“It’s possible your life is in danger.” “It’s possible your life is in danger.” Paul took one of her hands in both Paul took one of her hands in both of his. of his.

She didn’t believe it, but the intensity in his eyes told her that he was dead serious. Madison liked to think she could take care of herself, and she could, but something cracked inside her. Knowing Paul cared appealed to her softer feminine side—the side she liked to deny having.

His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. “So much is going on, a perfect storm of events, and you’re at the center. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through her. The concern reflected in his eyes became smoldering desire. She was gathered against a warm, rock-solid body and he covered her mouth with his. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She eased her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss.

In a heartbeat her blood thickened to warm honey. Kissing him was even better than she’d imagined….

Praise for the work of
MERYL SAWYER

“Sawyer’s gift for building great and believable characters makes the danger they face all the more intense. Outstanding!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Kiss of Death (4¹/2 stars, Top Pick)

“Sawyer spins a tale to captivate and entertain.…Wonderfully crafty and extremely entertaining.”

—Romance Reader’s Connection on Half Past Dead

“Nail-biting suspense punctuates this thrilling romantic adventure. The name Meryl Sawyer is synonymous with exceptional romantic suspense.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Better Off Dead

“A riveting work of romantic suspense…near perfection.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tempting Fate

“Meryl Sawyer has become a brand name known for taut, sexy and very intriguing romantic suspense.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Closer Than She Thinks

“A page-turner…glamour, romance and adventure on a grand scale.”

—Publishers Weekly on Promise Me Anything

“Count on Meryl Sawyer to deliver a fast-paced thriller filled with sizzling romance.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jill Marie Landis

Death’s Door
Meryl Sawyer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Dave Wells

and to my close friends, Pamela and Ricki.

Where would I be without your friendship?

A special thank-you also

to the real Keith Brooks Smith

for his humor and his inspiration.

The best way to love anything is as if it might be lost.

—G. K. Chesterton

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

“THERE’LL NEVER BE another you.”

The killer’s words were spoken softly, almost lost in the darkness. The dead were lucky. Death stopped time and their mistakes were ended. They were forever young and unchanged in the minds of those left behind. They were immortalized. Especially beauties like the woman slumped across the floor nearby.

What might she have become?

That unfulfilled promise would be seared into the memories of her loved ones. So young. So sad. So tragic.

So necessary.

Death meant life everlasting. Didn’t it?

“Don’t look at her body. Don’t allow this to become personal,” whispered the killer.

Death divides time like nothing else. Closing doors irreversibly. Before and after. No doubt her family, friends, a lover—if she had one—would always say her name accompanied by those words. Never, ever would “before” return.

Silent as a shadow, the killer moved toward the door, unable to resist a quick look back. Inhaling deeply, the killer absorbed the sweet perfume of death.

Take it in. Make it last until the next time.

This murder had been much harder and messier than the others, but in a way the difficulty of the task—the challenge—made the kill more satisfying. Life did not go smoothly. Why should death?

Had the dead woman seen this coming? the killer wondered. People believed terrible things happened to others—not them. Still, humans did retain remnants of their ancestors’ primitive instincts. Fear—first among those vestiges of survival. She must have sensed…something.

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES earlier, at almost three in the morning, the victim had driven up the short, narrow driveway. Her front porch light must have burned out. She had turned it on before leaving, hadn’t she?

It was difficult to remember just what she’d done when she’d raced out of the house to meet the others. She’d been too keyed up to pay much attention to anything but what she had been instructed to wear. A black stocking cap to go with her black pants and T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. They promised to provide the night-vision goggles and latex gloves.

She idled in the driveway, gazing at the burned-out light, and almost put the car in Park before remembering she’d had the garage door opener replaced last week. Thank heavens. She didn’t know if she had the strength left to hoist the heavy old door. The job tonight had been much more physical than anything they’d attempted in the past. Her body was in great shape, but working so strenuously against the clock consumed more energy than she’d imagined.

She pressed the remote control and the garage door creaked upward. “We’re home, big guy,” she told the dog on the seat beside her.

The retriever cocked his head slightly as if he understood every word. She gave him a quick pat as the Toyota rolled into the garage. His golden fur was matted and he smelled as if he needed a bath. Not your show-quality golden retriever, but he was precious just the same.

“Home sweet home,” she said to the dog when she stepped out of the small car and held her door open for him. The retriever hesitated, again tilting his head toward her as if expecting another command. “Here, boy. Come on.”

The dog lumbered across the driver’s seat, sniffed the humid air, then cautiously lowered himself to the garage floor. The single-car garage dated back to the twenties and had a dank, musty smell. The heat of the day was still trapped inside, making it like breathing through wet wool.

She turned and punched the button beside the door leading into the house. Behind her, the garage door groaned shut as she stepped into the laundry room and hurried through the small space into the kitchen. The dog hesitantly followed, sniffing at her heels.

“Thirsty?” She put the manila envelope she was carrying on the counter before filling a cereal bowl with water. She set it on the floor, but the dog didn’t move toward it. “You feeling okay?”

The golden retriever hitched one ear. He couldn’t have to go to the bathroom, she decided. She’d stopped at a park on the way home. He’d relieved himself while she’d pitched the outer layer of her clothes and gloves into a nearby trash can before using the pay phone. She’d been warned numerous times to never—under any circumstances—use her home phone or cell to make a call that could be traced back to the others.

“You stay right here,” she instructed as she walked out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

The rest of the small house was dark, the air only slightly cooler than it was outside thanks to the window air conditioner. She flicked the switch that lit the tiny lamp across the room. Suddenly the hair on her arms prickled. Something didn’t seem…right. She refused to allow the tidal pull of memories to interfere with rational thought. Her unease was just the residual effect of the past few hours, she decided. She was safe now. No one could link her to the job. But if she’d been caught in the act—

“Don’t go there,” she whispered to herself. The reward was worth the risk.

Feeling silly for being so jumpy, she walked into her bedroom. And stood still. Something slightly ominous seemed to hover in the air like an unseen ghost. She looked around at the drifts of clothes tossed over a chair and underwear slung onto the bed. She had the housekeeping habits of a frat boy. She really ought to make an effort to be neater, she thought, still battling her nerves.

What was giving her the willies?

It was ridiculous for a grown woman to be afraid, but she tiptoed over to the closet and put her hand on the knob. For a moment she merely stared at the door. Stop being an idiot, she told herself, and jerked open the closet.

Nothing. Just clothes haphazardly shoved into the small space. On the floor was a jumble of shoes and a few purses too large for the overhead rack. No one was hiding in here.

In the small bathroom off her bedroom, she ran a bath and filled the tub with magnolia-scented bubble bath, then lit lavender-infused candles, known for their calming fragrance. Even though she’d showered before she’d left, the adrenaline rush had left her sheathed in sweat that had since dried and made her skin itch. She peeled off the short shorts, tank top and underwear she’d worn beneath her dark clothes, then swung her leg over the side of the tub.

She had the unsettling sensation that someone was watching her. Of course, that was impossible. It was merely her mind playing tricks. She’d purchased new locks and dead bolts when she’d had the garage door opener replaced. This was a safe neighborhood, considering it was Miami. Still, you couldn’t be too careful. The others in the group believed they were under surveillance. It came with the territory. If the authorities were spying on her, they were outside the house, monitoring her comings and goings to build a court case. They were not hiding in the house.

The bathroom door was open. She pushed it and the door would have shut, except the tangled cord from her blow-dryer on the counter got in the way. Hadn’t she returned it to the drawer? Obviously, she’d been in such a rush to meet the others that she’d forgotten.

She eased into the tub and turned off the taps. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and let the warm water and fragrant air soothe her taut nerves. This was it, she told herself. The last job. From now on, she would lead a normal life. It might even be time to settle down, she silently admitted. That meant a steady, down-to-earth guy, not one of the club rats she usually met in South Beach.

A faint, muffled noise outside the bathroom made her eyes fly open. Her pinched throat kept air from entering her lungs and she trembled. Then she remembered the dog. Aspen. A great name for a honey-colored golden retriever. She’d given it to the dog even before she’d seen him. She had it put on the collar she’d bought. She’d chosen “Aspen” because when the leaves on Aspen trees changed color each fall, they were the same golden shades she associated with golden retrievers. Aspen wasn’t trying to get out of the kitchen, was he?

She kept listening, straining to hear another noise, but the only sound was the muted whir of the air conditioner in the living room. What was throwing her world out of whack? She’d never been this disturbed before, and the group had engaged in missions that had been just as dangerous as the one tonight.

Closing her eyes again, she settled back, allowing the warm water and the fragrant candles to do their magic. She was bone weary and soon almost nodded off. She forced her eyes open so she wouldn’t fall asleep in the tub.

Hadn’t the bathroom door been almost closed a few moments ago? She stared hard at its reflection in the mirror partially fogged by steam, then looked over her shoulder directly at the door. Her red robe hung from a hook on the back. Maybe the door wasn’t quite balanced and the weight of her robe had caused it to open several inches. What was going on? She was more jittery than she ought to be.

She settled back, closed her eyes once more and inhaled deeply to take the calming scent of the candles into her lungs. Her tense muscles relaxed and her mind almost purged itself of the sight of all those forlorn, pleading eyes riveted on her.

Almost.

Don’t drift off, she warned herself. She needed to scrub away the sweat, crawl into bed and set the alarm for seven-thirty. She struggled not to close her eyes, but gave in for just a moment.

A mechanical whir jerked her upright, the sound reverberating against the ceramic tile. Her eyes flashed across the short distance to the counter. Her blow-dryer was on. How had that happened? She grabbed the towel bar and heaved herself upright in one quick jerk. Instinct told her to get out of the tub NOW!

“Wh-what?” The serrated blade of fear shredded each syllable. The vapor from the candles scorched her throat as if she’d been suddenly transported to the desert. She attempted to make sense of what her eyes told her, but the dark glaze of panic blacked out the edges of her vision. Hot, white noise rumbled through her head, awakening a terror unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

A gloved hand appeared from behind the door and grabbed the blow-dryer off the counter. The next instant the dryer was hurtling through the air at her. It splashed into the bubble-filled water at her knees with a serpent’s lethal hiss and an eruption of sparks. Instantly, little popping sounds battered her skull like fireworks exploding in her brain.

CHAPTER ONE

Before becoming a world-famous photographer, what did Ansel Adams aspire to be?

MADISON CONNELLY STARED out the window from the largest enclosure in the cube farm at the shimmering waters of Biscayne Bay visible over the rooftops of nearby buildings. As copresident of Total Trivia, she was entitled to a large private office, but she and Aiden had agreed long ago that doors encouraged isolation. Togetherness inspired innovation—the healthy exchange of ideas that led to creativity.

Maybe, she thought, but right now she wished she could slam her office door shut and make the world go away. She was burned out by what her father would have called “premature success.” Her company was barely three years old and it was already being touted as a triumph. If only her personal life was as glorious.

Get a grip, Madison told herself. There’s no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Concentrate on what you’re doing and forget past mistakes.

Madison forced herself to stare at her computer screen as she waited for inspiration. The software program she’d invented culled obscure facts from numerous sources for their online game, but every so often she liked to throw in a zinger. Her favorite was “what if.” What if Ansel Adams had his wish? He would have become a concert pianist. Lucky for the world, he hadn’t.

If she’d had her wish, she would have pursued a doctorate and—

“Madison, there’s a man here to see you. How cool is that?”

She swiveled around in her chair to face Jade, Total Trivia’s receptionist. Short blue-black hair gelled up like a rooster’s comb and deep red lipstick combined with Cleopatra eyes gave the girl an unfashionable Goth look that was rarely seen in South Beach these days. Jade could easily have told Madison she had a visitor with the interoffice telephone, but the girl never lost an opportunity to sashay by the cluster of cubicles the programmers used, just as she never failed to add how “cool” something was, even when delivering bad news.

“Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone.”

Jade consulted a business card she held between bloodred nails that could have doubled as letter openers. “Paul Tanner. He’s with Tanner Security Solutions, Inc.”

Another geek trying to sell them software that was supposed to prevent other online trivia sites from hacking into their database. Online protection. What a joke.

“Tell him we take care of our own security.” She was about to give Jade another lecture on how to screen people, but she spotted Aiden Larsen coming toward her office.

“Hey, Madison,” her ex-husband called in his usual upbeat voice. “Got a minute?”

