Simon Says Die (6 page)

His eyes widened. “Part owner? Well, that's a new one. Come on. I'd like to see his face when you tell him that.”

Madison frowned at his retreating back, and followed him as he weaved his way through the tables to another door at the end of the hallway. He entered a large, cluttered office and ushered her inside. An older man was sitting behind the desk that took up a good portion of the room. Papers littered nearly every inch of the wooden surface. More papers were piled in stacks on the floor.

“Boss, this lady wants to talk to you, says she's part owner.”

MacGuffin looked just as surprised as the other man had. But his look of surprise smoothed into a smile as he held out his hand. “Joshua MacGuffin.”

She shook his hand. “Madison McKinley.”

The look on his face didn't change when he heard her last name. Madison took that as a bad sign.

“Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Close the door, please, Todd.” He smiled at the man in the doorway.

Todd didn't look happy to be left out of the discussion, but he didn't argue. He closed the door with a solid click.

Mr. MacGuffin leaned forward. “Well, now. Since I'm the sole owner of this establishment, I'd be very interested in knowing why you believe you have a stake in the place. I do hope someone hasn't rooked you out of some money, young lady.”

Madison was fairly certain how this would end, even before it began. But after being such a bad judge of character with Damon, she no longer trusted her instincts. So even though this man's kind face and gentle way of speaking reminded her of her father, and she sensed he was telling the truth, she plunged ahead with her questions.

“My husband, Damon, bought half of this restaurant for two hundred thousand dollars. I've got the paperwork right here.” She took a sheaf of papers out of her purse and placed it on the desk.

MacGuffin studied the contract, pushing his thick glasses up on his nose before turning the top page. He scratched his balding head, his lips moving as he read. When he looked up at her again, he was no longer smiling. He grabbed a piece of paper from one of the piles on his desk and set it down in front of her. “This is my signature here.” He pointed to the bottom of the paper, then flipped to the signature page on the contract she'd brought. “And this is supposedly my signature on your paper.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “I'm no handwriting expert, but—”

“They aren't the same.”

He smoothed his fingers across one of the pages. “What did you say your husband's name was?”

“Damon McKinley.”

“Can't say I've ever met him. Name doesn't sound familiar. But I'm sure my lawyer will be interested in meeting him.”

Madison pulled the sheaf of papers toward her. “Damon died in a car accident.”

Sympathy immediately flooded Mr. MacGuffin's eyes. “My sympathies, Mrs. McKinley. I hope you have some other means of income besides that alleged investment.”

She shoved the papers into her purse. “I didn't have any plans to liquidate his holdings in this restaurant in any case. But I can't understand why he'd go to such lengths to pretend that he'd invested in your restaurant, why he'd create a fake contract.”

“Two hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. Perhaps he needed a way to explain away some kind of loss. A gambling debt, something like that.”

“He never showed me this contract. I found it on my own. So it's not like he tried to use it to explain any losses to
me
.” She didn't tell him she'd found it by snooping through her husband's things. Instead, she let her statement hang in the air so that Mr. MacGuffin would assume she'd found it after her husband died.

“Forgive me, but did your husband engage in . . . illegal activities?”

She clutched her purse in her lap. “Not that I can prove. Although, I do admit that I suspected as much.”

He nodded. “Then it's entirely possible he planned to use that fake contract to try to take my restaurant from me. Perhaps he was going to approach my heirs someday, to place a lien against my estate. There are all kinds of schemes con artists use. Unfortunately, I've seen quite a few of them. This one, however, is new to me.”

He stared at her curiously. “You said you didn't plan to liquidate. If that's the case, may I ask why you're here?”

She considered lying, but she'd done far too much of that lately, and it was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “I have reason to believe my husband may have faked his death, and that he's in Savannah. I'm trying to track him down.”

“Oh dear.”

“I forgot to bring a picture of him with me.” She'd been in too much of a hurry to leave the house before Pierce caught up to her. “But if you've seen him, or if you see him in the future, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know.” She described him as she scribbled her name and cell phone number on a piece of scrap paper from her purse. She slid the paper across the desk. “He has distinctive, extremely light blue eyes, hard to forget.”

