Race Against Time (3 page)

The drugs still made her mind feel sluggish, made her emotions harder to reign in. Her eyelids still drooped. Her limbs felt heavy.

Brody’s face floated into her thoughts. Thank goodness for her neighbor. Though he’d not even given her the time of day since he’d moved in, at least he’d been there when she’d needed him.

Madison had been put off when she’d first introduced herself to him. She’d only wanted to make the newcomer feel welcome in the neighborhood. But the man had acted as if she had made a pass at him and he’d wanted to send a clear “not interested” message. Sure, the man was handsome. Any woman would think so. He had thick, dark brown hair, even features, broad shoulders and towered at least six feet tall. He’d reminded her a bit of a Ken doll, which she didn’t find necessarily complimentary. Brody almost appeared too plastic, his eyes too lifeless.

Besides, Madison hadn’t for a single minute been interested in another man since Reid died. She knew the kind of love they had was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. To find someone else who shared her faith in God, who understood her and respected her the way her late husband had didn’t seem like even a remote possibility. What they’d felt for each other had been beautiful and when Lincoln was born, life had seemed perfect.

Lincoln.

Her gaze darted the room, searching for a clock. Three thirty. Someone needed to pick up Lincoln from preschool. She had to call someone to get him.

She swung her hand toward the phone on her nightstand, but her fingers fumbled. The device crashed to the floor with a loud jangle of metal and plastic.

She threw her feet over the side of the bed. Her IV tugged at her wrist, the medical tape pulling at her skin. Her entire body felt like it might topple out of bed.

Momentum seemed to pull her toward the floor and the room began to spin. Just then the door burst open. Brody rushed toward her. His strong hands caught her shoulders and eased her back into the hospital bed before she hit the floor.

“What are you doing?”

She pushed her head into her pillow, praying the wave of dizziness would pass. “Lincoln. My son. Someone needs to pick him up from preschool. He’s going to be scared, think I forgot him.”

He cleared his throat. “I asked my cousin to pick him up for you.”

Madison’s mind raced. “Kayla?” Kayla was one of Lincoln’s preschool teachers and also went to church with them. The two had recently struck up a friendship, but it was still new, not the kind of friendship where you asked for favors yet.

“I know you two know each other, so I figured you’d trust her. I do.”

Madison did trust Kayla and so did Lincoln. That was the important thing. She didn’t want her son to be freaked out by everything that had happened. “How’d you know someone needed to pick him up?”

“I’m a detective. I’m paid to be observant.”

“He can’t go to our home. Or see me like this. I should call her…” Her thoughts crashed into one another. She again started to reach for the phone, but Brody eased her back toward the bed.

“Don’t worry. I asked her to take him to the park and to get some ice cream. He can stay with her as long as needed. You’ll probably be discharged today. You can both stay with her if you need to. I know she’d be more than happy to help out with Lincoln. Don’t tell her I told you, but I’m pretty sure he’s her favorite student. She talks about him all the time. Those kids are her life.”

Some of the tension left Madison’s shoulders. Kayla’s bubbly personality connected with the preschoolers in her class, and since she was single and had no children of her own, her students did seem to be her life. “Wow. You thought of everything. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I just tried to put myself in your shoes.”

“I appreciate it.”

He glanced toward the door before looking back at her, a professional uptightness replacing his earlier sympathy. “Listen, I know the doctor hasn’t freed you to talk with me, but do you feel up to going over what happened?”

She pushed herself up, trying to ignore her aching body as she gathered her wits. Did she really want to relive what had happened? “I just want to forget.”

“Forgetting won’t get this man behind bars.”

She touched the tender area around her neck, remembered the feeling of the rope there. Was it even possible to forget? Probably not. She was going to have to face this head-on if she ever hoped to move past it. Her hands trembled as she placed them in her lap.

She glanced at the detective and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

THREE

M
adison’s fingers twisted the white blanket covering her. Her nails dug into the threads with enough force that the fabric separated and her fingertips scraped her legs. She twisted the blanket over and over as she tried to get a handle on her thoughts.

