Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (24 page)

FORTY-FOUR

Madeline rolled over and looked at the clock: 4:26. She had only gotten four hours sleep, but she was wide awake and not at all tired. She lay in bed as she reviewed her actions of the last 24 hours. She laughed at the lengths she had gone to evade detection without any evidence that anyone was in fact interested in her movements.

Better safe than sorry,
she thought, though when she recalled her extravagant late night purchases she couldn’t help feeling a little foolish. The portable sweep seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time, but what would she do if she actually found something on her computer or in her other hotel room? It probably came with operating instructions, though she doubted it came with a manual on how to be a private detective.

This last thought propelled her out of bed.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
she admonished herself as she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt.

She headed back down to the lobby level and walked along the ghostly-quiet corridors to the business center. Again, she had the place to herself. She wasted no time, typing amazon.com in the search bar. Once in, she selected Books from the dropdown menu and typed in
how to become a private investigator
and hit Go.

Instantly, her request brought up 57 results. She waded through the titles, many of which weren’t what she was looking for. But there were a few that looked like they could teach her more than she currently knew about counter-espionage. She put five in her cart, all of them in eBook format, which she could read on her Kindle. She checked out and they were all instantly uploaded to her device.

She had plenty of reading material to occupy her remaining time on Guam and on the arduous trip home. The downside of this plan was not knowing for certain if she’d be able to put her finger on the specific knowledge she’d need once her scanner arrived. What she really wanted was some sort of private tutoring, though that would be too much to hope for. She’d be lucky if any of the detectives she had contacted would even return her calls or emails.

As she sat pondering the likelihood of finding a private investigator willing to take on her case, a fragment of memory floated to the surface. “This is what I really need,” she mumbled to herself as her fingers typed in a new search. She received an unwelcomed jolt as Burt Latham’s name appeared along with the other listings for Santa Barbara P.I.’s. It was eerie to see his name among all the others knowing he was no longer on the receiving end of any potential callers.

But it wasn’t a private investigator she was searching for. She had already exhausted that avenue. What she was interested in this time were the sponsor ads at the top and on the right side of the screen. Her memory hadn’t failed her. There, competing for possible enrollees, were listings for several online courses in the field of private investigation.

Madeline’s pulse quickened as she chose a site. She browsed through the offerings and the curriculum, then backed out and checked another site for comparison.

For the sake of thoroughness, she did another search, which included only training courses specific to California laws and requirements, not that she had any intention of pursuing a career. The mere thought of trying to pull off an act like that made her laugh. She could just imagine Burt rolling his eyes at the idea.

Well, she didn’t need to become a bona fide P.I., but there was no harm in educating herself. At the very least, she would become a better client, more able to assist in her case. And if she couldn’t find anyone to stick his neck out for her again, she would at a minimum be able to recognize—or maybe even anticipate—any traps Steven might lay in her path.

She browsed through four more sites before opting for the one that seemed the most credible. It was also the only one to offer the price without first having to speak to a “course advisor.” She studied everything about the site before committing to the $785 “full payment” option. She held the cursor over the button, giving herself a chance to back out. She’d been throwing money around like it had no value, which had certainly been her M.O. for the last dozen years. But now she had to get a grip on her spending habits or she’d burn through her half-million severance pay in no time.

This is the wrong time to worry about finances,
she decided as she clicked on the button and began filling out her billing information. She felt slightly giddy and a tad dubious, and she hoped she wouldn’t regret this in the morning.

Once she was through the process, she was at liberty to start studying. Though she felt shaky from the adrenalin rush, fatigue was starting to catch up with her. But she couldn’t go back to her room until she took a peek at the course materials, just to make sure she had gotten what she was looking for. After skimming through the table of contents, she found exactly what she needed: How to Recognize and Disarm Surveillance Devices.

“Yes!” she cried out, her hands clenched in victory. She could do this; she could arm herself with spyware and know-how and defend herself. She wouldn’t have to explain her predicament to wary P.I.’s or put anyone else in harm’s way. Steven would never suspect she had the faintest idea of his behind-the-scenes machinations, so she’d have that going in her favor. She could play the ignorant, broken-hearted fool and he wouldn’t give her a second thought. And why should he? As far as he was concerned, she was in the past. Once she signed the divorce settlement agreement, she had sealed her fate.

She smiled to herself as she closed out of the internet. The game wasn’t over yet. It was her turn to serve.