MacGuffin took the paper and slid it into his top drawer. “I don't interact with the customers much these days. I spend most of my time in the office doing the ridiculous amount of paperwork the government requires from small businesses.” He smiled ruefully. “I can't say that I've seen him, but I'll have Todd put the word out with the staff.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I hope I can help, as long as you don't plan to try to take half my business with those fake documents of course.”

The hint of steel underlying his tone surprised her. He was obviously more suspicious of her motives than she'd realized. She pulled the contract back out of her purse. She held the pages in the air and tore them in half before setting them on the desk.

“Does that satisfy you, Mr. MacGuffin?”

“Almost.” He picked up the torn pages, swiveled in his seat, and Madison heard the unmistakable sound of a paper shredder in action. Mr. MacGuffin turned back around. “Now I'm satisfied.”

 

Chapter Six

T
HREE HOURS LATER
Madison was suffering from a chronic case of déjà vu. She hopped off the trolley, giving the driver the bribe she'd promised him so that he'd let her on board without a ticket and drop her off in front of a bed-and-breakfast that wasn't on his tour route.

Damon had supposedly sunk fifty thousand into this particular investment, but Madison expected that was as much a lie as the five other places she'd visited today. Everyone she'd spoken to told her the same story. They didn't know who Damon was and the papers she had were fake.

Some of them, like Mr. MacGuffin, had been polite, even concerned about her. Others had been outright hostile. She had business cards from two lawyers in her purse, and the verbal threats to go along with them.

She went inside the bed-and-breakfast. Twenty minutes later, with the bed-and-breakfast just as much a bust as she'd expected, she stepped outside and marked it off her list. She shoved the list in her purse, then looked up, directly into Pierce Buchanan's dark eyes.

His Pontiac GTO was parked on the curb. He was leaning back against the door, his arms crossed and his long legs stretched out in front of him. For a moment it was as if the past few months had never happened. She remembered their first couple of dates in the Panhandle, when he was still helping her brother wrap up the loose ends of the case they'd solved together. After the third or fourth date, she'd decided not to see him anymore. Everything was too good, too perfect, which scared her. She'd gone her own way, but that had only lasted a few weeks.

She'd missed him, was desperate to see him again. She'd gone to Jacksonville, and he'd welcomed her with open arms. They'd spent evenings going to the beach, or floating down the St. Johns River on a boat they rented for the day, watching barges go by on their way to the port.

Everything had been so wonderful, until a jewelry store called while he was at work and left a message on the answering machine. The engagement ring he'd ordered was ready to be picked up. The walls had begun to close in on her. The thought of getting married again made her sick with fear, and she could barely catch her breath.

When he came home, she'd told him a cruel lie, because she didn't want him wasting his life hoping she'd change her mind and come back. She'd told him the one thing that she knew would make him let her go: “I don't love you. I'm ready to move on.”

Madison ruthlessly pushed the past out of her mind. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

He straightened and opened the passenger door. “That was the last place on your list, right? Let's grab a late lunch, my treat.”

She put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, that's the last place on my list?”

“You mark a name off that piece of paper every time you come out of a building. It looked like this bed-and-breakfast was at the bottom of the piece of paper, so I thought you were done for the day.”

“What list?” she repeated. Had he actually followed her today, and she hadn't known? That thought had her both irritated and alarmed. If
he
could follow her so easily, who else could? She glanced around, rubbing the arms of her coat as she searched for a familiar silhouette in the shadows.

Damon.

“The list you shoved into your purse,” Pierce answered.

She looked back at him and crossed her arms. “You've been following me all day?”

“Technically, no. Another agent followed you until I could wrap up a few loose ends.
Then
I followed you.”

Her face flushed, and she whirled around. She strode past his open car door and headed down the sidewalk.

“Coward.” His insult echoed up the block.

She stiffened but kept walking.

The sound of a powerful engine revving up spurred her to walk faster. Pierce's GTO whipped into a parking spot on the curb ahead. As he got out of his car, she hurried around the corner onto Congress Street.

