Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (9 page)

“Thank you, Madrigal.” When she stands, we embrace. She’s so very dear to me. I hate to see her upset.

Once she leaves the room, I dial Steele’s number and give him a rundown of the doctor’s visit. “She’s taking all these antipsychotic drugs. No wonder she acts so differently from one day to the next. And I don’t know if it’s because she’s not taking all her medicine or because she is.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to get a third opinion,” he suggests.

“I’ll wait and see what Dr. Durham says before I do that. I feel I can trust her. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on Madison. There’s something else.” I gulp in air before I proceed. “Gramps burned my mother’s journals.”

He doesn’t respond right away; he’s probably as surprised as I am. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. Those journals were the last link to my beautiful mother, and now they’re gone. No sense getting upset about it, though. I’ll handle it, just like I’ve handled everything else. “When are you coming home?”

Chapter 13

Trenton

Home? It’s her home, not mine. I’d much prefer for her to move into my Crystal City apartment with me. We’d have privacy there, and I could enjoy her anytime I pleased without the fear of someone walking in on us. But that can’t happen. Not with everything that’s going on with Madison. Her sister needs the comfort of her home, the escape of horseback riding. So for now, I have no choice. If I want Madrigal in my life, I must live at her estate. Problem is there’s always someone watching us. The servants, Olivia, the operatives from Stone Security. We need a weekend away from everyone, but that’s not happening anytime soon.

There is an upside to living at the mansion, however. It’s the place where Holden was killed, so I’ll be able to search the premises and question the servants.

Yesterday, I decided to open up my own firm. It’s a risk, but one I’m willing to take. For some time, I’d been dissatisfied with choices made by Gardiner, Ashburn & Strickland as well as the direction of the management committee. I have enough of a reputation in this town to draw in high-profile clients who pay well. So, yes, it’s time to start my own practice. Having made that decision, I’ve gotten the ball rolling, and the first step is to find office space.

I glance at my watch. “I have a three o’clock appointment with a Crystal City Realtor to go over my space requirements. That should take a couple of hours. I’ll head home after that.”

“So seven?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll hold dinner until you get home then.”

“Okay.” I can’t help but smile. Nobody’s held dinner for me. Ever. After my mother walked out on us, abandoning Reece and me to our abusive father, I was the one in charge of preparing dinner. Half the time my father forgot to go grocery shopping, preferring to spend his money on booze. Many days all that remained in the cupboards were a couple of cans of soup. My brother and I would pay the price for that. I tried to take the beatings so my younger brother wouldn’t suffer, but more often than not, the bastard knew what I was up to and would go after him. We got whipped with his belt and punched with his fists at least twice a week until the time I turned eight, when Social Services finally wised up and took us away from him. The bastard died a few years after that from liver failure. Didn’t shed one tear for the son of a bitch, not after all the pain he caused.

The Crystal City Realtor is smart and knowledgeable about the real estate market. She spends half an hour asking about my requirements and expectations. After crunching the numbers, she determines I’ll need at least five thousand square feet. At a rate of $36 per square foot, the yearly lease would come to $180,000. That seems like a lot, so we settle on three thousand square feet, which would make the rent a much more reasonable $100,000 a year. That would provide enough space for a couple of partners besides me, two associates, various staff members, plus room for the common areas.

The buildings she suggests have plenty of square footage to expand. So we could relocate within the same address to slightly larger spaces if the need arises. I want to set up the office as soon as possible and have Charlie establish the evidence room. I agree to inspect her prospective sites on Friday.

The drive to Loudoun County and Madrigal’s home is hellish as usual. With the traffic bumper to bumper on I-66, I move at a snail’s pace. They really need to convert the HOV lanes to express lanes. In the meantime, I’ll just have to deal with this insanity if I want Madrigal in my life. And I do.

My phone rings, so I push the button on my steering wheel to connect the call. “Trenton Steele.”

“Trenton, it’s Marcus Waverly.” A criminal law partner at Gardiner, Ashburn & Strickland.

“Marcus.” Maybe he’s calling to get some intel on a client I’ve handled.

“Thought I’d touch base with you.”

“What’s up?”

“A few of us from the criminal law group got together. After hours, of course.”

Interesting. “Of course.” Makes sense if they wanted to discuss something they didn’t want the rest of the firm to know about.