“Not really,” she fibbed as Jade ducked out of the cube and began to saunter down the aisle toward the reception area.

Aiden ignored Madison’s response and parked himself in the chair opposite her desk. She tried not to notice how handsome he looked. Chloe really knew how to make him dress in a way that emphasized his best features, his height and surfer blond hair.

The irony of the situation irritated her. Aiden would do anything for Chloe, but he’d stubbornly refused to make the smallest change for Madison. Instead, he’d insisted she be the one to alter her looks and life for him. He’d wanted her hair long and ruler-straight, even though it was naturally curly and at the mercy of Miami’s humidity. He’d wanted to go out to SoBe’s clubs almost every night. It was a scene she hated. Madison had resisted, of course, but it didn’t seem to matter now. Aiden was on a new path in life—Chloe’s course.

“Where’ve you been? I tried to get you all weekend.”

“Busy.” She didn’t want to tell Aiden she’d wasted another weekend searching for a place to lease. She couldn’t decide on anything, because each property she was shown made her think of the fabulous house in Coral Gables that she’d permitted Aiden to keep in the divorce. Retaining half the business they’d started together had been more important.

“You didn’t answer your cell.”

“I left it at Erin’s on Friday.”

The mention of her best friend’s name caused one blond eyebrow to quirk. Aiden’s brows were less scraggly than they had been on Friday, she noted. Over the weekend, Chloe must have convinced him to go to one of SoBe’s stylish spas for a professional wax.

Madison could see Aiden was biting back another negative comment about Erin. For an instant, Madison’s brain replayed something she’d heard on the morning news as she’d been getting ready for work. It made her think about Erin and wonder if her friend could have been involved in the incident.

“Why were you looking for me?” She knew it had to be important. Since their divorce they spoke only when necessary. So much for the “togetherness” they’d envisioned when starting the company. She struggled to keep her tone civil. Their last conversation had ended with Aiden accusing Madison of using her tongue like a whip.

“I had such a great idea that I wanted to run it by you immediately. That’s why I kept calling. Total Trivia needs a shot in the arm, right?”

“I guess,” she reluctantly conceded, although she knew he was correct. Advertising banner sales were level but she perceived a lack of momentum. On a per-week basis they weren’t drawing new gamers the way they once had. They were still raking in a bundle, but similar Web sites were invading the territory they’d once dominated.

“How’s this for an idea?” He rocked back in the chair opposite her desk and put his feet up on the rim, the way he used to when they’d been developing ideas for Total Trivia. “Add betting to our site.”

“We’ve been down this road before.” How could he waste her time with this? They’d known when they created Total Trivia that Internet gambling and auctions made boodles of money. They’d defied the odds by making money with a game that didn’t feature gambling.

He chuckled nonchalantly, but she knew better. Aiden handled the business end of their site. He could smell money the way a bloodhound picked up a fresh scent. “True. We have avoided gambling, but now Trivia Mania has added it to their site.”

“Interesting,” Madison hedged. Trivia Mania had been their chief rival before their competitor added gambling. She had no doubt gamers on Total Trivia would flock to a site where they could place bets. “Who’s handling their finances?”

“They’ve contracted with Allied Miami Bank.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Madison knew the bank was owned by a group of YUCAs—Young Urban Cuban Americans—with a reputation for financing shady gambling operations. Not all young and ambitious Cubans skirted the law, of course, but some did. It was a temptation unique to Miami, where many immigrants had settled and were making new lives.

“We’re thinking that adding betting to Total Trivia is the way to go. We know Allied Miami has the most experience.”

Madison didn’t have to ask who “we” was. This must be Chloe’s idea. Well, she could say many things about Chloe, but not being one of God’s brightest creatures wasn’t one of them. Madison had personally hired Chloe, but she hadn’t counted on Chloe stealing her husband.

“We’re making money. Why risk associating with questionable characters?”

“What if I tell you—”

Bzzt-bzzt. Jade was buzzing her from the receptionist’s desk. Madison picked up the phone, relieved at the interruption. “Yes, Jade?”

“Mr. Tanner is still waiting to see you. He says it’s not about business. This is a personal matter.”

“Yeah, right. That’s what they all say.” She never failed to be amazed at how many creeps crawled out of the woodwork once they sensed a computer game had hit the big time. She must get ten of these guys a week.

“I think he means it.” Jade was whispering now.

“Tell him to call me. We’ll discuss it on the phone.” Madison hung up and turned back to Aiden.

He was watching her intently, and she wondered if she was wearing an outfit she’d had on last week. She tended to wear half a dozen outfits that she liked over and over and over. No wonder she’d never been able to turn geek Aiden into GQ Aiden the way Chloe had. Twice a year Erin forced Madison to donate her old clothes, then took her shopping.

Don’t let him make you feel inferior, she told herself. Both Madison’s mother and Erin always described her as pretty. Not that they fooled her, but natural blond hair and wide blue eyes did manage to turn a few guys’ heads. Unlike Chloe, Madison didn’t have much to brag about in the chest department. Chloe was pinup material. Madison didn’t care; her brains set her apart. She had no intention of competing in the body department.

“Well, what do you think?” Aiden asked, and though his tone was still casual, she knew his manner meant he was ready to move on this immediately.

She stood up. “Let’s do a bit more research. I’m still not in favor of gambling or Allied Miami, but maybe—”

“Why? Allied Miami handles all sorts of betting operations. They even have a division set up to process, then pay every bet.”

“Wait!” She threw up one hand to stop him. “We don’t want to hand over a chunk of our business without thoroughly investigating the situation. It’s an invitation to steal from us or ruin our reputation. This isn’t something to leap into without careful thought.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve got an appointment.”

“Wait. I—”

“Later. I’m in a hurry.”

She rushed out of her corner cube and took a left. She headed for the back door to avoid the software salesman. She needed time to think about Aiden’s proposal. She might as well swing by Erin’s and pick up her cell phone.

Madison climbed into her BMW and lowered the windows to air out the car. Even though it was barely ten o’clock, the Miami sun was scorching a path across the blue April sky. She allowed her mind to drift for a moment. She’d wasted yet another weekend. She was never going to be able to replace the home she’d shared with Aiden.

Why was she trying?

She should lease the condo that she’d reluctantly allowed the Realtor to show her, Madison told herself. She didn’t need a yard. This way she could come and go easily. She punched the AC button and reached for her cell phone with her other hand to call the Realtor. Then she remembered she was on her way to pick up her cell.

“I’m losing it,” she said out loud. She backed out of her parking space and drove away.

Total Trivia was located several blocks off trendy Ocean Boulevard in South Beach’s low-rent district—if such a thing existed. They’d leased the office space nearly ten years ago, before she had married Aiden, when Total Trivia had been just another blip on the information superhighway. Aiden had insisted locating in SoBe would lure programmers they could hire for less.

Her ex had been right. Talented programmers often made sacrifices, living in studio apartments or sharing run-down flats just to be in the area. As Erin always said, SoBe was “hip to the max.” It was amazing what people would give up to live here.

Maybe Aiden was right about adding gambling to Total-Trivia, but she didn’t think so. Letting an offshore bank collect the money was evading the law. Wasn’t that the same as breaking the law? Sooner or later the government would catch on and come after them.

South Beach traffic was light—no doubt a fair number of residents were inside nursing hangovers—which meant Madison had to wait a mere two cycles to drive through most traffic lights. By evening, when the club set went on the prowl, it would take at least six cycles to move through a light.

From ten until dawn, the clubs would be full of tanned guys and women wearing next to nothing, slurping mojitos and chocolate martinis. Sexual energy would pulse through the air like a drumbeat in the tropics.

Madison didn’t like the club scene, but last Friday, Erin had wanted to check out two new clubs and she’d gone along. Her best friend since they’d been in diapers, Erin Wycoff had always been something of an enigma. Like a butterfly, Erin was beautiful but difficult to pin down. As close as they were, Madison often didn’t know what Erin was thinking. Even when they were young, Erin had kept her thoughts to herself, unlike most teenage girls, who told their best friends all their secrets. But since Madison’s split with Aiden, Erin had been the only one who could lift her spirits.

Erin had insisted on going to Sweet Cheeks and another club whose name Madison couldn’t recall, but as soon as they were there, drinks in hand, Erin had wanted to leave. Too hot. Too crowded. Too many airhead guys.

Well, that was the club scene for you. A club wasn’t “in” unless it was crowded with hunky guys and scantily clad babes. And jam-packed places were hot. That was a given.

They’d gone back to the little cottage Erin had rented and ordered pizza from an all-night pizzeria. They’d sat chatting about the move Madison couldn’t seem to make, but Erin had seemed distracted, on edge.

Still, Erin had scored a major point when she’d claimed Madison was in denial. By searching for a large home to replace the one she’d shared with her ex-husband, Madison was attempting to hang on to the past. The last time Madison’s mother had telephoned from some remote island in the South Pacific, she’d told Madison the same thing—in different words. “Oh, baby doll. Try something new. Get on with your life.”

Madison had admitted Erin was probably right and had left after finishing a slice of cardboard-tasting pizza. She’d only realized the next day that she’d forgotten her cell phone. She’d tried to catch Erin on Saturday and again on Sunday but hadn’t been able to connect. Maybe she hadn’t even wanted to reach Erin, hadn’t wanted to explain why she was still asking the Realtor to show her large homes.

A bit of trivia popped into her head, which often happened when she was thinking of something distressing. How much wine does one grapevine make? The average vine yielded twenty-four pounds of grapes. That was enough to make ten bottles of wine. She hadn’t used this fact on Total Trivia because inexact measurements like “average” caused arguments and players would claim their answer was correct.

She told herself to forget about trivia and concentrate on finding a place to live. The owners of the house where she was staying would return soon. Gambling and trivia could both wait until she’d settled her life.

At this hour of the morning, Erin was probably out making sales calls for the sunglass company she represented. It didn’t matter if Erin wasn’t home. Madison had a key to her friend’s place. She could pick up her cell then call the Realtor. Signing the lease on the condo and making arrangements would take the better part of the day, but Madison didn’t care. She didn’t want to return to Total Trivia until she’d had a chance to consider Aiden’s proposal.

It was quieter in the middle-class neighborhood in South Miami where Erin lived. People were at work, children in school. She turned into the narrow driveway and shut off the engine. The white cottage with an attached single-car garage was a legacy of the early twentieth century, when snowbirds from the North built small, inexpensive bungalows where they could wait out the winter in Miami’s warm sun. Snowbirds now clustered like bees in the hives of condos that riddled the state. This neighborhood had morphed into a working-class section of the city.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and got out of the car. On her way up the walk to the front door, she selected the key Erin had given her from the seldom-used ring of keys at the bottom of her purse. She rang the bell and heard its chime echo through the small house. As she expected, Erin wasn’t home. She attempted to put the key into the lock. It didn’t fit.

Suddenly, Madison remembered her friend mentioning getting a new garage door opener and new locks. Erin had forgotten to give Madison a new key.

“Great, just great,” she muttered under her breath. Standing on the small porch, Madison noticed a silver Porsche had pulled to the curb across the street. It seemed out of place in this neighborhood. A tall, dark-haired man stepped out. He glanced in her direction, then locked the car.

Madison wondered if Erin had hidden a spare key in the small yard behind the cottage. She went around back, but didn’t bother to check under the flowerpots. Erin wouldn’t hide a key in such an obvious place. She looked around, thinking, then spotted a dog turd over by a bush. Erin was an animal lover and always had been, but she didn’t have a dog. The landlord wouldn’t allow any pets. Erin got her pet fix by volunteering at an animal rescue facility.

She toed the dried pile and it rolled over. Just as she suspected, there was a latch on the bottom. These rock-hard devices had become popular with pet owners. A close look revealed they were molded pottery of some kind, but to the untrained eye, they looked like a deposit a dog would make. She picked up the fake turd and opened it. A shiny new key was inside. Leave it to Erin to hide a key in plain sight—in a fake dog turd that looked disturbingly real. So real, you could almost smell it.

She rushed up to the back door. For a moment she paused and gazed up at the flawless blue sky, feeling inexplicably troubled. The key fit in the lock and the door creaked open inch by inch. She brushed her odd reaction aside and stepped into a small service area with a washer and dryer.

A noxious odor she couldn’t identify hung in the close, humid air and made her stomach roil. Obviously, Erin had burned a funky candle. She opened the door leading into the kitchen and was greeted by a golden retriever with runny eyes. A small pile of dog poop accounted for the odor. Why hadn’t Erin let this dog out?