The detective stood at her bedside, his green eyes, framed with thick lashes, looking at her intently. Each muscle in his body looked rigid as he stood poised to take notes on what she told him. If not for the flash of compassion she saw in the depths of his gaze every once in a while, she might feel intimidated.

She had to get this over with. Share her story, do her part, then pick up her son and try to resume normal life.

She’d learned how to make a new “normal” after her husband had died. She knew she could do it again. She had to. With Lincoln, she didn’t have much choice. Sitting around and feeling sorry for herself wasn’t an option if she wanted her son to have a happy childhood.

“Ma’am?” The detective’s voice sounded soft but urgent.

Her gaze met the detective’s again. She licked her lips and nodded, forcing herself to relax her hand against the blanket. “Sorry. I don’t know where to start.”

“Not to sound like I’m speaking in clichés, but just start at the beginning.”

“The beginning.” She sucked in a deep breath and noted that even her lungs ached for some reason. “I guess it all started when I walked in from dropping my son off at preschool. As soon as I stepped inside my house I heard something ticking.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like a bomb?”

She shook her head and immediately regretted it as the room began spinning again. She closed her eyes until regaining her equilibrium. “It was one of those little plastic timers people use in the kitchen. Not the digital kind…the old-fashioned kind. I thought my son had left it on. I found the timer in the bathroom, turned it off and tossed it in a drawer. After my shower, I heard it ticking again. When I went into the bathroom to turn it off, I spotted a man waiting for me.” She pulled in a shaky breath, but the air didn’t fill her lungs. She sucked in more breaths as fear threatened to overtake her.

“You okay?”

The image of the man hiding in her shower flashed into her mind and her body began trembling uncontrollably. Trying to stop the tremors was useless, so she pushed forward, knowing she had no other choice. “He put a knife to my throat. Before I could even react, he injected something into my arm. I got drowsy right away.” She rubbed her arm, her fingers still shaking. She could still feel the sting of the needle and the burn of the injection.

Detective Philips placed his hand over hers, bringing her back to reality. The jolt of electricity she felt at his touch shocked her, and she drew back.

His hand moved to the bed railing. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can get the doctor in here.”

“I’m fine. It…it just seems surreal.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He told me to go into my office. I did. At my desk, he dictated a note to me. Said he’d kill me and my son if I didn’t write it. So I did.”

“Did he recite the note as if he’d rehearsed it? Or did he wing it?”

She closed her eyes, everything still so vivid. “He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and read it to me. He was very precise on what I should say. I couldn’t miss a word.”

“What happened next?”

“As soon as I signed my name to the note, he dragged me into my bedroom, reached under my bed and pulled out a rope. He must have planted the noose there when I was out.” She shuddered at the thought of someone watching her house, knowing her routine and using it to plan his crime.

“You’re doing great, Madison.”

His encouragement gave her the strength to keep going when she’d like nothing more than to stop. The next few minutes had been horrific. She’d been certain her life would end. “He made me tie the rope to the fan. He already had it looped up. Everything was planned and ready…” Her voiced cracked.

“Do you need to take a break?”

“No. I just want to finish.” Her throat suddenly felt dry. The emotions from the event rushed back to her, but she fought them. “I realized he was going to kill me,” she croaked out. “Whatever he injected into me made me feel like with each movement I made I was swimming through gelatin. I kept thinking of Lincoln.” Her voice caught and she grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes.

“He seems like a great boy.”

She nodded. “Yes, he is. I knew I had to fight this man, that once I had that rope around my neck my chances of surviving would diminish. I elbowed the man in the nose. He threw me into my dresser. I hit my head and everything really started to spin.”

“It was obvious you put up a good fight. You probably didn’t stand a chance since he drugged you.”

“What did he give me?” she asked.

“We’re still doing a tox screen now. We’ll know soon.”

