The Rebel's Return (8 page)

Why was she still here? Why hadn't she deserted him, run off and left him high and dry the way she'd done when they'd been sixteen and he'd gotten them into trouble? What the hell did Maddie want with a guy who couldn't cause her anything but misery?

When he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder, he jerked around and glared at her. Damn, he wished
she'd stop looking at him that way. As if she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and kiss away his blues.

Don't do it, he told himself. Don't take what she's offering. Don't use her to get through these next few hours. She deserves better.

Unable to resist, he surrendered to his baser instincts, pulled Maddie into his arms and kissed her with a savage, uncontrollable hunger that made her shudder. He wanted to absorb her into him, take her comfort and concern and wrap himself it in, cocoon himself from reality with her sweet body. She opened up to him, totally giving, allowing him to possess her almost brutally. He wanted her. Here and now. In the backyard, in the cool darkness. As he ended the kiss, he pressed his cheek against hers, then cupped her buttocks with his hands and lifted her up and into his erection.

“Don't you see how it is with me?” he moaned against her ear. “I don't play by the rules. That's why I'm so successful. Hang around, honey, and I'll make you sorry that you ever knew me.”

“Dylan, please…”

He grabbed her shoulders, stared at her beautiful face, softly visible by moonlight, and centered his gaze on her trusting blue eyes. “Get the hell away from me. For your own self-preservation.” He shoved her away.

Maddie staggered momentarily, but managed to bal
ance herself. “Dylan Bridges, you are the most aggravating man I've ever known. What's wrong with you that you can't accept a little human comfort and a genuine offer of help?”

“Why do you want to help me? You don't have a dog in this race, Red, so why stick around?”

“Oh!” Maddie growled the word. “You numb-skull! I happen to like you. I liked you when we were kids and I like you now. And I respected Judge Bridges a great deal. Isn't that reason enough?” She paused, but he didn't respond. “If it isn't, then consider this—your father was murdered at the country club, during a party that I planned and executed. So you could say that the judge was killed on my territory, on my watch, and I'd like to help you in any way I can. And that help even includes assisting you in your search for your father's killer.”

“Are you offering to help me play amateur sleuth?” Shaking his head, he snorted. “Spoiled, pampered Maddie Delarue would actually get her hands dirty playing detective?”

“If you think your insults will scare me off, then think again,” she told him. “I know what you're trying to do and it won't work.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You want to make me so angry I'll leave you alone. Isn't that it? In the past, everyone in your life deserted you when you needed them most. First your mother died just as you were changing from a boy
into a young man, then I didn't stand by you when you got arrested for stealing that car, and after that your father didn't do anything to help keep you out of boys' reform school. Have there been others who have disappointed you, too?”

Dylan didn't speak, only stood there staring at her. The silence between them grew louder and louder with each passing moment.

“I'll stand beside you this time, Dylan, if you'll give me the chance.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay. Fine with me. If you want to help me, want to play Nora to my Nick Charles, then I'll see you tomorrow—make that later today—and we can decide where to start.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek and said, “I'm very sorry about your dad.”

Maddie turned and walked away, through the back gate and around the house. Dylan stood in that one spot until she was out of sight, then he inhaled and exhaled deeply. After a few minutes of useless pondering about his feelings for Maddie, he went over and sat down on the porch steps.

I'll stand by you this time, Dylan. Her words repeated themselves over and over in his mind. He wanted to believe her, but did he dare? Could he trust her not to desert him if things got nasty? How would she react if people pointed fingers at him and called him a murderer?

He knew one thing for sure: With or without Mad
die Delarue's help, he intended to prove his innocence beyond any doubt. And if the police couldn't find his father's killer, he would.

 

When Molly French Gates came on duty later that morning, Hart O'Brien filled her in on the previous night's events at the country club. Molly had been part of the task force that had exposed the corrupt cops in the police department back in March, and Hart respected her greatly.

“It's all over the news,” Molly said. “In the
Clarion,
on TV. They're saying y'all brought Dylan Bridges in for questioning. Is that true? Does the department actually consider the judge's son a suspect?”

Hart took a sip of his strong, lukewarm coffee, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Not as far as I'm concerned. The guy seemed totally shocked by his father's death. And just being estranged from his old man isn't enough motive for murder. Besides, we could be looking at a sloppy professional hit. Not some polished wise guy from out of state. Maybe a local hood.”

“The judge pissed off the wrong person, huh? Is that your take?”

Hart yawned. “Something like that.”

Molly slapped Hart on the back. “Why don't you go on home? You look as if you're dead on your feet. I wouldn't want to have to call Joan to come get you.”