“Hi, there. What’s your name?” When had Erin gotten a dog? She hadn’t mentioned a word about it when they’d gone out on Friday. She’d probably found the retriever at the rescue center and couldn’t resist even though her lease specified no pets. With Erin, you never knew what was going on.

“Erin, it’s me,” she called out, in case her friend was still home but hadn’t heard the bell. No response.

The dog kept scratching at the door. She opened it and he charged through the service area and out to the small backyard. He immediately lifted a leg on a low-hanging bush.

“You’re a boy,” she muttered, more to herself than the dog. He trotted back to her and she bent down to check his collar. It looked brand-new. “So, your name is Aspen.”

The dog cocked his head and looked up at her. His eyes were tearing the way some poodles’ did, leaving brown stains on their fur. She wondered if something was wrong with the retriever. Maybe that’s why Erin had brought him home.

She led Aspen back inside. The odor she’d smelled earlier was worse now. She covered her nose with her hand. On the counter was a fly-covered pizza box clearly left over from Friday night. Typical Erin. She wasn’t much for housekeeping.

Next to the box was a manila envelope marked “Aspen.” Coiled beside it was a nylon leash. She held her breath while she opened the unsealed envelope and found a bill of sale inside for a male golden retriever, age three years and seven months.

Erin had purchased the dog for twenty-five dollars. Interesting. It wasn’t much for a purebred, but maybe something was wrong with it, like an eye problem. And it wasn’t Erin’s style to buy a dog. She didn’t believe in buying from breeders when there were so many homeless animals, many of whom had to be put down when homes weren’t found for them. Yet she had purchased this dog. Very odd.

Madison returned the paper to the envelope and closed it. On the back flap, Erin had written something so quickly that it was difficult to read. “Rob—Monday noon. Don’t be late.”

Interesting, she thought. Very interesting. Madison had always believed Erin and Robert Matthews were meant to be together, but they’d broken up. Erin hadn’t mentioned the veterinarian in months.

Madison decided to leave the dog in the kitchen. Obviously, Erin had her reasons for keeping Aspen there. She opened the door to the small space that served as a living room with a dining area off to one side. With all the blinds drawn, it was hot, dark and uninviting.

She let the kitchen door close behind her. A denser cloud of the horrible, cloying smell saturated the air. The stench sent her stomach into a backflip. A fly zoomed by her nose, closely followed by a second one. The odor of urine was also present. That must be why Erin had left the dog in the kitchen. He wasn’t properly trained.

Despite the room’s darkness, she managed to spot her silver cell phone gleaming on the coffee table where she’d left it. She charged forward to pick it up and nearly tripped over something protruding from the shadows between the sofa and coffee table.

A bare foot.

The thought scarcely registered when she saw something on the floor. A naked body? She squinted, her eyes adjusting to what light had stolen into the room. The form was sprawled across the carpet, dark brown hair streaming like a banner. Her limbs were splayed, one arm bent beneath her and the other flung outward, palm up. The open hand seemed to capture a shaft of light that was seeping in from between the blinds. Around the neck was a red scarf pulled so tight the head torqued to one side.

All Madison could make out in the semidarkness was the side of the woman’s face. Erin! No. It couldn’t be.

She sucked in a terrified breath as goose bumps pebbled her skin. For a heartbeat she couldn’t move. A burning, wrenching sensation gripped her stomach and a wave of throbbing dizziness hit her. Madison heard a jagged, high-pitched shard of sound rip through the air, but it was a second before she realized she’d screamed.

A thousand thoughts pinwheeled through her brain. Erin. How could she be dead? Her friend had always been there—a constant presence in her life—even more reliable than her own mother.

She forced herself to edge closer just to be sure. A few strands of hair covered the naked woman’s face, its skin like white candle wax. Erin. No question about it.

Why? Why? Why?

She stood near her friend, her mind barely taking in what she saw. Details registered like freeze-frame images. A wet stain pooled around Erin’s thighs. A drop of dried blood lingered at the corner of her mouth. One knee was swollen, the purplish skin so tight that it seemed ready to burst. A bulging blue eye stared sightlessly at the beige carpet beneath her. The white part of her eye was bloodred.

Madison’s vision had grown accustomed to the dark. Now, she noticed evidence of a frantic struggle. Furniture was knocked out of place. Pictures on tables had fallen and plants were overturned. By some quirk of fate, the coffee table where her cell phone had been was still upright.

Suddenly, a hand clamped across her lips. Pulse misfiring, her mind attempted to grapple with the situation, but panic shredded her brain like shrapnel.

A single thought registered: the killer!

All her instincts told her that she was a heartbeat from death. The will to survive kicked her body into gear. She flailed, biting the huge hand over her mouth and jabbing her elbows in a futile attempt to free herself. Powerful arms locked around her and brought her against the solid wall of a big chest.

“Be still,” a deep, masculine voice ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wasn’t buying that bridge—not with her murdered friend less than a foot away. She kicked backward and landed a blow with the heel of her shoe.

“Stop it!” He had a death grip on her now, squeezing her so tight the air in her lungs turned to cement. “I’m trying to help you.”

“L-lemme go.” She worked hard to keep hysteria out of her voice, but detected its shaky undertone in every word.

“Screaming isn’t going to bring her back.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Madison that she hadn’t stopped screaming from the moment she’d spotted her friend’s body.

CHAPTER TWO

How far away can a fly smell a dead body?

MADISON TEETERED, feeling light-headed, grabbed the back of the sofa for support and closed her eyes for a second, her fragile barrier of control slipping. Get a grip, she told herself. The air was so tight in her lungs that she could hardly breathe. But the thump-thump of her heart filled her skull and made it difficult to think. Even with her eyes closed, she kept seeing Erin’s lifeless body. She opened them and found the dark-haired man from the street gazing down at her.

He handed her a cell phone and calmly said, “Call 911. I’m going to check the rest of the house just in case.”

The man’s calm, cool attitude told Madison that she’d been mistaken. He really was trying to help her, as he’d said. He wasn’t the killer. That man was long gone but his evilness remained, hanging over the small house like a noxious cloud.

Madison’s eyes dropped to the body prone on the carpet. “Don’t leave me.”

The man touched her arm and prodded her in the direction of the kitchen. “Go out back. You’ll be safe.”

Madison stumbled toward the kitchen, managed to open the door and lurched to an upright position on the other side. She gulped hard and air rasped down her throat, then thundered into her lungs. She swayed for a moment, the numbers on the keypad of the small cell phone swimming in front of her. Something brushed against her leg and she gasped out loud but managed not to scream when she realized it was just the dog, standing beside her, tail swishing.

She gazed down into his soulful eyes and something unexpected tugged at her heart. Erin must have cared deeply about the dog to bring him home even though she knew a pet could mean eviction from a bungalow she’d described as “perfect.” Had this poor animal seen the killer, heard the desperate struggle in the other room?

The screech of tires on the street outside jolted her. Call the police! She punched the numbers and hit Send.

“Nine-one-one. Please hold.”

Hold? Erin was dead. Getting an ambulance here fast wasn’t important, but what if someone—

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“M-my f-friend’s been killed.” Madison choked on the words. It was almost as if saying them made it true. If she didn’t utter them, Erin would still be alive.

“Does your friend have a pulse? Have you cleared the air passages?”

Madison mumbled her replies, trying to make the overly calm, patient woman understand. Erin had been murdered. As she talked, she spotted the envelope and leash on the counter and made a split-second decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret. She shoved the envelope into her purse, which by some miracle was still slung over her shoulder. She snapped the leash onto Aspen’s collar.

“What is your address?” the emergency operator asked.

Madison went blank. She could find her way to her best friend’s house easily but didn’t recall the number on Sawgrass Terrace. “I’m on a cell. I’ll go outside and check the number.” She plowed through the small kitchen and service area, Aspen in tow. Outside, the sun was blistering a path across the sky. In shimmering waves, moist heat rose from the grass in back of the house.

Madison squinted. How could it be so bright and sunny when Erin was dead?

“You’re at fourteen eleven Sawgrass Terrace. Correct?”

From back here, Madison couldn’t see the house number but knew it was correct when she heard it. The man’s cell phone must have a GPS chip in it. Most cell phones couldn’t transmit the location so quickly. “Yes.”

The operator told her help was on the way and to stay on the line. She snapped the phone shut. Why remain on the line? Nothing the operator could say would help Erin now.

The door behind Madison slammed and she spun around. The man who’d heard her frantic screams walked toward her. She’d been so upset that she’d only had the vague impression of a tall, powerfully built man with dark hair and eyes. His hair was indeed dark brown, almost black, but his eyes were a deep blue that had only appeared brown in the gloomy house.

She told herself again there was no reason to be afraid. The man merely looked intense, the way anyone would at a murder scene. Yes, his size implied strength and threatened her even though she wasn’t the type to be intimidated. But she could see he was trying to help. And finding a dead body had to be as shocking for him as it was for her.

The hollow thunk-thunk of blood in her temples made it difficult to think as quickly as she usually did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought managed to register. Most women would say this guy was hot. Not that she cared. Being with Aiden had taught her that a handsome man couldn’t resist the temptation thrown into his path.

“Whoever killed your friend is long gone,” the stranger told her in a concerned voice, but she felt trapped by his unwavering stare. “Did you call—”

“They’re on the way.” She returned his cell phone.

“We’d better go around front where the police can see us.”

Madison started to move but couldn’t. He stared at her for a moment and Madison wondered if he expected her to again cut loose with a shriek loud enough to be heard in New York. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and headed toward the street, bringing the dog with her.

“If only I’d gotten here sooner,” she muttered more to herself than to him. As sharp as a blade, a lone siren cut through the still air, coming closer and closer.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. She hasn’t been alive for some time.”

Madison stopped and Aspen plowed into the back of her legs. “How can you tell?”

“I’m Paul Tanner with Miami PD.”

“Oh,” she said simply, remembering the flies hovering around Erin’s body. A pinprick of a thought flashed through her brain the way obscure facts often intruded. A fly could smell a dead body a mile away. They’d been buzzing around Erin’s lifeless body for hours.

A police car followed by an ambulance, lights flashing, screeched to a stop at the curb. Two uniformed policemen emerged from the squad car just as a gray sedan drove up. They waited until two men in suits got out of the second car.

“Yo, Tanner,” called one of the men in suits to Paul Tanner.

The man was who he claimed he was, she thought. How could she have mistaken him for a killer?

“Her friend’s been strangled.” Paul lightly touched Madison’s arm. “The back door’s open. She came over to—”

Madison realized everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer. “I came over to get my cell phone.”

One detective remained with her while Paul led the other detective and the uniformed officers to the back of the house.

“I went in and found Erin on the floor in the living room. Sh-she had this cord or sash around her neck.”

“So she was dead when you arrived?”

“Yes. It looked like she’d been strangled.”

The detective jotted a few notes in the small notebook he held in his hand. His face registered no emotion. Obviously, dead bodies came as no surprise to him.

“What is the victim’s full name?”

“Erin Allison Wycoff.”

“How’d you get in?”

Madison ran through the story of the newly changed locks and how she’d found the hidden key. She was coming to her senses a little bit, her mind grasping the gruesome reality of the situation.

The two policemen came out of the front door, followed by the other detective and the Tanner guy. From their impassive, almost frozen expressions, no one could guess the grisly scene they’d discovered in the house.

“Medical examiner’s on the way. The tech van will be here to process the scene,” announced one of the men in uniform.

The men gathered a few feet from Madison. She took a step back and bumped into Aspen. She leaned down and stroked his head. The men conferred for a moment, speaking so softly Madison couldn’t make out what they were saying.

The detective with the notebook continued asking questions as the men moved closer. “When was the last time you saw the victim?”

“Erin. Her name was Erin.”

The men looked at one another. Hysterical female, they silently telegraphed.

Madison took a deep breath, then told them, “I was with her on Friday night. That’s when I left my cell phone. I called her Saturday and Sunday, but I didn’t get her. I also tried to reach Erin on her cell. It kicked into voice mail.”

“Did you find that unusual?” asked the detective.

“No, not really. Erin often turns off her phone. She isn’t—wasn’t—the kind to talk on it all the time.” Madison couldn’t help blaming herself. She should have driven over yesterday instead of house-hunting for a home she could never replace. If she had, Erin might still be alive. Surely the killer wouldn’t have tried to murder two women. She could have saved her friend if she hadn’t been obsessed with replacing a home—and a life—that was gone forever.

