Simon Says Die (3 page)

“Even Italy is only a phone call away. He would have helped, and you know it.”

“You're right. He would have helped. But Logan's version of help would have been to cut his honeymoon short and come here. I couldn't let him do that.”

“Give your brother some credit. He thought you were in some kind of trouble this morning, and he didn't cut his honeymoon short. He called
me
. And he made me swear to help you. You're not getting off the hook by denying what we both know. You're in the middle of some kind of trouble. And until you tell me what that is, I'm sticking around so I can keep you from getting hurt.”

She jumped to her feet. “Logan shouldn't have called you. I can take care of myself.”

He eased off the bench and stood, towering over her. “Right,” he snapped, “that's why you almost got shot this morning, because you can take such good care of yourself. You need help, but as usual, you're too stubborn to admit it. Tell me who the shooter was.”

She shoved her hair back behind her ears. “I don't know.”

His face tightened. “Yes, you do.”

“You think I'm lying?”

“I
know
you are.”

Why couldn't he just let this go?

She took a step back and darted a glance toward the front gates. Her convertible was parked just outside the entrance. Could she reach it before he caught up to her? He was wounded, which should slow him down. If she surprised him, he might not react fast enough. She felt in her pocket for the clicker to unlock her car.

“Who's the shooter?” he demanded again.

“I told you, I don't know.”

“The hell you don't.”

She took another step back.

He closed the distance between them and gripped her shoulders. “You don't have a head start this time. You wouldn't even make it to the gate. Who's the shooter? I'm not going to ask again.”

She tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but gave up when his hands tightened on her shoulders. She stomped her foot in frustration. “Why would I lie about knowing who the shooter was?”

“Good question. Why would you? You're an intelligent woman,
Mads
. If you saw a stranger watching your house, you'd call the police, no matter what B.S. they'd said about arresting you.”

Mads.
What a ridiculous nickname. At least when her brother called her “trouble,” that made sense. Pierce was the only one who'd ever called her Mads. It was silly. It wasn't even cute.

And every time he called her that, it made her go all melty inside.

She took a deep breath and tried again. “
You
might not think the police would have really arrested me if I'd called them, but I do. That's why I didn't call.” The excuse sounded weak, but it was all she could think of with over six feet of angry male glaring down at her.

“You chased after that man instead of calling the police,” he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, “because you knew who he was and didn't want the police to know. But you underestimated him, thinking you could catch up to him and confront him, not realizing he was armed.”

Good grief. The man was like a hound after a fox, which didn't bode well for the fox.

“What does the gunman have on you?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked, her voice rising with panic.

The disbelief on his face was far more damning than any accusation he could have spoken. For several minutes the tension stretched out between them. Then he shook his head and released her arms. He scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw.

Madison slumped with relief, only to stiffen again when Pierce pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. Unease crept up her spine.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He pressed one of his saved contacts and showed her the face that appeared on the screen.

Logan.

She gasped and tried to grab the phone.

He held it up, out of her reach.

“Don't do this,” she said. “He's probably asleep. It's like”—she waved her hands in the air—“three or four in the morning in Italy right now.”

He held the phone to his ear. “One ring.”

“He's your best friend. How can you ruin his honeymoon?” She dug her nails into her palms. If Logan knew what was really going on, he'd feel it was his duty to help her, to fix things. It was too late to fix things. If he even suspected what she thought was going on, and that she was determined to take care of this on her own, he'd try to stop her. She couldn't let that happen.

“Two rings.”

“That man was just some crazy vagrant, a homeless guy.” She shoved her hair behind her ears. “I'm sure he won't be back.”

“A homeless guy, with brand-new sneakers, and an expensive Sig Sauer 9mm pistol.” Pierce shook his head. “Nope. Not buying it. Three rings.”

What was she supposed to do? She couldn't tell him the truth. But she couldn't let him involve her brother either. “Hang up the phone.”

“Four rings.”

Panic flooded through her. She'd have to tell him who the shooter was. She'd just have to figure out later how to keep him from figuring out the rest. “Fine, you win. I'll tell you who he is. Hang up.”

“Not without a name.”

She heard the sound of a voice coming from the phone—Logan's voice.

“Hey, man,” Pierce said into the phone. “Sorry to wake you, but I knew you were worried about your sister. I checked on her like you asked.”

Madison shoved Pierce's arm, pushing the phone away from his mouth. She reached her arms up behind his neck and tugged him down so she could put her mouth next to his ear. She whispered a vile name she'd hoped never to pass her lips again.

His eyes widened. He stared down at her and slowly put the phone back to his ear. “No. Everything is fine. I just wanted to let you know she's okay. Kiss Amanda for me. Gotta go.” He ended the call and lowered his phone. “Tell me again.”

“You heard me. The man who shot you is Damon . . . Damon McKinley. My dead husband.”