FORTY-FIVE

Wakefulness came on slowly as Madeline fought her way out of a deep, almost paralyzing sleep. Twice she decided against getting up and fell back into a chaotic dream world. She awoke for the third time drenched in sweat, her heart pounding as she tried to snatch the fragments of her disturbing dream before they evaporated like ether. She pulled herself up and looked at the clock. It was already 9:35.

She struggled off the bed and went in search of water to erase the stale, cotton-like dryness in her mouth and throat. She guzzled a warm bottle of Perrier as she hunted for the room service button. She ordered yogurt, fruit, coffee and dry toast and jumped into the shower.

She ate her breakfast looking out at the bay. She tried to savor this moment of peace and tranquility, but her mind was too jumpy for relaxation. By now it was 10:15, only seven hours since she purchased her bug scanner and expedited shipping. She couldn’t realistically expect to see delivery for several more hours.

She had plenty of studying she could do until then, but she had a craving to be outdoors. It was too beautiful a day to waste inside. Like it or not, this was the last “vacation” she’d have for the foreseeable future.

She drank the rest of her coffee, brushed her teeth and slathered herself in sunscreen before getting into her swimsuit. She threw together a bag of essentials, including her Kindle and her cell phone, and headed to one of the hotel’s five pools.

Madeline sampled each of the eBooks on private investigating, honing in specifically on anything to do with finding, identifying and disabling audio/visual recording devices. It was fascinating and enthralling reading. Before she knew it, two hours had passed. Her brain was in such a blur, all she could think of was getting the scanner and putting it to use.

She checked her text messages, but nothing new had appeared. She called the front desk to make sure a package had not arrived.

“No, Ms. Dawkins, nothing yet. But everyone has been alerted to send you a text message as soon as it comes.” Madeline thanked the woman and hung up.

She sat on the chaise longue, a foot planted on each side, as if she were in the middle of standing up. There was so much going on in her head, her body was left in limbo. She forced herself to focus on the here and now and hoisted herself to a standing position. From there, her body took over, guiding her past the pool, out onto the pathway to the sand.

Without realizing what her intentions were, she waded into the water, a smile of delight and surprise breaking out across her face as a wave hit her in the waist. She waded out farther than she thought was possible, then the sand fell away from her feet as the deeper, cooler water enveloped her.

She swam out far enough that she could see all of the hotels along Tumon Bay. The hulking resorts looked so small from that distance. She executed an underwater turn and floated flat on her back, her head pointed in the general direction of the shore.

It was so soothing being out in the pristine water, with only the bright blue sky and amorphous white clouds overhead. Out there, away from everything and everyone, she could think—really think—her thoughts coming in an organized fashion, without the background noise of sundry worries.

In her mind, a chain of actions fell into place, as orderly as name cards being placed on a dinner table. The first card: the arrival of the scanner, followed naturally by the scanning of her computer. This left her to consider the next card: either it would be an uninvited guest, or it would be relief at finding the computer free of any bugging device.

If she found something on her laptop, she would have to determine if it was an audio or visual device, or a GPS tracker. If it were a tracking bug, then all her efforts of evasion were worthless. She could take the computer back to her room at the Westin and attach the bug to something else. That would work. The other option would be to abandon that room and the suite at the Hilton and check in somewhere else, which was unappealing on all levels.

Either way, she had a plan in place for the unwanted guest. Next card: finding out if her room at the Westin had been tampered with. That had to be done to ascertain how threatened Steven felt by her mere existence. The divorce was the only piece not securely in place, and it wouldn’t be until she’d completed her residency requirement and the attorney took the case through the court system, which she now knew could take as little as 30 days. Then he’d have nothing to worry about…unless she could somehow pin him to her rape… There would be room at the table for that, but it would be further down the line.

Next place card: a Santa Barbara P.I. There was probably a 50-percent chance that spot would be a no-show. She did the math in her head; she had at least thirteen hours until she could reasonably expect a callback or an email response. Then it was a matter of selling her case, which at this point was rangy and unpalatable. Right now, her chief reason for engaging a detective would be to find out if Burt Latham tragically fell to his death or was pushed.

Now it was time to invite law enforcement to the table. If she could remember the name of the detective Burt had lined up, that would help her immensely in the credibility department. If she could successfully persuade him that she was set up to be raped while being photographed, then perhaps Detective…Blank might take an interest in Burt’s lethal plunge.