Hart chuckled. “You know, there's one thing that
puzzles me. If this was a professional hit, even a sloppy one, then why the hell did the guy do something as stupid as leaving the murder weapon in the pond, not five feet from Carl Bridges' body?”

“Are you sure it's the murder weapon?”

“Pretty sure. The ballistics report will verify it.”

“And what about fingerprints on the gun?”

“We should get so lucky.”

 

Using a phony ID, he'd checked into a motel outside of town last night. And he had slept like a baby. Odd how taking a guy out always had that effect on him. Kind of like getting laid. Yeah, almost as good; sometimes even better.

He'd planned everything, down to the last detail, learning the layout of the country club and where each employee would be at any given time. The valets for the gala kept out of sight, in the private parking area, fraternizing with the chauffeurs during the party. The only problem was that Judge Bridges hadn't shown up as expected. But a phone call to the old man threatening his son's life had gotten him down to the club pretty quick.

He'd given the judge one final chance to come clean, to give him the information he wanted—the info his boss demanded. But the stupid old man had refused to talk. Hell, hadn't he known who he was dealing with? The boss didn't take no for an answer. His orders had been to find out the information or else.

The hit had gone off perfectly until that damn stupid redheaded waitress came outside for a smoke. How the hell was he supposed to know she'd come out to the front of the club instead of the back where he'd been told the staff took their smoke breaks? And what the hell had possessed her to walk so far down the driveway? If he'd hung around a second longer, she might have seen him. As it was, he just barely got away. But when she startled him, he accidentally dropped his 9mm Sig and it fell over into the pond. He'd tried his damnedest to recover the gun, but it had come down to choosing whether to retrieve the Sig or risk getting caught by the waitress. Leaving behind the murder weapon had been the least risky of his two choices. But the cops wouldn't find any fingerprints on his weapon. He always coated his fingertips with glue before a hit. That way he never left fingerprints on anything.

He'd called the boss and left the message they'd agreed on. “Justice has been served.” The boss had a sense of humor.

His stomach growled. Damn, he was hungry. He could eat a horse this morning. But maybe he'd just stop by the Mission Creek Café for a big helping of steak and eggs, and while he ate breakfast, he'd take a look at the
Clarion
and see what the local reporters were saying about Judge Bridges' murder at the country club last night.

W
earing dark sunglasses to hide the puffiness under her eyes, Maddie arrived at the country club two hours late. After leaving Dylan early this morning, she'd fallen asleep the minute she returned home and laid down on her bed fully clothed. During her brief nap she had dreamed. They'd been those silly, confusing kind of dreams where nothing made sense. But on awakening, she remembered one main theme in them—Dylan Bridges was a part of her life now and there was no escaping that fact.

Dylan was a man alone, with no one to stand by him and help him. And for some inexplicable reason Maddie longed to be that person, the strong, dependable friend he could lean on. Dylan was a complicated man, one who didn't trust easily or accept help readily. Breaking through his protective shield would be a challenge—probably the biggest challenge of Maddie's life. Strange how she now relished a challenge, when as a teenager she'd shied away from challenges and confrontations of any kind.

What made her willing to risk getting hurt, having her heart broken again, just to help a man who had
tried to send her away? Maybe because she felt that Dylan and she were two of a kind. Neither trusted easily, both had been hurt and disappointed by life and love, and they were both so terribly alone.

“Morning, Maddie.” As she walked into the outer office suite, Alicia handed her a cup of hot tea. “I've been fielding calls for you and there are at least two dozen messages waiting for you on your desk. I've been telling people that you're in a meeting. I hope that was all right.”

Alicia followed Maddie into her private office. “Yes, Alicia, thank you.” Maddie dumped her handbag on her desk, set the cup on the coaster to the right of her computer screen and glared at the stack of bright yellow message slips neatly stacked in the square plastic box she used for that purpose. Maddie had always prided herself on being highly organized.

“Your mother has phoned every thirty minutes since nine o'clock.” Alicia glanced sympathetically at Maddie. “I didn't write down any of her messages.”

Maddie groaned. “Next time she calls put her through. If I don't talk to her, she'll come over here, and I simply cannot deal with Nadine in person this morning.”

Alicia nodded. “Mr. Small has been asking where you are. He needs to speak to you. But I can tell you what he's going to say.”

“Good. You tell me and then when Harvey shows up, I can get rid of him quickly. That little toad has
never been one of my favorite people, and after last night he's in the top five on my people-I-detest list.”

“I'm sure you noticed all the law enforcement people milling around inside and out.” Alicia waited for Maddie to nod before she continued. “Well, the club is closed today…because of the murder last night. But the temporary grill will be open for the employees. That's one of the things Harvey wanted to tell you. And the other is that we're to cooperate fully with the police department and the sheriff's department. It seems Sheriff Wainwright and Chief Terry have joined forces on this one. Killing a circuit judge is pretty much the same as killing a police officer.”