“When I couldn’t make contact this morning, I drove over here,” Madison told them.

“Do you have any idea where she’s been or who she was with?”

Madison shook her head.

“Boyfriend? Parents?”

Before she could respond, Tanner asked, “Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend?”

“No, no. Of course not.” She heard her voice crack and with it came the threat of tears.

The men were silent for a moment, waiting for her to compose herself. A Miami PD van marked Crime Scene Investigation pulled to the curb. The uniformed officers went over to meet it, and Madison was left with the detectives. It seemed to be straight out of a CSI: Miami episode—only this was horribly real.

“Erin doesn’t have a boyfriend. Both parents are dead. I’m all she has.”

None of the three reacted—exactly—but they silently regarded her with keener interest.

She suddenly realized how it sounded. “I—I mean, Erin has had boyfriends in the past, and she would like—would have liked—to find a guy. That’s why we went out clubbing on Friday night. But as far as family, I’m it. We grew up together.” She looked at Paul Tanner, feeling more of a connection with him than the other two men. His expression said he was measuring every word. “Our mothers met when they were pregnant with us. I’ve known Erin my whole life.”

Two men and a woman in navy jumpsuits with Crime Scene Investigator stenciled on the back had emerged from the van with a video camera and bags of gear. The crime scene techs headed toward the open front door. While she’d been talking, someone had strung yellow crime scene tape across the porch.

“We’re close,” Madison continued, “just like sisters.”

The detective taking notes arched one thick eyebrow. “Where were you last night?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see where they were heading with this. “Wait a minute. You don’t think I—”

“They’re just doing their job,” Paul interjected. “This is a question they’ll ask everyone associated with your friend.”

“I spent the night alone. I’m house-sitting for a friend. That’s where I was.”

The detective taking notes asked, “Make any phone calls?”

Madison knew that could establish her whereabouts. “No. But I wouldn’t have any reason to kill Erin. She doesn’t have any money or anything of value to inherit.”

She could have added that the dog on the leash was her friend’s only valuable possession, but she didn’t want to draw attention to Aspen. Erin had gone out of her way—and violated her lease—to rescue this dog. Madison couldn’t bring herself to give up the retriever. She knew he’d be sent to some pound and kept there for who knew how long. Erin wouldn’t have wanted the dog to be distressed. The animal was all she had of her friend; she had to protect him from more abuse.

“We’re going to need a set of your fingerprints,” the detective said.

“Eliminating your prints and your friend’s may leave them with the perp’s,” Paul added.

“All right,” she said, but something in their attitude told her that she was a suspect. “A man had to have killed Erin, right? She was strangled.”

Silence greeted her statement. Then the detective taking notes said, “We’ll take you down to the station for the prints.”

“I’ll come in this afternoon,” she told them in her firmest tone. “Aspen has to go to the vet’s.” She tugged on the leash, making this up as she went. She had to get away from here. “He has an eye infection.”

“It’ll have to wait,” the detective said.

Maybe it was just her imagination—misplaced anxiety over her best friend’s death—but Madison needed to get away. Perhaps she should consult a lawyer. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but something was going on here that she didn’t understand.

“I said I would come into the station. Unless the department wants to be slapped with a lawsuit for causing blindness in a champion show dog, I insist on taking Aspen to the vet.”

The word lawsuit detonated on impact. The men exchanged indecipherable looks. “We’ll need those prints by four o’clock.”

It took all Madison’s willpower to lead Aspen to her Beamer without running. Who’d killed Erin? How could she possibly be a suspect? It didn’t make sense.

Something else had been niggling at the back of her brain. She was behind the wheel, driving away from the cluster of police vehicles when it hit her. Paul Tanner. He wasn’t some former cop who just “happened” to live in the neighborhood. He claimed to be a policeman. This morning Jade had said a Paul Tanner wanted to see her about selling her security software or something. He’d driven up in a Porsche. He’d followed her here. Why?

CHAPTER THREE

“THERE’S NO SUCH THING as a perfect crime. Little things—the unexpected—stand in the way of a flawless murder.” The killer spoke the words in an undertone, although there was no one around to hear.

Erin Wycoff’s murder had made headlines. People feasted on the brutality of the crime and lapped up every gory fact. It was to be expected. Death was fascinating, especially if it wasn’t yours. The details had captured the city’s imagination. Many identified with the victim and felt lucky to have escaped her fate.

“The devil is in the details. Always has been, always will be.”

Not many people realized blow-dryers were no longer instruments of death. He certainly hadn’t. He’d been too consumed by his life’s work to read the papers or watch mindless television that might have given him the information he needed.

An enterprising manufacturer would advertise the fact. But the truth was most people didn’t recognize their potential—big corporations included. Never mind. The blow-dryer didn’t electrocute Erin, but the mission had been accomplished in spite of the unexpected development.

The killer stared out at the series of waves tumbling one after another onto the white sand, remembering and reliving the instant the blow-dryer hit the water and hissed like a cat with its tail on fire. The killer had anticipated a guttural scream, then a body collapsing into the water. Dead.

The earsplitting cry had erupted from Erin’s throat as expected. But instead of dying, she’d vaulted from the tub and streaked out of the bathroom with wild, unfocused eyes, reminding him of a rabid dog. She had to be stopped, had to be shut up before she awakened the neighbors.

Luck was always with those who planned and noticed details. The red sash for her robe had been right there on the bathroom door. She’d fought like a hellcat, but she was a small woman. Her struggle had been exhilarating but brief.

A strange twist of fate. Death was always exciting but not this thrilling—so stimulating that nothing could match the experience. It was the struggle that was so captivating. The others had died well-planned deaths—they hadn’t even been listed as murders. This time there was no mistake.

When you didn’t anticipate having to physically attack, the chance of leaving incriminating evidence grew exponentially. Still, the killer had considered the situation many times and decided there was no way the police could solve this crime. Certainly, there was no chance they could link it to the previous murders. They wouldn’t figure out the common denominator between the victims.

PAUL TANNER WAITED in the Porsche as Madison pulled into the driveway of the Fisher Island home where she was house-sitting. She still had the golden retriever with her. He shut off the air-conditioning and got out of the car. His leg hadn’t quite healed and it was stiff from being in the small enclosure for so long. Madison’s head swung in his direction, a puzzled expression on her pretty face.

Paul had known she would be surprised to see him. No doubt she was wondering why he was here and how he’d gotten into an enclave famous for its exclusivity. The small island was linked to the mainland only by ferry service. He’d driven off the boat with a gaggle of Rollses and Bentleys. Parking valets washed the salt spray off the overpriced cars while uniformed guards checked visitors’ credentials. He’d flashed his badge and implied this was official business even though his mission didn’t have a damn thing to do with the murder.

Madison opened her car door and tugged on Aspen’s leash. It took the dog a minute to gauge the distance from the driver’s seat to the ground. His eye problem must really be bothering him.

“How’s his eye infection?” Paul asked as he walked up to them.

“The vet gave him drops.” It was evident the used-carsalesman’s smile Paul was practicing on her wasn’t working. She beelined to the front door. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” She rammed her key into the lock of the Mediterranean-style villa. “I’ve already given the police a statement. Now I have to plan a funeral. Erin doesn’t have anyone else to do it.”

“If you’ll give me a minute—”

She spun around to face him with a look that could have frozen lava. She was exhausted, grief stricken, and probably wanted to curl up somewhere to cry. Her shoulders unexpectedly sagged and he could almost feel the fight go out of her. His entire body tensed with the urge to reach out and put his arm around her, but he resisted.

He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d followed her to Erin Wycoff’s home and heard Madison’s five-alarm scream followed by anguished, keening cries like those of an animal caught in a trap. He’d seen several pictures of her in the file his father had given him. Nothing had prepared him for the woman he’d found when he’d rushed through the back door. She’d been on the verge of debilitating hysteria—who could blame her?—but she’d fought him with more courage than most guys he’d taken down.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at her until they were outside. Then a mind-numbing attack of…of what? Aw, hell. He might as well be honest with himself. A jolt of sexual awareness had shot through him, despite the inappropriate time and place. There was something undeniably appealing about that storm of blond hair and those baby blues. He’d instantly wanted to help her. This from a man who was about as sentimental as Attila the Hun. Okay, so a lot more than help had crossed his mind. But he’d tamped those thoughts down and reminded himself that this was business.

He had no illusions about his profession. Homicide—his usual line of work when he wasn’t temporarily sidelined and helping out his father—occurred at all hours, night and day. A detective couldn’t hope for much in terms of a private life—a lesson he’d already learned. You took women where you found them and walked away. Romancing a woman like Madison Connelly wasn’t in the cards.

“Sorry,” she said now in a tight, pinched voice. “You were great this morning. I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to thank you. I appreciate the way you helped me.”

He nodded, noticing she hadn’t yet asked him why he’d followed her to Erin Wycoff’s home. Undoubtedly she was too shaken by finding her friend dead to make the connection. “Glad I was there. No wonder you weren’t thinking clearly. You had a great shock.” He reached around her and shoved the door open. “Let’s go inside and talk for a minute.”

The air conditioner was on and ceiling fans with paddles shaped like palm fronds circulated the cool air in the semicircular living room with walls entirely of glass. The house faced the ocean and the faint tang of salt air drifted through the room even though he didn’t spot any open doors or windows. The area he could see was bigger than his entire apartment.

She bent over and unhooked Aspen’s leash. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

He hesitated, reluctant to hit her with this immediately and trying to decide the best way to break the news. Hell, he’d had plenty of time to think while he’d been waiting for Madison. He’d prepared enough bullshit to bury Fisher Island, but being face-to-face with her was different.

Something cold gripped his gut. Why me? he asked himself. He should have convinced his father to send someone else. He would have if he’d known he was going to find himself at the scene of a brutal murder beside a knockout blonde who didn’t deserve to be clobbered with another problem right now.

“The police think I have something to do with Erin’s murder, don’t they?”

“Why do you say that?” His was voice guarded now, her question surprising him.

“They took my fingerprints, then kept grilling me, asking the same questions over and over and over.”

“Was there something you didn’t tell them? Something they were fishing for?”

“No,” she replied just a little too quickly.

What wasn’t she revealing? he wondered. Paul had taken a careful look at the scene and he’d been at Madison’s side within seconds after she discovered the body. He knew she hadn’t killed her best friend.

“Do you have any idea what happened? They won’t tell me anything.” She sank down onto the sofa, the retriever at her feet.

“It’s not my case,” he replied, set to sidestep her questions, but her pleading eyes got to him. Then he decided gaining Madison’s trust might help him when he delivered his news. “This is off-the-record, okay? You didn’t hear it from me.”

She measured him with those melt-your-heart baby blues. “All right. Tell me.”

“From the looks of the crime scene, the killer caught the vic—your friend—taking a bath. He threw the blow-dryer into the tub.”

“Oh Lord, no!” She slapped her hand over her mouth, then sucked in a stabilizing breath. “It’s a wonder she wasn’t electrocuted.” Her eyes went empty for a moment, then she asked, “Aren’t blow-dryers fitted with a gizmo that makes them shut off if they’re in water? Seems to me that I read something about it.”

“She received a shock before the dryer quit. That’s why her knee was so swollen, but she managed to get out of the tub.”

“Oh my God. Poor Erin.” Madison gasped and he could see her struggle anew to comprehend the violent and brutal death. She didn’t know the half of it; she hadn’t seen the bathroom. “Do you have any idea…how long she fought?”

“Several minutes at least. Long enough for blood to keep pumping and the knee to swell.”

“Once the heart stops beating the body shuts down, right?” she asked, and he nodded. It took her a minute to add, “Erin must have been terrified.”

Paul couldn’t disagree. “Throwing a blow-dryer is the kind of thing a woman would do.”

“Why? Couldn’t a man have done it?”

“Absolutely, but a killer’s method can often tell us about his or her identity. For example, women use guns at times, but if someone is killed with a less direct method like poisoning or lethal drug doses, the responsible party is usually a woman.”

“But Erin was strangled. That hardly counts as less than direct. The police should be looking for a man. Ninety-three percent of all murders are committed by men.”

That stopped him cold. She was correct. He knew she and her ex had developed a wildly successful online trivia game. Obviously, Madison was a trivia buff herself to know the statistics so well.