She heard his footsteps right before his arm clamped around her shoulders. He pulled her to a halt, facing the building in front of them.

“Molly MacPherson's Scottish Pub and Grill.” He read the sign over the door. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but it'll work. Let's get a beer, Mads.” He anchored her against his side, in spite of her attempts to pull away.

She raised her elbow, bluffing, because she would never really hit him in his bruised ribs.

He grabbed her arm. “Do it, and I'll have you locked up for assaulting a federal officer. Don't think I won't.”

She tried to twist away, irritated that he'd believed her bluff so easily. This time he let her go.

“This is twice you've kidnapped me. Isn't that a felony or something?”

His face tightened into angry lines. “You and I are going to talk. We can do it here, or at the police station. I'm sure I can convince Lieutenant Hamilton to arrest you for something.” He cocked a brow. “Like carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.”

Madison sucked in a breath and moved her purse to her other side, away from him.

The hostess approached them and asked about their seating preference.

Madison tamped down her irritation and smiled. “A booth please.”

“Away from everyone else,” Pierce added.

The hostess nodded, grabbed napkin-wrapped silverware and some menus, and led the way toward the back corner of the restaurant.

Molly MacPherson's wasn't the kind of place Madison would normally pay more than a passing glance. She preferred smaller places with local flavor, without all the tourists. Judging by the Savannah T-shirts most of the diners were wearing, and the shopping bags cluttering the floor beneath their tables, just about everyone in this place was a tourist. The folk music piping out of the speakers was also a bit loud, but the beat gave the place a happy atmosphere, and she could feel her mood lifting already.

When she passed a kilt-wearing waiter, she couldn't help but be intrigued. Wasn't there a rumor about what men wore beneath their kilts—or rather—what they
didn't
wear? The waiter, noticing her interest, gave her a playful leer and a wink. Madison grinned, winked back, and stopped to ask about his kilt.

As if guessing her intent, Pierce shook his head and grabbed her around the waist, steering her to their booth.

Madison frowned at him, her mood sinking again as she slid into the seat with the wall at her back. She glanced toward the entrance, reassuring herself that Damon wasn't standing there. She had no reason to believe he'd followed her today, but if an FBI agent had followed without her knowing, anything was possible.

Instead of sitting on the other side of the table, Pierce slid in next to her. Since he didn't seem to be watching the door like her, she assumed he just wanted to be able to discuss Damon without anyone overhearing them. She also noticed he sat with his injured ribs facing away from her as if he still didn't trust her. She blew out a frustrated breath.

Her mood soured even further, until she began to notice how warm and cozy it was sitting close to him. This wasn't the first time they'd sat beside each other in a booth. When they'd gone out to restaurants together in the past, they'd often sit next to each other instead of across from each other, so they could hold hands beneath the table, or exchange a more intimate touch—a kiss on the nape of her neck, the brush of his breath against her ear, her hand on his thigh.

She shivered at the memory. Pierce glanced at her in question, and she looked away.

The waitress arrived and took their drink orders. They sat in silence until their drinks arrived, along with an order of potato scones the waitress had recommended.

Madison took a bite of one of the scones, but she barely tasted the almonds and raspberry preserves. She kept trying to close her mind to the memories that swirled around her, so she could focus on whatever questions he might ask her, but sitting this close to him was playing havoc with her concentration.

It was all she could do not to bury her nose in his shoulder and breathe in that intoxicating blend of soap and cologne that she always associated with him. She didn't realize how much she'd missed him, or how much she cared about him until she'd seen him jump in front of a bullet for her.

She drew a shaky breath.

In spite of his earlier quip about getting a beer, Pierce had ordered water. He took a sip and turned slightly toward her as if he were about to ask her something.

Madison took another bite.

“You can stall all you want,” he said. “I'm not going anywhere until we talk.”