She sucked in a breath, wanting to block out the memories, but knowing she couldn’t. The sound of the man’s voice, the feel of his gloved hands grabbing her wrists, the image of his glistening knife all flashed back.

“I didn’t have much energy after that. He grabbed me, wrapped the noose around my neck and put that stool under me just to taunt me. My feet could barely touch it, just enough to suck in a breath every once in a while. Plus the drugs were knocking me out. It was just a matter of time. I knew I was dead.”

“What did the man do next?”

“I heard a crash from the front of the house. It must have been you. The man ran to the bathroom. Must have jumped out the window.” She wiped the tears from her eyes again. “Have I said thank you enough?”

“I’m glad I was jogging when I was.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“No one’s ever said that God sent me before. Usually the opposite.” He smiled mischievously.

“I don’t know about that.”

His smile disappeared. “Madison, think about this carefully. When the man ran, did he look panicked?”

She thought about it a moment. “Not really. He seemed relatively calm. Of course, I was fighting for my life, so I wasn’t paying as much attention to him at that point. Is that really important, detective?”

“It gives me insight into the man’s mindset. Every detail helps.” Brody met her eyes. “You have no idea who this man was, do you? No enemies or anyone who would want to harm you?”

She shook her head. “No, not that I know of.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot. “Tell me about this timer.”

“There’s not much to say about it. My attacker seemed to be taunting me with it. At first I assumed the ticking was coming from one of my son’s toys or that Lincoln had been playing with the timer and left it on. I knew deep down when I heard the ticking the second time that something was wrong.”

Brody started to ask another question when the doctor burst into the room. “Detective, I don’t recall giving you permission to come in here.” The doctor scowled at Brody as he walked briskly to Madison’s bedside.

“I dropped something and he came in to help,” Madison jumped in, feeling a strange need to defend the man who, up until today, had seemed opposed to even giving a neighborly hello. “He did nothing wrong.”

The doctor didn’t look convinced as he stared at Brody through his wire-framed glasses and tapped his finger impatiently against a clipboard. “I need a moment to examine my patient.”

Brody nodded and looked back at Madison. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch. And if you think of anything in the meantime…”

“I know where to find you.”

With another clipped nod, he left the room. Madison immediately missed his presence. Something about just having him in the room made her feel safer, as if everything would somehow work out. That same chill from earlier returned and she again faced the situation…alone.

* * *

Something about what Madison told him nagged at Brody. As he left her hospital room, he mentally replayed the conversation with her, trying to pinpoint whatever it was that seemed to be clamoring at him to take notice. Whatever it was remained on the edge of his rationing, taunting him.

Brody waited in the hospital hallway until a deputy showed up to guard the door to Madison’s room before he went home to shower and dress. Most likely the killer wouldn’t be foolish enough to come to the hospital and finish what he’d started, but Brody wanted to be safe. Until they had a profile of this man, he’d take every precaution necessary.

He needed to get to the station and talk to the sheriff, but first he needed to change out of his shorts and T-shirt. He gripped the steering wheel of his sedan as he turned off the highway and onto a more rural road leading toward his home. The glaring sun, unhindered by his visor, only further served to agitate him. What was it about Madison’s story that nagged at him?

As he pulled into his driveway, he saw that the emergency crew was gone from Madison’s. Looking at her home now, one would never have guessed the tragedy that had almost transpired there. Inside would certainly be a different story. He intended on reviewing the evidence inside her home himself after he checked in with the sheriff.

He quickly showered and changed into khakis and a blue, button-up shirt. Twenty minutes later he arrived at the neat, two-story station, his car crunching the gravel in the parking lot. As he looked at the brick-fronted building, he shook his head. What a change this place was compared to the precinct he worked at in Brooklyn.

“The sheriff in yet?” he asked Miranda, the deputy working the front desk.

She glanced up over the red frames perched on her nose. “Not yet. They’re finishing up that accident on the highway. Should be back anytime now.”