Maddie sat in her comfortable chair, lifted her cup and sipped the hot peppermint tea. Lack of sleep combined with tension had given Maddie a throbbing headache and even though she'd taken a couple of aspirin before leaving her condo, the ache had dulled only slightly.

“I'll be eating lunch here at my desk today,” Maddie said. “But I'll take care of ordering something from the grill. And please continue fielding my calls. I don't want to speak to anyone, unless it's absolutely necessary. The only exceptions are my mother and…Dylan Bridges.”

“Dylan Bridges?” Alicia's eyes rounded in surprise. “Isn't he a suspect in the judge's murder?”

Maddie sighed, removed her sunglasses and glared pointedly at her assistant. “No. He is not a suspect.”

“But I thought Mr. Small said that—”

“Harvey Small is an idiot!”

Someone cleared their throat. Not Maddie or Alicia. Maddie glanced past her assistant to the open doorway. There stood Harvey. Oh, great, Maddie thought. Just what I need.

“Good morning, Ms. Delarue.” Harvey marched into her office. “Thanks so much for finally showing up for work this morning. We all had a difficult night, but some of us were able to arrive on time for work today.”

“Stuff it, Harvey,” Maddie snapped.

“I resent your attitude,” he replied.

“And I resent you. So, we're even.”

Harvey pursed his lips. His round, fat face turned red. “If you weren't who you are, there's no way you would keep your job.”

Maddie burst into laughter. When Harvey's rotund body tensed, he looked as if he were about to explode.

Harvey puffed out his chest and tilted his chin. “You might have me fired for what I'm about to say, but it's obvious to everyone that Dylan Bridges probably murdered his father and he tried to use you as an alibi. If you weren't involved with the man, you wouldn't be defending him.”

Maddie narrowed her gaze, looked point-blank at Harvey and said, “The only reason I haven't gotten rid of you before now is because, despite your unpleasant personality, you're damn good at your job.
But remember one thing, little man—you can be replaced.”

Snorting, his face red as a beet, Harvey turned and practically ran out of Maddie's office.

Alicia released a long, pent-up breath and then giggled. “I thought he was going to explode.”

“That would have been a sight worth paying to see.”

“Ms. Delarue?”

“Yes?”

“The police asked me a lot of questions about your whereabouts last night. They seem very curious about your having been with Mr. Bridges. I told them what time you arrived back at the party last night. I hope I didn't say—”

Maddie held up a restraining hand. “It's all right. We've all got to tell the truth. I was with Dylan, except for about fifteen minutes, and that's exactly what I told the police last night.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The ringing telephone prompted Alicia's hasty departure. When she rushed back to her desk, Maddie closed her eyes and huffed out a tired breath. She had a feeling this was going to be a very long day.

Alicia stuck her head in the door. “It's your mother.”

Maddie groaned.

 

A uniformed policeman met Dylan at the entrance to the country club. “Sorry, sir, but the club is closed today. There was a murder here last night and—”

“Yes, I know. My father was the victim.”

The young officer blushed and stammered, “You're…er…you're Dylan Bridges? Sorry about…The judge was a fine man.”

“Yes, he was.” Dylan glanced around, taking note of the small swarm of law enforcement personnel present at the club this morning. “I'm not here as a club member. I'm here to see Ms. Delarue.”

“Is Ms. Delarue expecting you?”

“Yes, I believe she is,” Dylan replied.

The policeman opened the door and held it for Dylan.

“Thank you.”

The officer nodded.

Once inside, Dylan hesitated momentarily, wondering just where Maddie's office was located. A couple of staff members milling around in the lobby apparently recognized him. They stared at him, then whispered among themselves. What were they saying? Were they taking odds on whether or not he killed his father? Damn, what a predicament to be in—mourning a parent's death and having to defend himself against untrue accusations all at the same time. Ignore those people, he told himself. He would have to get used to being stared at, whispered about and suspected.

Okay, all he had to do was remember where the offices were seventeen years ago when he'd worked here as a valet. The memory clicked into place in
stantly and he took the elevator to the second floor, which he assumed still housed the office space, as well as the guest rooms. A few minutes later he stood outside the closed door with an attached plaque proclaiming the suite within was the private domain of Ms. Delarue, Events Manager. When he opened the door, a wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed young woman nervously stood up behind her desk.

“Mr. Bridges…good morning, sir.”

Dylan offered her a smile. “I'd like to see Maddie, please.”

“Uh…yes, sir. Just a moment and I'll let her know that you're here.”

Dylan waited while the girl disappeared into Maddie's office. She returned instantly, leaving the door open behind her.