“We don’t like how you got railroaded out of the firm. Or the decisions Dick Slayton has made. He’s laid down some new rules that are rubbing people the wrong way and made his crony, Harry Shiner, the head of the criminal law practice.”

“Oh?” Harry Shiner is seventy years old. Although in his day he was quite an attorney, his faculties are not what they used to be. Not only that, he hasn’t stepped into a courtroom for the last ten years. The firm kept him on more out of respect for his seniority than anything else.

“A few of us are looking to jump ship. So I was asked to get in touch with you and see if you had plans to open your own office.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. Things must have really taken a turn for the worse at the firm. And in only a day or two.

“How soon can you cash out?” I ask.

“Two weeks for most of us.”

“Who exactly is us?”

He rattles off the names of two partners and three associates. That would make six attorneys who would need private offices, including me. We’d also require space for a receptionist, a couple of administrative assistants, and copy and lunchrooms, plus at least one conference area. Maybe I’ll need those five thousand square feet after all.

“There’s a paralegal who’d be interested as well if you can guarantee her health insurance and child care.”

“Of course. Monica?”

“Yes.” Her requirements don’t surprise me. Monica is a single mother with two school-age kids.

“I think we can work something out. I’m looking at space this Friday. But chances are we’ll have to rough it for a week or two.”

“Anything’s better than what’s going on here. The place is falling apart.”

“Let’s get together for dinner. My place in Crystal City on Friday night at seven?”

“I’ll let everyone know.”

“Thanks, Marcus. I’ll e-mail you the address.”

“We have it, Trenton.”

“See you Friday, then.”

I arrive home in time for dinner. Madrigal’s family tradition calls for cocktails, with a few nonalcoholic beverages for Madison, before the meal is served.

Madrigal takes one look at me and smiles. “Something’s made you happy.”

“Yes. You,” I say, taking her into my arms and dropping a kiss on her smiling mouth.

Her eyes sparkle at me. “Well, thank you. But I think it’s more than that.”

“I—”

Madison bounces into the room, interrupting me. “When’s dinner?”

“Seven. Say hello to Trenton, Maddy, please.”

“Hello,” Madison says over her shoulder as she heads for the drink cart and pours a glass of iced tea.

“Hi,” I say.

“So you were saying?” Madrigal asks, pulling me down onto one of the three sofas in the room.

I glance at Madison and back at Madrigal. “Later. I’ll tell you later.”

Madison freezes up, but then she says, “I can leave, if you have something private to say.”

“You don’t have to.”

“That would be good.”

Madrigal and I speak simultaneously.

“I’ll go grab a snack,” Madison says. “Excuse me.” She walks out, closing the door behind her.

Madrigal lets out a heavy breath. “You can’t make her feel unwelcome. She’s my sister. If you want me in your life, you have to make room for her as well.”

“I’m fine with her, but the nature of what I have to share with you is confidential. I don’t want it to leak out just yet.”

“Very well.” She folds her hands on her lap, which tells me she’s not entirely convinced by my argument. “What is it?”

I tell her about Marcus’s phone call, and the mulish look disappears from her face as she warms to the idea. “That’s great. Really great. And just like that you have your own law firm.”

“Well, it’s going to take more than office space and staff. We need clients too. But it’s a beginning.”

“My grandmother used to say that when a door closes, a window opens somewhere.”

“Holden’s wife?”

“Yes. She was a gentle Southern woman. Loved my mother. Loved me. She never got to meet Maddy, but she would have loved her as well.”

“I think you have a lot of her in you.” I’d read some of Madrigal’s grandmother’s journals in the sitting room. From the pages she’d written, I learned that she’d loved her volatile husband but often had to step in and smooth out Holden’s hard edges.

Just as I bend down to kiss her, Madison returns with a bowl in her hands. “You through talking?”

No, I want to say, but I don’t. I’ll have to make allowances for her popping up at inconvenient times. It’s her home, after all.

“Is that chocolate pudding?” Madrigal asks.

“Yes.” Madison curls a protective hand around the bowl. “You can’t have any.”

“I don’t want any, squirt. But it’s likely to ruin your appetite.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve saved plenty of room.” She pats her stomach. “Helga says dinner’s ready.” And with that she dances out of the room.

“She can be such a child at times,” Madrigal says.