“Odds are a man killed your friend,” he conceded. “But most people don’t know blow-dryers have shock interceptors in them and have had since 1991. The perp tried to electrocute her. Strangulation was a last resort.”

Paul studied her closely for a moment. He could almost see Madison’s brain working, imagining her friend running, desperately fighting for her life. Her tormented expression hit him like a sucker punch to the gut when it shouldn’t have. He’d seen more than his share of devastated family and friends. Madison Connelly should be just another woman. Except she wasn’t. He’d read her file and knew the woman better than she knew herself. What he couldn’t predict was how she would react to his news.

“The killer strangled Erin with the sash from her robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.” He kept his voice pitched low in an effort not to upset her more than necessary. “Your friend was a very small woman. A bigger woman could have overpowered her.”

Madison frowned at him for a moment, then asked in a voice so thick with emotion that it was difficult to understand her, “Not bringing a weapon to the crime scene—doesn’t that mean the killing wasn’t premeditated?”

Madison didn’t miss a damn thing. He’d been prepared for a smart woman. One look at the file his father had on this woman made that clear. But she was a lot sharper than he’d expected. A hell of a lot.

“Often lack of a weapon suggests a crime of passion or a crime of opportunity. But this case is unusual. You wouldn’t bring a blow-dryer to the scene if you knew one was already there. It still could have been premeditated.”

“The killer was hiding, lying in wait, watching.” A frown crinkled her smooth forehead. “But how did he know she would take a bath?”

“Good question. He could have spied—”

“Erin loved a long bath. She was a big believer in the relaxing powers of various sea salts and herbs. She would light candles with special fragrances and soak in the tub. But her fondness for aromatherapy wasn’t common knowledge.”

“Her boyfriends must have known, and other close friends like you.”

Madison released a long, frustrated sigh. “I gave the police the names of every guy I knew about. Erin didn’t have any close female friends except me.”

“Why not?”

Madison shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just her personality.”

Paul had the feeling there was more to it, but he didn’t press. He settled himself at her side on the plush white sofa, facing the panoramic view of Biscayne Bay and the sea burnished to a honey color by the setting sun. Neither of them said anything. The retriever reached up and licked Madison’s hand.

“I found Erin’s body. How could I be a suspect? One look and you knew she’d been dead for hours. The others must have realized this. Why would they suspect me?”

“Sometimes killers ‘discover’ the victim to throw off detectives and provide a reason for their prints and other trace evidence to be at the scene.” He watched her slowly nod. A heavy beat of silence followed.

Finally, she asked the question he’d been waiting for. “You were at my office, then you followed me to Erin’s. Why?”

He hated to bring up such a sensitive issue right now. It didn’t seem fair, but what did his father always say? Where did you get the idea life is supposed to be fair? He was being paid to do a job. He couldn’t guess what Madison Connelly’s reaction was going to be, but putting it off wouldn’t change things.

“This is about computer security, isn’t it? That’s what your card said.”

“Not exactly. My father owns a company that specializes in corporate security. I’m helping him out while I’m on disability leave. I should be cleared to go back to active duty on Miami PD in the next few weeks.” Her expression clouded, and he wondered what she was thinking. For some reason, he touched the wound still healing on his thigh. “I took a couple of slugs in an arrest that didn’t go down the way it should have.”

Either she didn’t care or what he’d told her about himself didn’t register. She asked, “Your father wants my business?”

“No. This has nothing to do with your business. This is a personal matter.” What in hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he come to the point? He was progressing with the speed of a glacier. “I need to talk to you about your family.”

“Really? I can’t imagine why. My father died two years ago of cancer. My mother’s remarried.” She was regarding him with outright suspicion now, wondering, no doubt, what his angle was. “It’s a pretty typical story.”

“Would you consider yourself typical?”

She jumped to her feet and went over to the windows. He couldn’t help noticing she moved as if she were on a catwalk, not being deliberately provocative but gliding in a smooth, natural way that kicked up his pulse a notch. A second later, she pivoted in place and glared at him. “What do you want from me?” She hurried back to the sofa. “I only own half of Total-Trivia. Aiden Larsen and his wife control the other half. I can’t do anything without their approval.”

“I’m aware of the situation.” He didn’t add that he knew her ex had tried his damnedest to take the company away from her during the divorce. But she wasn’t just pretty and smart, she was a fighter. “This isn’t about your company, it’s about you.”

“Me?” Her response was a hollow echo in the high-ceilinged room.

“Yes. My father’s firm was hired to track you down.”

“Me? Why on earth—”

“Someone wants to meet you,” Paul replied, easing into what he knew would be a bombshell.

“Who? Why can’t they just pick up a phone and contact me? I’m not hard to find.” The words came out in a heated rush. She took a deep breath and added, “What’s going on? Something’s not right.”

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it straight out. This man might be your biological father. We’ve been doing the verification for him. That’s how we found you.”

“What?” She surged to her feet once more. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re aware of sperm banks.” Paul expected a puzzled look, but instead hostility was etched on her face like a death mask.

“Of course,” she shot back without taking a breath. “So?”

“That’s how you were conceived.”

“My parents never used a sperm bank. They were totally in love. My mother was devastated when my father died. If they’d used a sperm bank, they would have told me.”

Paul knew he wouldn’t score any points by reminding Madison that her mother had married less than a year after her father’s death. He couldn’t see a way to sugarcoat this, and he sensed she was the type of woman who would appreciate directness. “According to my research, your mother was artificially inseminated at the New Horizons Fertility Clinic.”

“No way!” she shouted. The retriever shied to one side as if expecting a blow. “My mother would have told me.”

You’d be surprised, he wanted to respond. Being a cop had proved to him that unimaginable things could happen. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She lowered herself to the sofa again and reached down to stroke the head of the frightened dog.

Paul reached inside the jacket of the lightweight sport coat he was wearing and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her. “Is this your mother’s signature?”

Brows knit, she scanned the photocopy. “It appears to be her signature. It’s hard to say for sure.” She thrust the paper back at him. “So? She might have visited a clinic. That doesn’t mean—”

“She received sperm donations from donor 8374 on two separate occasions. I can show you documentation to prove it.”

Madison stared at him, her intense eyes calling him a liar. “That’s ridiculous. I look exactly like my father. Ask anyone. I have his personality, too.”

He waited, giving her time to absorb the news. “The insemination dates are just over nine months before you were born.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen the so-called documentation.”

She had the same stubborn streak the rest of her biological family shared, but he didn’t mention it. “I’ll have copies of it within the week.”

“Why don’t you have them now?”

“New Horizons was an unusual facility. They specialized in Mensa donors. Men with high—”

“I know what Mensa is. Eggheads. You have to have a high IQ score.”

“You were invited to join, weren’t you?”

She tossed her head and flung her hair over one shoulder. “Who would want to hang out with a bunch of nerds?”

He kept his smile to himself. His file on Madison told him a lot about her but there was nothing like an interview to reveal personality. She had attitude in spades, just like the rest of the bunch.

“Don’t you want to know more about donor 8374?”

“No. I don’t. There’s an explanation for this mistake. That donor is not my father.”

“He was a medical student at Harvard when he sold his sperm. They paid a premium for donors who were extremely intelligent. Know what their next requirement was?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. She was gazing heavenward and he was damn sure she wasn’t praying. “Other than being Caucasian? Tall. Women seeking sperm donors want tall men. Tall, smart men.”

He waited a beat to let that tidbit sink in, then added, “You’re a lot taller than either of your parents, aren’t you?”

“So?” she shot back, her accusing gaze now directed right at him. “A lot of children are taller than their parents.” She studied him a moment as if he were some disgusting bug that had crawled out from under a garbage can. “If this donor lived in Boston, how did his…his sperm get down here? My parents met at Tulane and moved to Miami just after they were married. My father might have gone to Boston on business, but my mother never visited the city until I went to college.”

He knew Madison had attended Massachusetts Institute of Technology as a National Science Foundation scholar and had been accepted to a master’s program. She’d dropped out and returned to Miami when her father had become ill with terminal pancreatic cancer. That’s when she’d met and married Aiden Larsen.

“The clinic in Boston sold some of their inventory to New Horizons.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Profit. Do you know how much more valuable sperm is when it comes from Mensa donors with Harvard credentials?”

“Don’t forget tall. Women want tall men.” She almost cracked a smile, surprising Paul and giving him a captivating glimpse of her disarming sense of humor.

“Right. Tall, smart men with Harvard degrees made New Horizons a bundle. You see, in the Boston area, there are a lot of Ivy League schools, but down here that isn’t the case. New Horizons did a ton of advertising. Women flocked to their Miami clinic. There was a long, long waiting list.”

“It isn’t around anymore?”

“They went out of business in the mid-nineties.” He didn’t say they’d been sued for false advertising.

“Why? From what I’ve read, using sperm donors is more popular than ever. Seems to me, smart, tall men with Ivy League degrees are still in demand.”

Some people were book smart, but Madison Connelly was quick on the uptake. He decided now was the time to be honest with her. “The Boston sperm bank stopped using Mensa donors after coming under fire for being too elitist. New Horizons was forced to collect sperm locally. They concocted phony backgrounds to get higher prices for their services. Lawsuits followed and put them out of business.”

“I don’t know why I asked. This has nothing to do with my parents.” She didn’t sound as sure of herself as she had a few minutes ago. “What do you want with me?”

“You have a family who would like to meet you. A half brother and a half sister—”

She jumped to her feet again. This time she didn’t utter a word as she stalked to the wall of glass where the sun had set in a burst of crimson and gold. “I don’t want to meet any of them under false pretenses. I know who my father is. Some photocopy from a clinic that went out of business for illegal practices doesn’t prove a thing.”

She spun around to face him. “My mother is sailing in the South Pacific right now. It’s an extended honeymoon and an adventure she’s always wanted. She telephones me whenever she gets to a port.” She strode toward the door, covering the distance quickly with her showgirl legs, and flung it open. “I’ll call you if she says this is true.”

Paul rose slowly. He already knew Madison’s mother was sailing around the world with her new husband, a man not much older than her daughter. It could be weeks before she surfaced.

“I regret having to keep being the bearer of bad news. I know now is a terrible moment to tell you all this but I’m afraid we don’t have much time. This sperm donor needs a liver transplant or he’ll die.”

Her flashing eyes telegraphed the anger she was barely keeping in check. “I knew there was a reason for your visit. That man doesn’t want to connect with his supposed long-lost children. He’s after an organ donor.”

Paul couldn’t deny it. “True, but does the name Wyatt Holbrook mean anything to you?”

He could see that it did. Wyatt was well-known in the Miami area for his philanthropic endeavors and his pharmaceutical company. Madison was too smart and too well-read not to recognize the name.

“I’ve heard of him.” The hostility in her voice had dropped a notch. “He’s done a lot to help people in Miami.”

“Yes. He funded the cancer wing at Miami General and he’s given generously to AIDS research projects locally and nationally.”

“Fine. So he’s a generous man who’s helped people.” Hostility was still evident in her voice.

“He’s the sperm donor I mentioned.” He refrained from referring to the man as her father. He could see how sensitive she was about the subject. “He has two children by his late wife but they can’t donate.”

“Wait a second! Did you say liver transplant?” When Paul nodded, she rushed to add, “I was thinking kidney. I’ve read a little about liver transplants from live donors—”

“It’s a relatively new procedure. A donor gives a lobe of the organ and over time it regenerates to almost full size again. The most successful transplants are between blood relatives.”

“Isn’t it a risky procedure for the donor?”

“There is some risk,” he hedged. “It’s major abdominal surgery, but there have been very few documented problems.”

“It’s a lot to ask of anyone, much less a child he dug up just so he could find a suitable organ.”

Paul stared at her hard, trying to determine which card to play. “If this were your father, wouldn’t you do anything you could to save him?”

She shrugged, but he could see his words hit the mark. He pulled out all the stops. “This man isn’t just any ordinary human being who needs help. Wyatt Holbrook is in the process of setting up one of the largest research foundations in the country. The money he contributes will finance countless medical and scientific advances.”

He watched these facts register on her pretty face and her composure cracked just a little. “I guess.”

Paul pressed his advantage. “Isn’t he a man worth saving?”

The words hung in the air, the echo of the truth suspended between them.