So, accompanying this guest would be the autopsy results. She had doubts she’d be satisfied with a conclusion of accidental death by drowning. Burt was obviously very familiar with the Douglas Preserve; she had met him there twice. He would know to stay away from the steep drop-offs.

Her gut told her that Burt had arranged to meet the fourth or fifth duped borrower he had uncovered at the park—or maybe that was the set up. He had gotten too close to getting the dirt on Steven. That would never do, not after all the trouble Steven had taken to secure a solution in the form of a rich new wife.

She abandoned the guest list and started thinking about necessities, like a place to live and transportation. In just three days she’d be headed back to Los Angeles, where she’d probably be waylaid by Mike for a few days. That thought caused her some anxiety, but trying to envision arriving at the Santa Barbara airport with no final destination in mind was equally troublesome.

Maybe it was okay to hang out with Mike for a few days. She’d be starved for companionship by then and being around him would be a comfort. She wouldn’t have to put on a front for him; she could unburden herself of all the pent up rage and remorse. He’d been through months of counseling, so he’d know how to drag it all out of her. It would be cathartic. Plus, he could help her shop for a new car…

Madeline’s eyes sprang open. She raised her head and listened. She heard the faint sound of splashing. She rolled over, her face in the water, her eyes open. She saw something—a pair of legs bobbing just below the surface. She popped up, gasped enough air to fill her lungs and went back under, swimming at a right angle from the intruder. Fear gripped her so hard, she had to use every bit of willpower to get her arms and legs working in unison.

She came up for air again, taking the opportunity to scout out her pursuer. He had turned in her direction.
Please God, no,
she prayed silently, as she envisioned a watery death at the hands of a stranger.

She plowed her arms through the water as fast as she could, but a second glance confirmed he was gaining on her. He had the advantage of coming from the shore, which meant she had to travel in an arc to get around him. She came up for air again and her heart stopped. There was no possible way to out-swim him. She changed to the breast stroke, but she starting swallowing water as great sobs of panic broke from her chest.

“Hang on!” she heard the man say. She turned her head to face him and for the first time saw the red rescue tube sticking up in front of his chest. “Stay there—I’ll come to you.” Madeline treaded water as she cleared her nose and tried to calm herself. The lifeguard reached her in seconds, thrusting the rescue tube toward her. She grabbed it and held on.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Madeline nodded her head as she panted. Her heart felt like it was on the verge of exploding.

“From the shore, I couldn’t tell if you were in trouble or not,” the lifeguard said. “I started worrying I might have a dead body on my hands,” he said with a chuckle. Madeline chortled weakly.

“Not yet, though when I saw you coming after me, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m not that scary, am I?” he joked. Even soaking wet, Madeline could see the Chamorro native was quite the looker, with his dark skin and dazzling smile. “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift back,” he said as he braced Madeline’s hands on the rescue tube. He stroked away from her until the line on the tube became taut and she felt him tugging her toward the beach.

“What hotel are you at?”

“The Hilton,” Madeline said.

“I can take you as far as the Holiday Inn—that’s where my post is.”

“Once I get to the shallow part, I’ll be fine,” Madeline assured him.

She swam along with him, not letting him shoulder the extra burden by himself. When they started to rise and fall with the incoming tide, she knew she was getting close to being on her feet again. They rode a wave in partway and she stood up, shaky and nauseated, but okay. She thanked her rescuer and waved goodbye as she trudged through the water, heading at a diagonal toward the Hilton.

When she finally reached the beach in front of her hotel, she felt as though she’d just swam the English Channel. She staggered back to the chaise she had abandoned an hour earlier and was relieved to find her bag and its contents still there. She rinsed off at the shower stall and lay down to dry off. She checked her iPhone; still no text from the front desk. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep but brief sleep.

When she awoke, she was disoriented and famished. She ordered a mineral water and a hamburger from the cocktail waitress. While she downed the water she got a look at her neglected nails. It had been over two weeks since she had a manicure and pedicure, and her toenails were especially battered from tromping through the sand.

That’s an easy fix,
she thought as she devoured her burger. When she was satiated and had recovered her senses, she gathered her things and headed for the salon, where she could treat herself to the works. And hopefully when she was finished, her package would be there and she could finally get down to the serious business of amateur sleuthing.