I tweak her chin. “She’s a teenager, which means she’s a child one moment, an adult the next.”

The corners of her lips turn up. “How would you know?”

“I’ve heard enough people at work talk about them.” I stand and hold out my hand. “Let’s go have dinner.”

“Yes, let’s.”

During the meal, the give-and-take of the sisters and the cozy atmosphere provide me with a sense of peace. This is what it means to have a family. This is what it means to have a home. Maybe, just maybe, things with Madrigal will work out after all.

Chapter 14

Madrigal

“Please take a seat, Charlie. Would you like something to eat or drink?” On this scorching hot summer day, he’s been kind enough to travel to Leesburg to provide me with his report. At the beginning of his investigation into my parents’ murders, we’d met in Steele’s office. That, of course, is no longer an option. And to tell the truth, I’d rather conduct the investigation from my house. So I hope he’s amenable to dropping in now and then.

“Some lemonade or iced tea would be nice.”

Standing up, I smooth down my skirt. “Of course. Excuse me. I’ll go attend to it. In the meantime, make yourself at home.”

When I come back with a glass of iced tea and a plate of biscuits fresh from the oven, he’s studying one of the paintings on the wall. “That’s Mount Vernon.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Looks old.”

“It’s an original drawing. From 1757, I believe. Our ancestors were great friends with George Washington. Here you go, Charlie.” I place the tea and biscuits on a table within his reach. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s a nice drive. Pretty country out here. Lot of green space.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In DC. Lived there my whole life. Not too much green around where I grew up.” Trenton has gone to him time and again whenever he needs something or someone investigated. So I fully trust him to help me with the investigation into my parents’ murders.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the drive. So you say you have the file from Detective Collins?”

“Yes.” He reaches into his battered briefcase and hands it to me. “He kept his own notes on your parents’ case. Of course, it’s not as good as the official files. Photos are missing.”

“We have photos of the crime scene.”

“Steele told me.”

It occurs to me I could use his expertise with the photos. “Would you like to see them?”

“Of course.”

I stand and turn to leave, but before I do, a thought occurs to me. “Does Steele know about the file?”

“Yes.”

“And he asked you to let me know?”

“Not in so many words, no.”

“What words did he use, Charlie?”

“He thought it might be better to wait.”

“Until when?”

“I don’t know.” He takes a sip of the tea. “You might want to ask him.”

That bastard. He kept the file from me. The file from the detective who investigated my parents’ murders. Why? To protect me? I don’t want to be protected, damn it. I want to know the truth.

“Charlie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“From now on, you report only to me, not Steele.”

“You will have to clue him in on that fact, ma’am. He may have a different opinion about it.”

Right now, I don’t give a damn what Steele thinks. “I will. Please bill me, not him, and let me know how much he’s already paid you. I’ll need to reimburse him.”

“I thought you might want to know, so I prepared a summary.” He digs into his briefcase and comes up with a folder. Inside is a detailed list of his time and expenses.

“Thank you, Charlie. I’ll go get those photos. In the meantime, enjoy the tea and biscuits.”

His eyes light up. They say food’s the way to a man’s heart. I have a feeling Helga’s flaky biscuits are the way to his.

When I return with the photos, he says, “We’ll need to set up an evidence board where we can create a timeline and jot down any pertinent information about the case.”

“Where exactly can we find one?”

“Any office supply store should have them. Oh, and you’ll need pushpins, loose-leaf paper, and markers as well.”

After I write down everything he needs, I go on the hunt for Hans and ask him to buy the items from the Staples store in Leesburg.

On my return to the room, I discover he’s polished off the biscuits. I clamp down on my lips to keep a smile from breaking out. “Okay, that’s taken care of. While we wait for Hans to return, would you care for lunch? I believe Helga prepared barbecue chicken, potato salad, and some cantaloupe sherbet for dessert.”

Before I finish my recitation, he stands and eagerly follows me into the dining room. As soon as we’re seated at the table, Ms. Doesn’t-miss-a-meal-if-she-can-help-it shows up. Madison asks him a million questions about his experiences as a detective. By the end of the meal, the seasoned investigator and the budding reporter have struck up an odd friendship.

Charlie and I return to the evidence room to find Hans putting the boards together. “I bought three,” he says.

“Good.”