The scone sat like sand in her throat. She chased it down with a generous sip of Diet Coke and shoved the plate away. “There's really no need for another inquisition. As you can see, no one took any shots at me today. No one followed me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, except for the FBI. Other than that, no one followed me.” She couldn't help glancing at the door again. But she realized that was a mistake when he looked toward the door too. The frown on his face when he looked back at her told her he knew exactly why she'd looked toward the entrance.

“I'm still a little jittery from yesterday,” she said in explanation. “And tired. But other than that, I'm fine. You have no further obligations to my brother. You can go back to Tammy and forget all about me.”

He sighed heavily. “
Tessa
. Her name is Tessa. And we shared that house for undercover work.”

Jealousy slammed into her so hard her eyesight blurred. “How much
undercover
work did you two do?”

He rolled his eyes and ignored her question. “Speaking of houses, it's too dangerous for you to stay in yours. Until we know whether the gunman is coming back or not, you need to stay somewhere else.”

She clutched the edge of the table so hard she was surprised the wood didn't crack. She wasn't about to let another man order her around. She rested her hand on Pierce's thigh beneath the table and batted her lashes as she leaned against him. “You don't think Terry will mind if I stay with you two, do you?”

He glanced down where her breast was pressed against his arm, before he met her gaze. “Careful, Mads. I'm more than capable of finishing anything you start.”

The waitress stopped to see if they were ready to order.

Madison flashed her teeth in a false smile and rubbed her hand up the front of Pierce's shirt. “I'm not hungry anymore,
darling
,” she said, mimicking the tone and endearment she'd heard Tessa use.

Pierce captured her hand in his and gifted the waitress with one of his sexy smiles. He put his other arm around Madison's shoulders and hauled her up against his side. “Please ignore my bride's poor manners. She's just ticked that I dragged her out of bed. I told her we have to keep up our strength.” He winked and the waitress blushed fire red.

Madison kept her smile in place while she ground the heel of her sneaker into the top of his shoe. His pained grimace was extremely satisfying.

“We had to leave the room anyway,” she said, in the same sexy, flirty tone he'd just used. “We had to get some more of those little blue pills.” She cupped her hand conspiratorially. “You know, for his little . . . problem.”

The waitress blinked like an owl and her mouth fell open.

Pierce slid his hand down the side of Madison's arm.

And pinched her.

She let out a yelp and jerked away from his hand, throwing herself against his side.

“Whoa, honey,” he said. “Let's save that for the motel. And don't you worry. I brought plenty of batteries to power those toys you love so much.” He winked at her gasp of outrage.

Madison ducked under his arm and sprang from the booth, leaving him to settle the bill. She stalked outside and marched down the sidewalk, her face so hot she barely noticed the cold air. When he fell into step beside her a few moments later, she stopped and faced him with her hands on her hips. “Batteries? Toys?”

“Blue pills? My little problem? Did you think I would let something like that go?”

“You deserved it after that comment about dragging me out of bed.”

He let out a short laugh, without a trace of humor. “You started this, hanging all over me back there. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous.”

“Ha, jealous? Of who?”

“Oh, let me see. Theresa, Terry, or was it Tammy?”

She turned around, but he stepped right back in front of her. She tried to take a step back, but he grasped her shoulders and held her in a firm grip.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not until you answer me.”

“I don't remember you asking a question.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of . . .” her voice trailed off. She was about to make up another “T” name but she didn't want to give him more ammunition. “Why would I be jealous of Tessa?”

He frowned. “Good question. Why would you? May I remind you, you were the dump
er
. I was the dump
ee
.”

She poked him in the stomach, careful to avoid his ribs. “I did
not
dump you. It was just . . . over. We were finished with each other.”

He grabbed her hand in his, his blazing eyes inches from hers. “
You
might have been finished, baby, but
I
was only getting started.”

She didn't know who moved first, but suddenly they were in each other's arms. She tugged him against the wall of the building beside them, and kissed him back as fiercely as he was kissing her.

It had been so long, too long, since she'd felt this way. Heat coiled deep inside her, and she wiggled her hips, cuddling against him. She slid her fingers into the waistband of his pants, trying to free his shirt so she could feel his skin against hers.