She stared at him for a moment, then spoke in a low-pitched voice. “Any human being is worth saving. That isn’t the point. I would have given all I have or ever hope to have to prevent Erin’s death. I would help this man…if I could. From what I’ve read, the liver will be rejected unless the two immune systems are compatible. I’m not related to Wyatt Holbrook. The chances of my immune system being a close enough match are astronomical.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot today. I hate to add to your burden. I’m just asking you to think about trying to help a man who has devoted his life to giving to others.” He handed her a business card. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”

CHAPTER FOUR

What attracts malaria mosquitoes the fastest?

“WHERE IS EVERYONE?” Madison asked Rob Matthews, Erin’s former boyfriend. “There were dozens of people at the funeral home.”

It had been three days since she’d discovered Erin’s body. The police wouldn’t release the body until the coroner certified the autopsy results. Until then, there was always the possibility additional tests might be needed. During that time, Madison had scrambled to plan the funeral and notify as many of Erin’s friends and relatives as possible.

It had proved to be a difficult task. Erin had been an only child of parents with almost no living relatives. The second cousins Madison did manage to locate in Missouri barely knew Erin’s name. None of them had met her and they weren’t interested in attending her funeral.

Erin’s employer was fond of Erin and said he would be at the service. Madison contacted a few friends that she and Erin had known in high school. They hadn’t stayed in touch with many of them, but several assured Madison they would come. Considering the few people who planned to attend, Madison was astonished when she turned from her place in the first row where she was sitting beside Rob and saw there was standing room only in the tiny chapel operated by the funeral home.

Who were they? she’d wondered. Apparently, they’d read the notice in the newspaper. Just seeing all the solemn faces cheered Madison. She’d imagined Erin being buried with almost no one to grieve for her. As soon as the brief service was over, Madison had phoned the caterer to order more food and made sure everyone had maps to the Fisher Island home where she was holding the reception.

“Do you think people were intimidated by Fisher Island?” Madison asked Rob. “Is that why they didn’t come?”

“I doubt it. Most people never have the chance to visit a private island like Fisher. They wouldn’t miss an opportunity.”

Madison looked around. Less than a dozen people were clustered in small groups near the lavish buffet. No one was at the bar, where a waiter stood ready to serve drinks.

“So where are they?” she asked. Most of the guests who were present had eaten and would be leaving soon.

“Well…I suspect some of them might not want anyone to know their names.” Rob’s dark brown eyes telegraphed concern and anxiety. He was obviously grieving but trying to be stoic. He was tall and a little thinner than when she’d last joined him for dinner. He had a warm smile and a great sense of humor, but he was a little offbeat. She could never tell what he was really thinking. In that way, he was a lot like Erin, she decided.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The police had a car with a video camera outside the funeral home.”

“They did?” Madison had been so shell-shocked from her best friend’s death and lack of sleep that she’d barely managed to keep from sobbing as she’d walked into the chapel. She hadn’t noticed much.

“I think it’s standard after a homicide,” Rob replied. “Some killers get a morbid thrill from attending their victim’s funerals.”

“I know.” She’d seen enough crime shows to realize this. “But people at the funeral were so normal-looking. A lot of them were women. Some seemed to be grandmother and grandfather types. They didn’t look like killers.”

“What do killers look like?” he asked, his voice pitched so low he was almost whispering.

“I don’t know. I’ve asked myself over and over who could have killed Erin. She never hurt anyone. Who would want her dead?”

“No one. No one we know, anyway.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she replied. “I know the statistics. Homicides are rarely random acts.” She didn’t mention the details Paul had given her. From what he’d said, the killer knew a lot about Erin’s personal habits. The murderer could have been a stalker who spied on her, or someone she knew.

Rob slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. She leaned just slightly against his tall, spare frame. Here was someone who loved Erin as much as Madison had. The only other person at the funeral who had honestly cared about Erin. Whatever had caused Erin and Rob to break up could easily have been Erin’s fault. As close as Erin and Madison had always been, it remained a mystery to her why Erin never quite connected with other people.

A lone wolf. That’s what her father had once called Erin. The thought of her father brought her back to Paul Tanner and his horrible accusations. She’d tried not to think about what he’d told her.

Madison wanted to reach her mother, but she was still between ports somewhere in the South Pacific with the young hunk who’d replaced her beloved father. Her mother had been so devastated by the loss of her husband that she’d remarried more quickly than she should have, in Madison’s opinion. Madison didn’t care for the man, but she had to deal with him if she wanted a relationship with her mother.

Though in her heart, Madison knew Zack Connelly was her father, she just wanted to hear her mother’s explanation for visiting a fertility clinic. She’d thought it over and decided her mother must have received some type of fertility drug. That’s why what appeared to be her signature had been on one of the clinic’s forms. Forget it, she told herself. Focus on Erin, on the present.

“Who do you think all those people at the chapel were?” Madison repeated the question she’d just asked as she pulled away from Rob. “Why would they care if the police saw them?”

He ran his slender fingers through his dark brown hair, his gaze troubled. “I’m fairly sure they knew Erin from the Everglades Animal Defense League.”

“Oh, really?” She hadn’t thought of those folks. Erin had been active with the group since her first year in college. Madison had been at MIT at the time, but Erin had told her about being a founding member of the group when Madison came home at Easter. The organization had campaigned hard to stop cosmetic testing on animals. What had begun with pickets and print advertising had escalated into break-ins and arson.

“That’s what caused our split, you know.”

Madison shook her head; Erin had never wanted to discuss her problems with Rob. Typical Erin. Her friend talked least about what mattered the most.

Not that Rob had been any more forthcoming. Madison had gone to dinner a few times with him, when he’d been kind enough to call and see how she was dealing with her divorce. He’d never brought up his split with Erin. It was as if a steel curtain came down. No one knew the details except Erin and Rob.

“As a vet, I’m sympathetic to the cause,” he told her. “But I couldn’t condone criminal activity.”

She could see his point, yet she shared Erin’s concern with the way many animals were treated in labs. “It’s wrong to test cosmetics and hair products on animals.”

“Like Aspen.”

“Dr. Wallace told you?” After finding Erin’s body, Madison had taken the golden retriever to Rob’s veterinary clinic, but she’d been late for the appointment and his associate had treated Aspen. When Madison had told the police Aspen had an eye infection, it had just been a guess fueled by her desire to get away from the crime scene. Rob’s associate had stunned her when he’d informed her Aspen’s runny eyes had probably been deliberately inflicted.

“Wally thinks hair spray or maybe spray deodorant was tested on your dog. Not a surprise. Wally interned in a test lab. He knows the signs.” Rob hesitated a moment, moved a little closer, then slid his arm around Madison’s shoulders again. “Erin called me about midnight the night she died. I hadn’t heard from her in months. She told me she’d found a dog that someone had abused. Something had been sprayed in his eyes. I told her to come in at noon because I had to leave for a meeting. But that’s not why I wanted her there during lunch.”

Something in his expression alarmed Madison. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.

“I doubted she’d ‘found’ a dog in the middle of the night. The EADL had been at it again. They’d broken into a test facility somewhere and stolen the animals used for experiments. I agreed to treat the dog but I didn’t want it in my records.”

Madison knew Rob could lose his license if the authorities charged him with aiding the illegal activities of the Everglades Animal Defense League. She vaguely remembered something she’d seen on TV the morning she’d found Erin’s body. There had been a suspicious fire at a local laboratory that conducted tests for cosmetics companies. It appeared to have been set to conceal the theft of the lab’s test animals and documents. At the time, it had crossed her mind Erin might have been involved. So much had happened that she’d forgotten about it.

“The television reports never mentioned dogs,” she told him. “They said lab animals had been taken, which made it sound like mice or rats.”

“Animal rights are a hot issue. People cut labs slack when testing is for cancer or some other medical purpose, but testing cosmetics on dogs could trigger a lot of negative publicity the company doesn’t want.”

“I see,” Madison replied. “Why did Erin have papers saying she bought Aspen for twenty-five dollars from some woman?”

Rob hesitated a moment, then said, “The way I understand it, when the league ‘liberates’ animals, they shuttle them as fast as they can and as far from the lab as possible. Erin was probably going to drive north, then hand off the dog to someone else who would in turn drive and meet another person. If questioned about the animal, they would have papers.”

“I see. Erin never mentioned anything about doing these things.”

“That’s because she knew you disapproved.”

“True. After the fire at the Attleborough Laboratory back when we were in college, I told her how reckless I thought the group was being. Someone could get killed or injured in a fire. I reminded her a man in Oregon who’d set fire to a lab that tested on animals received a five-year prison term. I told her to stop.”

“Erin was too stubborn to stop. She just didn’t tell you about it anymore.”

Madison nodded, sighed. Erin had never said she would drop out of the group. Every time Madison heard about an incident at a lab, she would wonder if Erin was involved.

Rob gave her a slight hug. She was a little uncomfortable having his arm around her so much. She knew he was only trying to comfort her, but it somehow made her feel disloyal to Erin. Her friend had been devoted to this man and he’d left her. Not that Madison blamed him exactly, but the situation made her feel guilty.

Their split had happened just days after Aiden had left Madison. She’d been in such turmoil that she’d been of little help to Erin. When Madison had finally pulled herself together, Erin seemed to have recovered, as well. She never said exactly why Rob left except they didn’t agree on life.

“Madison,” called a male voice, and she turned to see Erin’s boss walking her way. Beside the heavyset, balding Mr. Pinder were two women in black suits. She assumed they all worked in the Tropical Shades office where Erin had been a sales rep.

“We’ve got to run,” said one of the women. “You know how it is on the 95.”

She nodded; indeed she did. Take the wrong off-ramp on the trip north and you could be history. A fact that had put a dent in Miami’s tourism when several tourists had been killed after taking the wrong exit and finding themselves in no-man’s-land.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mr. Pinder told Madison. “Erin was a wonderful person.”

“A treasure,” agreed the other woman with him.

“Thank you for coming,” Madison made herself say. She doubted if any of the three had more than a passing acquaintance with Erin. She wasn’t one to be close to employees in an office she used as a base and visited only when necessary.

Within the next half hour, the others gradually left. Twilight gathered over Biscayne Bay and no one remained except the catering crew, who was busy loading up, and Rob Matthews.

“I’ve told them to pack up some of the food for you,” she said to Rob as they stood by the artful cheese display on the buffet table. “I’m sure the gang in your office can eat it tomorrow.”

One of the cheeses was a little strong; the smell wafted up toward her. Madison suddenly remembered malaria-bearing mosquitoes are drawn the fastest by the scent of strong cheese. Humans exuded sweat—particularly from their feet—that was much like cheese and attracted mosquitoes, especially in the tropics. She never ate cheese with a strong smell.

“Thanks. It’s a shame to waste so much,” Rob replied. “What about your office?”

“There’s plenty for both of us and I’m sure the kids in the cube farm will scarf up every morsel.” She didn’t add that she dreaded going to work tomorrow. She was so angry she was afraid of what she might say. Aiden had known Erin for years. True, the two hadn’t cared for each other, but Aiden should have at least put in an appearance at the funeral.

“Maybe we should walk the dog,” suggested Rob.

“Good idea. I’ll get Aspen.” She rushed off toward the bedroom she was using. She’d put the retriever in the room to keep him from slipping out the front door with one of the guests.

“Here, boy,” she called as she entered the bedroom. Aspen jumped to his feet and headed in her direction. She noticed he was moving more quickly than he had when she’d first gotten him. Rob’s partner hadn’t given her much hope that the quality of Aspen’s vision would improve, so she assumed he was becoming accustomed to his surroundings. “How about a walk?”

The dog enthusiastically wagged his tail. He was an intelligent dog. In the short time she’d had him, Aspen had learned what “cookie” and “walk” meant. She grabbed his leash off the dresser, clasped it to his collar and walked him out to the foyer where Rob was waiting.

With a smile, he held the door open for them. Outside, it was still warm and the last remaining light from the setting sun glistened on Biscayne Bay. The beauty of nature was eternal, timeless, she thought, unlike the fleetingness of life, where people could be snatched from you in an instant.

“You know, I’m already attached to this dog,” she told Rob. “I think Aspen must have been someone’s pet. He’s well behaved and knows several commands.”

“No telling where he came from. Some labs are very careful while others take any dogs they can get.”

They paused and waited while Aspen did his business on the greenbelt. An elderly woman dressed to the nines was walking a small white poodle with a Burberry collar nearby.

“What did you tell the police about Aspen?” Rob asked in a low voice.

