dog. The way she’d pitched a fit at the scene about the dog needing eye treatment, he’d assumed the dog was hers.

Never assume. When he’d studied criminology at the University of Florida, his favorite professor, Dr. Wells, often tried to trick them into false assumptions that led to erroneous conclusions in the test cases he taught.

All right, all right. He should have known better, but his mind had been busy processing the horror of the scene and trying to decide what type of killer had been responsible for the brutal attack. Hell, he’d been itching to get back into action. He hated being on leave. That was why he’d gone into the station this morning. He was hoping to find that his leave had been terminated. No such luck.

He held the back door of his car open for Aspen. The dog hesitated.

Madison patted the floor in front of him. “Go on, boy. Hop in.” The dog leaped up into the car.

They got in and Paul drove out of the parking lot. This close, he caught a whiff of the same scent he had the other time he’d been this near her. Flowery but fresh, not heavy the way some women wore too much fragrance.

He waited until they were down the road before asking, “What did the vet say about Aspen’s eye problem?”

“He needs drops twice a day. He’ll be fine.”

“How did you know to take him to the vet?”

“His eyes were tearing a lot more than normal. At least that’s what I thought. I just threw that show-dog stuff at them because I had to get away. I couldn’t stand thinking about my friend with all those people walking around her naked body, taking pictures, measuring things, collecting particles of hair and fiber and…I don’t know what.”

Paul nodded, letting her think he believed her, but there was a missed beat in the conversation. Something about the dog. What?

“You got him help pretty fast,” he remarked, to see if she would reveal something incriminating.

“I took him to Robert Matthews. He was Erin’s boyfriend but they broke up last year. I knew he’d get me in right away and he did. I saw his associate.”

“That’s good.” Something in her explanation still sounded off but he wasn’t sure what. Evidently the dog meant a lot to her. He had the feeling it was more than the last link to her murdered friend.

“Did Erin leave her boyfriend or was it the other way around?”

She kept staring straight ahead. He couldn’t help noticing she had a turned-up nose that gave her profile a cute upward tilt. “I think it was mutual,” she finally said.