 

Chapter Three

M
ADISON SAT IN
the passenger seat of Pierce's vintage, dark blue muscle car, methodically considering different ways to torture him. She shoved at the handcuffs he'd snapped on her wrists at the cemetery, before carting her off like a prisoner. The man was determined to keep her with him—with, or without, her consent.

By the time Pierce pulled into his garage, in a cookie-cutter subdivision Madison would never have pictured him in, Madison had gone from furious to seething.

Pierce opened the passenger door and squatted in the opening to unlock the cuffs.

“Behave,” he warned, as he took them off. He twisted away just in time to avoid her fist.

She rubbed her wrists and climbed out of the car, ready to give him hell. But her anger drained away when she saw the bloodstains on his white shirt.

“You're bleeding.” She stepped toward him, her hands outstretched.

He jerked away. “Uh-uh. After hearing your plans for vengeance the whole ride here, I'm not letting you get that close.”

“I didn't think you were listening.”

“You were hard to ignore.”

“You want to bleed to death, fine. Your choice.” She turned around and leaned into the back seat to grab her purse. She let out a surprised yelp when he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her out of the car.

“Leave it. You can get it later.” He unlocked the door between the garage and the house, flipped on a light, then stepped back to allow her to precede him. “After you.”

“You're just afraid I'll shoot you.” He'd taken her Colt .380 out of her jacket pocket at the cemetery and had tossed it into the back seat, along with her purse.

“You're right. Getting shot twice in one day is not something I want to add to my list of pathetic experiences.”

She paused. “Pathetic?”

“Never mind.”

She moved past him through the kitchen, which was open to the family room beyond. She stopped beside a white leather couch, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the less-than-inspired neutral color palate.

“Either come with me into the bedroom while I change my shirt, or keep talking so I know you aren't running off.” Pierce disappeared through a set of double doors beside the fireplace.

Heat spiked through Madison at the idea of following him into the bedroom. He'd always been able to set her blood on fire with the slightest touch, the brush of his lips against the curve of her neck, the stroke of his warm hand across her hip. She moved away from the doors, away from temptation.

Even if her past didn't stand between them, there was a far bigger barrier to overcome.

His fiancée.

The idea of him with another woman was like a bucket of ice water, washing over her heated skin.

“Why shouldn't I run?” she taunted, still angry about being handcuffed, and angry that he was trying to force her to let him help her.

“Because I'd have to catch you again, and that would really piss me off. I'm already late for a meeting.” His voice was muffled, as if he were in a closet.

She ran her fingers across the cold glass top of the brass coffee table, with its vulgar display of flea-market-quality statues. The man she remembered had favored antiques, like the car he drove. Simple lines, nothing fancy, or gaudy.

The paintings on the walls displayed a nauseating lack of talent. She could have painted something better back in her high school art class. Pierce was strong, solid, reliable, and sexy as hell. This house didn't reflect any of that.

His fiancée must be the one with the tacky decorating taste.

She turned away from the offensive paintings and started in surprise.

The same young woman he'd brought to her brother's wedding stood in the entryway just inside the front door. Her long, red hair hung down in luxurious waves across her pale shoulders. She raised a perfectly plucked brow and started toward Madison, her high heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Pierce.” Madison raised her voice to make sure he would hear her. “You've got company.”

The woman stopped in front of her and crossed her arms over her ample chest.

The sinking feeling in Madison's stomach told her who the woman was even before Pierce stepped out of the bedroom.

The lousy decorator.

His fiancée.

“I'm not
company
, darling. I live here,” she purred, her green eyes riveted on Madison before they flashed to Pierce. “What's she doing here?”

Madison stiffened and gritted her teeth in the closest semblance of a smile that she could manage. “I'm here to take you to the shooting range,
darling
.”

Pierce gave Madison a warning look before turning his attention to the redhead. “Tessa, why are you here? You're supposed to be . . .” He glanced at Madison before looking back at the other woman. “You had an appointment.”

“We
both
had an appointment. I called, but you didn't answer your cell.” Her long-lashed eyes zeroed in on Madison. “I guess I know why.”

“We need to talk.” He grabbed her hand and anchored her beside him.

Madison stepped away, not wanting to get any more involved in this dispute than she already was.

Pierce pointed at her. “Wait right there. Do
not
make me chase you again.”

“Again?” Tessa exclaimed. “What is going on?”

Miserable, and more uncomfortable than she could ever remember being, Madison inched farther away from the unhappy couple. Pierce pulled Tessa into the bedroom and closed the double doors.

Determined not to dwell on the image of Pierce shut in the bedroom with that
cover model
, Madison turned away. She froze when she noticed what she'd missed when she'd first entered the room.

Photographs, dozens of them, tucked into the bookshelf, sitting on an end table. Pictures of Pierce with his long-legged fiancée. Pictures of them at dinner in a fancy restaurant. Pictures of them laughing with another couple, cooking steaks on a grill.