“Nothing. I took the bill of sale off the counter and stuffed it in my purse before the police arrived. I planned to explain when I went down to the station for the interview, but when Dr. Wallace told me someone had deliberately sprayed stuff in Aspen’s eyes, I didn’t mention him.” She reached down and patted Aspen’s sleek head. “I was afraid they would give him back to those terrible people.”

“You’re absolutely right. They would have.”

“Did you tell them Erin called you about Aspen shortly before she was killed?”

Rob shook his head. “No. I can’t imagine the break-in had anything to do with her death. Those people are fanatics about animals. They don’t go around killing each other.”

“But won’t the police find your number in Erin’s phone records and know she called you shortly before she was murdered?”

“No. She told me she used a pay phone. Animal rights activists are really careful not to leave a trail to others. They won’t find anything on her computer or her phones that will link her to the group.”

Madison turned, hearing someone calling her name. A paunchy man with gray hair and eyebrows like steel wool was heading their way. She didn’t recognize him, and she was fairly certain he hadn’t been at the chapel. She’d given instructions to the guards to admit anyone to the island for the reception.

“Ridley Johnson,” he told them in a breathless voice. “I’m Erin Wycoff’s attorney. Sorry I couldn’t get to the funeral. I had a deposition.”

Madison stared at the man, not quite believing what she was hearing. Why would Erin need an attorney? She’d never mentioned one. But then, there had been a lot of things her friend had neglected to tell her.

“I have to fly to New York tomorrow morning.” He shrugged. “That’s the price of being a one-man operation. You’re on the go all the time.”

Madison tried for a sympathetic smile, but her mind was still on Erin. What else hadn’t Erin told her? Maybe if she’d been more open with her, Madison might be able to help the police find her killer.

The lawyer looked at Rob, but spoke to Madison. “Could we talk in private? It’s about Miss Wycoff’s estate.”

Madison almost laughed at the word estate. Other than a few pieces of gold jewelry, Erin didn’t have much. “This is my friend Robert Matthews. He was also a close friend of Erin’s. You can talk in front of him.”

The lawyer arched one eyebrow skeptically, then said, “Miss Wycoff had me draw up a will for her about six months ago. She left you everything.”

For a gut-cramping second the world froze. “She did? I’m surprised Erin bothered with a will. She didn’t have much.”

He gazed at her for a long moment in a way that struck her as odd. “Like I explained to the police, the exact worth of her estate won’t be clear until the sale of the property is finalized and some back taxes paid. But it’s in the neighborhood of eleven million dollars.”

Eleven million? The magnitude of this news poleaxed her brain. She managed to whisper, “Are you sure?”

“What property?” asked Rob.

“It’s six acres outside Tallahassee. She inherited it from her parents. It was in the sticks when they bought it. The town’s spread out and a new shopping center is going in. She agreed to sell the land to the developer. It’s in escrow right now.”

“Oh my God,” Madison whispered. The police were already suspicious of Madison. Now they would have a motive for murder.

CHAPTER FIVE

What does forensic mean?

MADISON BROUGHT Aspen to work with her the morning following the funeral. The dog must have spent most of his life in a cage. She refused to lock him up inside the house all day long. There wasn’t any yard where she was staying. When she bought her own place, it would need to have an outdoor area for Aspen.

She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d decided to keep the retriever, but it had been in the back of her mind since she’d seen her closest friend’s dead body. The dog meant a lot to Erin or she wouldn’t have taken him home. There was nothing she could do for Erin now. It was too late for that, but she could help the dog. She was positive that’s what Erin would have wanted.

“You, like, got a dog,” Jade said the second Madison walked through the door. The receptionist’s black hair was now a suspicious shade of red and gelled heavenward. “How cool is that?”

“His name is Aspen.” She looked around but didn’t see Aiden or Chloe in their cubicles. “He’ll be coming to work with me until I find a place with a yard.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Jade said as she gave Aspen a pat. “Like, what a terrible thing to happen.”

“The worst, believe me. The worst.” She let her eyes roam over the small cube farm for a moment. It had been days since she’d been in the office. “What did I miss?”

Jade didn’t have an official title. No one but Aiden and Madison were called anything but associates. This had been the cornerstone of their “anticorporate” philosophy, but as part of the divorce settlement, Aiden and Madison became copresidents. Since Jade’s desk was up front, she was the receptionist by default to the few visitors. Her main function was to assist Aiden and Madison. Jade’s Goth appearance might be off-putting, but she was sharp. Madison knew Jade had been on top of everything while Madison was away.

“Not much happened,” Jade replied. “I put all the messages on your desk. Aiden may have, like, checked your e-mail for you.”

“Why would he do that?”

Jade shrugged and her expression curdled. “I guess he was trying to help. How cool is that?”

“Help with what?” she asked, trying to conceal her anger but hearing its undertone in her voice anyway. Once, they’d flitted in and out of each other’s cubicles, checked each other’s e-mails and written responses for each other. Those days were over. They no longer visited each other’s cubes unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Aiden must have thought you were, like, so busy with the funeral.”

But he couldn’t be bothered to come to the funeral. Madison doubted Aiden was trying to help. What had he been up to? She realized this was Jade’s way of letting her know without being a snitch. She smiled at Jade while silently applauding her own sixth sense. Something had told her Jade would be an asset to the company despite her questionable fashion sense.

“Where is Aiden?” Madison asked.

“He’s at the hospital with Chloe.”

From Jade’s matter-of-fact tone, Madison could tell Chloe wasn’t seriously ill. “What happened?”

Jade rolled eyes lined with a paintbrush. “Chloe got headlights. How cool is that?”

“A car accident?” Madison immediately thought of the Porsche Boxster that Aiden had bought for Chloe right after he walked out on Madison.

“No. Like, you know, headlights.”

“Oh.” The light dawned. Headlights were the rage in SoBe, where the babes paraded around with surgically enlarged breasts showcased by skimpy, tight tops. Erect nipples—a total turn-on for guys—crowned perfect chests. To keep them permanently erect, a surprising number of women had their nipples injected with cosmetic fillers that were also used to erase lines and plump up lips.

The whole thing sounded so painful, so ridiculous, that Madison couldn’t imagine suffering through the procedure just to attract men. But Chloe was different. Madison had sensed it when she’d interviewed her for a position at Total Trivia. There was something about Chloe that she hadn’t liked, but Madison had been so impressed by her credentials that she’d ignored her instincts.

As time had gone on and Madison had the opportunity to watch Chloe, she began to understand how insecure the woman was. Chloe had a brilliant mind, but she relied on sex to get her what she wanted. How did Aiden feel about this? she wondered. Did he like having a wife who turned heads? Was that what had been wrong with their marriage? Madison was attractive, but men didn’t drool when she walked into a room.

“Chloe was so sick the day after her surgery that Aiden canceled his lunch with Luis Estevez.”

Luis Estevez! A frisson of alarm skittered down her spine. They’d discussed adding gambling to Total Trivia and the possibility of using Allied Miami Bank, but they’d put off a decision. Rumors of mob connections and drug money surrounded the bank president who’d left Cuba as a child and had made a fortune in Little Havana, then moved into Miami’s financial district.

Madison and Aiden had agreed to wait and think about gambling. No, she mentally corrected herself, she’d told Aiden that she wanted to look into it more. Evidently, he’d gone ahead.

“I’d say you could call him to check in, but Aiden’s cell phone has to be off in the hospital.”

Her ex was never out of touch; he lived with his cell phone and BlackBerry. Chloe’s condition must be serious after all. “She’ll be okay. It’s not life-threatening. Is it?”

Jade shook her head. “Aiden called earlier. She has a staph infection but they’re getting it under control.”

“He’ll be in later?”

“He doesn’t want to leave Chloe if she needs him. How cool is that?”

Touching. Positively touching. Madison reached down and stroked Aspen’s silky head. She couldn’t help thinking this might be Chloe’s just deserts. The woman had been blessed with a brilliant scientific mind, yet she relied on her body to get what she wanted. Chloe had gone after Aiden with the determination of a shark after a fish.

After Aiden had left her for Chloe, Madison had run into an old friend from MIT. Pamela Nolan had gone on to grad school at Stanford, where she’d known Chloe. Pamela had described her as “pathologically sexual” and told tales of the havoc Chloe had wrought upon the grad program while she’d been at Stanford. Pamela didn’t know what had happened, but Chloe had left before receiving her master’s degree. No one knew why she’d headed to Miami.

Madison had considered telling Aiden, then thought it would sound like sour grapes. What was the gossip worth, anyway? Not much. People always talked about each other. Nothing she could have said would have changed Aiden’s mind. He was head over heels in love with Chloe.

A pang, a yearning as familiar as Madison’s own reflection in a mirror, hit her. Was there nothing Aiden wouldn’t do for Chloe? He’d never once treated Madison with such adoration. Too often her longing to understand his betrayal had a rough edge that morphed into anger or self-pity. Don’t go there, she warned herself. Keep your mind on business.

“I’ll be at my desk.” Madison jiggled Aspen’s leash. He’d settled himself on the floor while they’d been talking. As he jumped to his feet, she remembered the food. Even though it was barely midmorning, heat had purled up from the asphalt parking lot when she stepped out of her car and with it came a suffocating wave of humidity. It would be an oven in less than half an hour. “There’s food in my car from the reception. I want to put it out in the break room for everyone to share. Will you help me—”

“I’ll get it.” Jade popped out of her chair and Madison handed her the car keys. “You have work to do.”

“Okay, boy, here we are,” she told Aspen when they reached her office. “Find a spot and make yourself comfortable. We’ll be here for a while.”

Aspen cocked his head and gazed up at her as if he truly understood. He was an amazing animal. She knew from experience that he would nudge her with his nose when he had to go out. He was so well trained that it amazed her he could have wound up in a testing facility. Had he been stolen from someone who’d lovingly trained him?

Madison sat in her swivel chair, wondering as she had many times about the dog. She was tempted to search for his owners, but she was afraid to call attention to Aspen. Rob had warned this could result in the lab being able to prove it legally owned Aspen. She’d already decided that this dog would never be returned to a lab if she could help it. The retriever settled under her desk at her feet.

She sifted through the pile of messages that Jade had placed in her phone message box. Paul Tanner had called several times; he’d also left messages she’d ignored on her cell phone. Would the man ever give up and go away?

Madison was positive she hadn’t been conceived through some anonymous sperm donor. She was her father’s daughter. Zach Connelly had shared many secrets with her during the final days before cancer claimed him. He would have told her if she hadn’t been his biological daughter.

Not that it made any difference. Titles like father and sister were merely words. Erin’s death had sent Madison into an emotional tailspin. It was like losing her sister. She wouldn’t have loved a real sister any more than she had Erin. That’s why Erin’s secrets hurt so much. Why hadn’t she mentioned that the property her parents had left her had suddenly become so valuable?

Madison tamped down another emotional response and turned her thoughts back to her father. He’d raised her with so much love that she doubted any father and daughter could have been closer. When she spoke to her mother about Paul Tanner’s outrageous claim, they’d share a real hoot.

There were stacks of printouts on her desk. She knew most of them were trivia questions programmers wanted to post on the site but worried that players might have problems with. Trivia players were classic nitpickers. If an answer wasn’t exactly correct, the site would be inundated with e-mail complaints.

The first question she scanned asked about the tallest mountain on earth. The obvious answer was Mount Everest, but there was another mountain in Africa that was nearly half a mile taller. This was because the earth wasn’t round like a basketball, but elliptical, meaning it was wider at the equator. This width translated to additional height, making some obscure African mountain taller than Everest. This was exactly the type of question Total Trivia gamers adored, but it would have to be phrased properly to add the key element of the shape of the earth.

Madison was usually good at rewriting confusing questions, but her mind was still muzzy from lack of sleep. She scooted the stack aside and turned on her computer, wondering why Aiden had been in her office. It certainly wasn’t to rework questions. Though Aiden was great with the computer and finances, he was terrible at rewrites. He left those to Madison.

Still suspicious about Aiden’s motives, she opened her e-mail folder and found hundreds had come in while she’d been away. She could have checked them from home, but she hadn’t bothered. Squinting at the screen, she scrolled through the list to see if any of them were really important.

Madison was still answering e-mails when she heard Jade walk into the cubicle. A quick glance at the time on her computer told Madison that nearly two hours had passed.

“There’s, like, someone to see you from the police,” Jade informed her. “How cool is that?”