“Please, go right in.”

“Thanks.”

Dylan entered Maddie's office and closed the door behind him. Maddie rose from her desk and came forward, her hand outstretched. He took a good look at her and from the dark, puffy circles under her eyes realized she'd probably gotten no more sleep than he had. But she was beautiful, with her hair neatly secured in a loose bun, and wearing a stylish beige suit.

She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk. “Won't you sit down?”

He shook his head. “I won't be here long. I just
wanted to stop by to say thanks for the scrambled eggs this morning. And I wanted to tell you that I've made tentative funeral arrangements. All we need is the date. I'll have to wait until the coroner releases his body. They'll have to do an autopsy, of course.”

When Dylan winced at the thought of his father's body being opened up like some damn lab experiment, Maddie reached out and squeezed his arm. He looked at her. Sweet Maddie. Genuinely concerned, warmly caring.

Clearing his throat, Dylan asked, “So, Red, have you come to your senses? Are you thinking a little clearer now than you were at three this morning?”

She released his arm. “Meaning, I suppose, have I decided to steer clear of you?”

He didn't know why her response was so damn important to him. After all, he'd told her to get lost, hadn't he? He didn't want her to wind up getting hurt by associating with him. But all the logical reasoning in the world didn't change one irrefutable fact—the sixteen-year-old kid part of him wanted Maddie Delarue to stand by his side.

Maddie eased back, leaned her hips against the edge of her desk and stared at him. He had showered and shaved and changed clothes, but he suspected the haggard expression on his face plainly revealed the hell he'd been through during the past twelve hours.

“I can't quite figure you out,” Maddie said. “It's
as if you're pushing me away with one hand and dragging me closer with the other.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I guess my actions are rather confusing. Believe me, I'm as confused as you are.”

“Why don't we clear up the confusion?” Maddie crossed her arms over her chest. “I haven't changed my mind about anything. I want to help you, stand by your side, work with you. But it'll be a lot easier for both of us if you stop resisting me.”

“Is that what I've been doing?”

“Sit down, will you?” She motioned to the chairs again. “I'm going to order lunch for myself and I'd like for you to join me. I don't think either of us ate much of those scrambled eggs this morning. So, what will it be, sandwich and chips or a salad?”

Dylan took the chair to Maddie's front left, lifted his leg and crossed it over the other at the knee. “Ham and cheese sandwich.” Only a few nights ago, his dad had prepared him a ham and cheese sandwich. Emotion lodged in Dylan's throat. He'd been so pleased that his father had actually remembered his preferences.

Maddie pivoted halfway around on her desk, lifted the telephone, tapped in a number and said, “This is Ms. Delarue. I'd like to place a lunch order and I want it delivered to my office.”

While Maddie ordered lunch, Dylan watched her, noting numerous little things about her. The way she tilted her head to one side, how she narrowed her gaze
when she concentrated, the way she unconsciously gnawed on her bottom lip when she was impatient.

Placing the receiver back on the hook, Maddie huffed. “That poor girl must be a new employee. She seemed rattled. But I have every hope that we'll get what I ordered.”

Dylan nodded. “By the way, I stopped by the police station this morning.”

Maddie focused on him. “You did?”

“Yeah, I talked to Chief Terry. Caught up with him just as he was heading home. He told me that they'd found what they believe is the murder weapon. It seems the killer might have dropped it in the pond where my dad's body was found.”

Maddie raised her eyebrows. “That was rather careless, wasn't it?”

Dylan shrugged. “Could've been carelessness. Or maybe the gun was a plant. Or possibly someone startled the killer and he lost the gun and didn't have time to retrieve it. There are several possibilities.”

“Did the chief tell you whether or not anyone has come forward to say they saw what happened or—”

“No witnesses,” Dylan said. “But that waitress, Erica Clawson, might have seen something and just doesn't realize it. After all, the authorities believe she discovered my dad's body shortly after he'd been shot.”

“Mmm-hmm. So, I assume the gun is being tested
for fingerprints and all that other stuff…ballistics or whatever.”

“Yeah, but I was told that it's rare fingerprints are found on a weapon. Guess that would make it too easy to solve this crime.” Dylan leaned over, dropped his hands between his spread thighs and tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Fingerprints would prove conclusively that I didn't fire the weapon.”

“You aren't really a suspect. If you were, they would have held you last night.”

“They did tell me not to leave town.” Shaking his head, Dylan grimaced. “As if I'd leave before I saw my father's killer brought to justice.”

“Have you contacted a lawyer? If you need a recommendation, I'd be glad to—”

“I called my lawyer in Dallas first thing this morning. And I made arrangements with my partners in our brokerage firm to handle all my obligations for the time being.”