Kissing.

Pain knifed through Madison, stealing her breath. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She'd given him up, afraid to trust feelings that had happened too fast and burned too hot, desperately afraid she was making the same mistake she'd made with her former husband.

But instead of fading in time, those feelings were stronger today than they'd ever been. And right now it was killing her seeing him with someone else. She had to get out of this torture chamber. But she didn't want to run out the door and make him think she was running away again.

Retreating to the hallway on the opposite side of the family room, she occupied herself exploring the two bedrooms. Other than the subpar decorating, they looked like any other guest rooms—except that one of the rooms had a closet full of men's clothes.

She ran her fingers over the smooth, cool fabric of a light blue shirt. The faint smell of soap and cologne teased her senses. She couldn't resist pulling the shirt close, and breathing deeply. There was no mistaking whose clothes these were. They belonged to Pierce.

Was Tessa such a clotheshorse that she couldn't give him enough space in the master closet? Madison moved to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room and reached for the handle on the top drawer.

“Looking for something?”

She straightened at the sound of a woman's voice, Tessa's voice. She was standing in the doorway, one of her pale, slender arms angled behind her, while her other hand tapped impatiently on her tight emerald-green skirt.

Madison glanced past her.

“He's not here,” Tessa said. “He had an important meeting.”

“He left me here? With you?” She didn't bother to hide her surprise, or her relief. Leaving her with “pretty face” meant she was no longer Pierce's prisoner. Madison didn't care that the woman was several inches taller than her.
Most
people were taller than her, and she'd rarely met anyone she couldn't outfight—if it came to that. “Well, in that case, I'll go home now.”

“I don't think so.” Tessa pulled her other hand from behind her back, revealing the pistol she was holding. She aimed it toward the floor, gripping it with the confidence and poise of someone who knew how to handle a gun.

Madison's respect for her went up a notch.

“Pierce wants you to stay here until he gets back,” Tessa said. “He explained that you were . . . unhappy about being here. He also told me how sneaky you can be. If you give me any problems . . .” she shrugged, letting her unspoken threat hang in the air between them as she tapped her thigh with her gun.

Well, well, well. Pretty face had some backbone to go along with that gun. Madison nodded to let her know she wasn't going to try anything—yet.

Tessa stepped back to let her out of the bedroom.

When they reached the family room, Madison turned around, warily watching the other woman. “Now what?”

Tessa patted the couch. “Sit, watch TV, make yourself something to eat. I don't care what you do, as long as you don't try to leave. When you're ready to sleep, there are extra sheets and pillows in the hall closet.”

“Sleep? How long will Pierce be gone?”

Tessa sat on the far end of the couch, her actions so smooth and graceful it made Madison feel far older than her twenty-eight years.

“He should be back by morning,” Tessa said. “Until then, you and I get to enjoy each other's company.”

Madison nearly choked on the bile rising in her throat. Enjoyable was not a word she'd use to describe being forced to spend time with Pierce's fiancée. If she and “red” made it through the night without killing each other, it would be a miracle.

M
ADISON DECIDED TO
show Tessa some mercy. After all, where was the fun in yanking out all that salon-perfect hair when the woman was sprawled across the couch, in a dead sleep?

She didn't even move when Madison took her gun away and set it on the kitchen counter. And the gun wasn't even loaded.

Madison rolled her eyes in disgust and settled into the recliner across from sleeping beauty.
She
would certainly never threaten someone with an empty gun.

Neither would Pierce. Madison had always admired how competent he was, his quick reflexes, his skills as an investigator. He could handle himself in any situation. And he sure wouldn't fall asleep while guarding someone.

Tessa let out a loud snort.

Madison shook her head and closed her eyes. When would Pierce be back? Was he working a case? He was good at what he did for a living, one of the best, but she couldn't help but worry. After all, he was injured. His reflexes had to be off.

When the sun's first rays peeked through the window blinds, Madison was still wide awake. A few minutes later, a metallic screech sounded from the garage as the door began to raise, followed by the reassuring rumble of Pierce's GTO as he pulled inside.

Tessa jerked awake, blinking to focus. She lifted her empty gun hand and her eyes widened. She frantically patted down the couch.

Madison hid her smile and peeked out through her lashes, enjoying the other woman's frenzied panic. When she spotted the gun on the counter, she let out a string of curses and hurried into the kitchen, tucking the gun away just as Pierce stepped into the kitchen from the garage.

The sound of his deep voice as he spoke in muted tones to Tessa soothed Madison's worry. Her relief turned to annoyance as they continued to whisper to each other. She wished she could hear what they were saying. Then again, maybe it was a good thing she couldn't.

She tried to tune them out so she could catch a few minutes of sleep. She'd give Pierce hell later for leaving her with his snoring fiancée all night. And then, somehow, she'd convince him that she didn't really need his help.