Charlie and I spend the rest of the afternoon taking apart Detective Collins’s file. An hour into it, we’ve drawn a pretty tight timeline as to the sequence of events. The break-in, when 911 was called, when the police arrived, plus the approximate times of my parents’ deaths. Detective Collins even went so far as to draw a map of everything in the room where my parents were found. We can get most of that information from the photos as well, but unfortunately some of the details are fuzzy.

“So my father was found shot in the stomach at the foot of the bed?” I fight to control my emotions, but even so, my voice trembles.

“Going by the blood that pooled beneath him, that’s a logical conclusion.”

“But my mother.” I struggle against rising nausea. “My mother did not die there.” She’d been found lying on the bed, sightless eyes staring up, a mass of wounds on her back, her stomach, her legs. Clearly, she’d been whipped.

“No. There’s no blood beneath her body. Given the extensive damage she suffered, there should have been, especially when her throat was slit.”

“Excuse me.” I take off running toward the closest bathroom and barely make it in time to spew my lunch. Barbecue and a murder investigation clearly do not mix. I head to my bedroom where I brush my teeth, gargle, and lie down for a couple of minutes until my stomach’s settled. And then I head back down to the evidence room.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie asks. His soft brown eyes glow with kindness.

I force out a laugh. “I’ve had better days.”

“Why don’t we stop for now and take this up again over the weekend?”

“That might be a good idea.” I don’t think I can continue today, not the way I feel. “Thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate everything you’re doing. See you Saturday?”

He nods. “What time?”

“Let’s say ten o’clock.”

“I’ll be here,” he says, standing up.

“I’ll have some of Helga’s biscuits waiting for you.”

His smile tells me he approves.

When Steele arrives home a half hour later, I want to ask him why he withheld the file from me, but in my current condition I’m simply not up to an argument.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

My pale complexion must have given me away. “Tummy trouble.”

“Oh?”

“I think my period’s coming.” It’s a few days off, but close enough for me to make that claim.

“Oh!” I expect him to change the subject, but he surprises me. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“A massage would be good.”

He points to the stairs. “Lead the way.”

After stripping, I hand him the massage oil I use on my legs. “Um, lavender-rose. Is this where your scent comes from?”

“Yes. I have several products with that fragrance.”

He folds his jacket over a chair and rolls up his shirtsleeves. The dark hair on his forearms gets my motor running. But before I spend too much time admiring him, he has me lie down on a towel, and his hands work their magic. The knots in my back disappear as he kneads my flesh.

“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask in a state of bliss.

“In college.”

“You sure were a busy boy in college, getting piercings and tats and learning how to massage.”

“The tattoo parlor where my friend worked? There was a massage parlor next door. I struck up a friendship with the owner. She taught me.”

“She?” Jealousy rears its ugly head, and I sit up. I can only imagine on whom he practiced.

He pushes me back on the bed so he can continue his task. Ignoring my obvious state of mind, he kneads the heck out of my right leg, and soon I’m in nirvana again.

“Sela was my first investor,” he says.

I turn my head to the side and look at him. “Investor?”

“I majored in business. With Mitch’s help, I spent the first two years in college learning about trading. Once I had the basics, I dipped my toes in the stock market. But with little money to play with, I couldn’t make much headway. I talked about it one night while Sela and I were—”

“Doing it.”

“Yes. Well. When Sela found out, she asked me to invest her savings. Within six months, I’d doubled that sum. So I started a small fund. Friends asked me to invest their extra beer money and then cashed out for spring break trips. As word spread, more serious money started pouring in. By the time I graduated, I was a millionaire several times over.”

“Whoa!” I sit up again. “How come I didn’t know that?”

“I don’t spread it around.”

“So why are you still working as an attorney?”

“Because I like what I do. I like making a difference in people’s lives.”

A knock sounds on the door. “Mad? Dinner’s on the table.” Madison. God forbid anything interferes with a meal. I have no idea where she puts it all.

“Okay, we’ll be right there,” I yell.

“Hurry. It’s chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes night.”

I groan. “No wonder I can’t lose any weight.”

“I like your curves.” He curls his hand around a breast, squeezes, and I melt.

But there’s no time for that. I jump out of bed, head for my closet, and pick out a fresh dress to wear. And with the tension rubbed out of me, I head down with Steele to the dining room.