Right behind Jade was one of the homicide detectives who’d questioned her at the station the day Erin’s body had been discovered. Suddenly there was a weight in the center of her stomach. She ventured a sideways glance under the desk where Aspen was sleeping. The dog couldn’t be seen from the opposite side of her desk where the detective stood watching her.

Madison rose, extended her hand and forced a smile. “Detective…”

“Lincoln Burgess.” The stout man with sparse gray hair and a walrus mustache shook her hand. A trace of stale cigarette smoke rose from his lightweight sport coat as he moved. “Mind if I sit?”

“Please.” Madison slowly sank into her own chair. She’d mentally prepared herself for this moment but now that it had arrived she couldn’t help being edgy.

“I just had a few follow-up questions.” His tone was conversational but it did nothing to ease her nerves. “It’s about the dog.”

Dread rolled over her like a silent, all-encompassing fog. She waited with what she hoped was a neutral expression on her face.

“The dog you had with you at the crime scene. Had it been in the house?”

Madison had prepared herself for this interrogation with Rob’s help. No sense in lying more than necessary. Forensic experts would know Aspen had been in the house. Work around this—don’t fight it.

“Yes. Erin told me she had a golden retriever for me. When I came to pick up my cell phone, he was in the kitchen with his bill of sale and everything.”

The detective’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “When did she tell you this?”

“On Friday night when we went clubbing. Erin said a woman she’d met had a dog she couldn’t keep. Erin knew I was looking for a pet and bought him for me.”

Two beats of silence. “You never mentioned the dog in your interview.”

She ladled on the charm with a vapid smile. There were some advantages to being blond. Men automatically thought you were stupid. “No one asked about Aspen. Why is he important? Aren’t you looking for Erin’s killer?”

“Her death could be linked to the dog.” Detective Burgess’s eyes had no depth or light to them. Madison couldn’t tell if he’d bought her naive act.

“Really?”

“Do you have the bill of sale?”

“Yes. It’s at home. I mean, it’s at the home on Fisher Island where I’m house-sitting. Why?”

“We’re going to need to see it.”

Madison nodded, noticing he hadn’t answered her question. She had the sickening sensation that he was going to take Aspen away from her. She cursed herself for not following up on Rob’s suggestion that she try to contact the Everglades Animal Defense League and arrange to shuttle Aspen out of the state to protect him the way Erin would have had she lived.

Out of the corner of her eye, Madison saw Jade hurrying up the aisle with Paul Tanner at her heels. Great! Just what she needed. How could the guy interrupt an ongoing meeting? But a strange, excited feeling feathered through her chest.

Paul Tanner strode through the cube farm wearing arrogance like a second skin. But Madison couldn’t help noticing all the female heads turned in his direction. For an instant she regretted taking so little time to dress. She had on no makeup except for lip gloss. Her willful hair was going in all directions this morning and she’d done little to tame it.

What Paul Tanner thought of her didn’t matter. Then it occurred to her that a distraction might be useful. She wasn’t much good at picking her way through a minefield of lies.

Jade rushed into the cube, saying, “I told Mr. Tanner you were—”

“I thought I might be able to help.” Paul Tanner directed his comment to Detective Burgess, who didn’t look too thrilled to see him.

“It’s okay, Jade,” Madison told the girl and she backed out of the cube.

Paul looked directly at her with a tilt of his lips meant to pass for a smile. The beat of her heart suddenly filled her skull. Get a grip, she told herself.

“I thought you were still out on leave,” the detective said to Paul.

“I am, but I heard you wanted to ask Madison a few questions about the dog. I thought I might be able to help, since I was on the scene immediately after she discovered the body.”

Detective Burgess considered this a little longer than Madison thought necessary, considering Paul’s presence on the scene was an established fact. “Miss Connelly claims to have a bill of sale for the dog. Did you see it?”

Paul shifted his gaze to Madison and a nimbus of dread snaked through her. What would the man say?

“The envelope on the kitchen counter next to the pizza box?”

Amazing. Paul had been sprinting through the house in response to her screams, yet he’d had time to notice the box and the envelope beside it. From a distance she heard herself answer, “Yes. The bill of sale was in the envelope.”

“She never mentioned it during the interview at the station,” the detective informed Paul.

Paul shrugged, glanced her way and said, “She probably didn’t think it was important. After all, she’d just found her best friend’s body.”

“Right,” Detective Burgess grudgingly agreed. “But the interview was hours later, after she’d taken the dog to the vet for some eye problem.”

“Have you made any progress in finding Erin’s killer?” Madison asked. Her father always said the best defense was a good offense.

“Her killer might have been the person who sold your friend the dog. He was probably the last person to see her.”

Madison said, “The name on the sales receipt I have at my house is L. Morgan. It must be a woman. Erin said a lady couldn’t keep her golden retriever.”

“Is there a city listed?” Paul asked.

“Miami.” She’d already checked the telephone directory. Hundreds of Morgans were listed in the greater Miami area. If Rob had been correct and this dog had been liberated from the lab, his bill of sale had been forged and deliberately made to be untraceable.

“I’ll need the certificate,” said the detective, “and the dog.”

“The dog?” Paul said, a laugh in his tone. “What for? Gonna question him?”

“Forensics might want to—”

“No way,” Paul said flatly. “Too much time has passed.”

Her brain immediately switched to trivia central. Forensics meant pertaining to or used in a court of law. Too much time had lapsed and Aspen had been too many places to make testing his fur admissible in court. But to be safe she said, “I washed him, then conditioned his fur.” It was the truth. Aspen had a strange smell; something they’d put on him at the lab, she’d decided.

“Where is the dog?” asked the detective.

“I’m taking care of him,” she replied, knowing he still couldn’t see Aspen from where he was sitting. “He’s my dog.”

“You know where to find her dog if you need him,” Paul said.

“I guess,” the other man muttered.

“Do you want me to get the bill of sale and bring it in?” Paul asked.

Detective Burgess looked relieved. “It’ll save me a helluva lot of time. We’re shorthanded as usual.”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Paul said.

Madison didn’t like the idea of being forced to spend more time with Paul, but she didn’t want Detective Burgess around any longer than necessary. He might change his mind and take Aspen.

Detective Burgess rose and walked toward the exit from the cube. He turned, asking, “When did you learn Erin’s death would make you a multimillionaire?”

His words were as sharp as a new razor, but she was ready for him. From the moment the lawyer had told her about the will, Madison had known she would be under even more suspicion. “I found out yesterday, when her attorney came to see me.”

A malignant silence filled the cubicle, then the detective asked, “Your best friend never mentioned owning a piece of property worth a fortune?”

“Yes, we talked about it when her parents were killed. At that point, the property was in the sticks and she thought it was worthless. Erin tried to sell it but couldn’t. The taxes were killing her. I understand in the last eighteen months there has been a lot of development in the area and a shopping center is going to be built on her land.”

Detective Burgess studied her for a suspended moment and she could feel Paul Tanner’s eyes on her, too. A chill coursed through her, but she refused to allow her face to reflect her inner emotions. She knew the dead air was a police trick designed to make her talk more, but she didn’t. Let them ask their questions.

“What are you going to do with all the money?” the detective asked.

“It’s all going to Save the Chimps. That’s a refuge for chimps that have been confined to cages for their entire lives and subjected to scientific experiments. It’s located in Fort Pierce. According to her lawyer, that’s what Erin was planning to do with the money, but she didn’t have the opportunity to follow through. I’ll carry out her wishes, of course.”

“Of course,” responded Detective Burgess as he consulted Paul Tanner with a quick glance. “But as I understand it, the deal for the property is still being worked out. Who’s to say you won’t change your mind and do anything you like with the money?”

CHAPTER SIX

Which fish swims the slowest?

MADISON WATCHED Detective Lincoln Burgess saunter out of her cubicle. She felt as if she’d averted catastrophe, but she knew it was only momentary relief. She hadn’t seen the last of the detective.

“Do they have any clues about Erin’s killer or am I the only suspect?” she asked Paul.

Two beats of silence. “I don’t know. I’m on leave—”

“You said you were in the office this morning. What did you hear?”

He shrugged his powerful shoulders and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Not much. Your prints are everywhere.”

She gestured for him to sit in the seat the detective had vacated. “That’s not surprising. I was at Erin’s on Friday night.”

“What about the bottles in the medicine cabinet?” A sardonic note underscored the question.

“I helped Erin move in. I unpacked half of everything in the house. My fingerprints are going to be everywhere.”

His blue eyes seared hers and she shifted in her seat, realizing this man exuded masculinity like musk from every pore. Although he wasn’t handsome in a conventional way, Paul Tanner had that elusive something that made women respond to him.

What she must look like to him hit her again. Madison had rushed out of the house this morning after taking Aspen for a walk. As usual, she was dressed in well-worn jeans, paired today with a blue T-shirt. Her hair had always been sensitive to Florida’s humidity.

Enough temptation must come Paul Tanner’s way that he would never look twice at a nerd with frizzy hair. Like Aiden, this man would drool at the sight of Chloe and her low-cut tops and straight, sleek hair that fell over one eye. God! What was she thinking? She was in real trouble here.

“Do I need a lawyer?” she asked, to steer her mind back to the problem at hand.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Suddenly all the air in the room went still. Her brain managed to process the information and come up with the gravity of her situation. When she’d asked the question, she’d expected him to say no. “Earlier I realized I might need an attorney, but I don’t know any criminal defense lawyers.”

“I could give you a few names. Being in homicide, I’ve run into my share.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and jotted down the names he rattled off. Madison wondered if she could possibly afford to retain an attorney. She would be forced to use the money she’d been saving for a new house. She’d reinvested the rest of her divorce settlement in expanding Total Trivia and hiring new programmers to keep up with the competition from other Web sites.

Her anxiety mounted as she considered her options. What would she do? The Russerts would return in a little over two weeks. She would have to find another place to live with Aspen.

Paul’s measuring eyes continued to study her in a way that gave her the urge to cover herself. It was ridiculous, of course, but she felt he could see right through her and knew all about Aspen. Her fibs about the dog might make him believe she was being untruthful about everything else.

“Did you want to see me about something?” Madison asked as if she hadn’t a clue what had brought him here.

He opened the manila folder he’d brought with him. “I know you needed proof that your mother used the services at New Horizons.” He handed a sheaf of papers to her. “This is a transcript of her screening interview. It’s all there. Just read it.”

She took the papers. “Transcription? You mean the interview was taped.”

“Yes. The tapes were destroyed but the files still contain transcripts of the screening sessions.”

Her mind reeled. A lawyer. A new place to live. How could she deal with this, too? She felt like the slowest fish in the ocean—the sea horse. Bigger, more powerful fish were creating such turbulence in the water around her that she couldn’t get anywhere.

She forced herself to scan the first section, which established her mother, Jessica Connelly, was married and living in the small apartment complex that Madison knew had been their home until she was six months old. She glanced over additional information anyone could have discovered about her parents, then told herself to concentrate and read more slowly.

Nurse Avery: How long have you been trying to conceive?

Jessica Connelly: Nearly three years. We’ve been to fertility specialists and tried everything. That’s why I’m here. I want to be artificially inseminated.

Nurse Avery: I’ve looked over the doctors’ records. It seems your husband has a low sperm count. You may become pregnant but it could take more time than you’ve given it.

Jessica Connelly: We want a baby now. If I conceive again, we’ll have two children. If not, we’ll be happy with one.

Madison was convinced this so-called interview was bogus. She was an only child, but her parents had assured her that it was by choice. Still, she couldn’t help asking herself why a man like Paul Tanner would go to all the trouble to convince her that she had been the result of a sperm donation by a man needing a new liver unless Paul actually believed it was true.

She concentrated on the document before her while covertly studying him. He had a certain rugged appeal most other men lacked. Most assuredly, he was light-years away from Aiden Larsen. But then, Aiden had been a con artist in his own right. Looking back—as she had countless times since he asked for a divorce—Madison could see Aiden’s attraction to her had revolved around her ability to construct an online game. Once that had been accomplished, Aiden had become less interested.

What was Paul Tanner’s angle? What did he want? She’d done a search online and discovered what little he’d told her about himself seemed to be true. He was a homicide investigator who’d been shot in the line of duty. A Mike Tanner did have a private security agency. He must be Paul’s father, but what was in this for them?

Madison knew enough about the psychology of scam artists to know they hooked their “marks” by presenting some facts that could easily be verified. It still didn’t make his outrageous allegations true. She was her father’s daughter. It was possible that her mother had been to the fertility clinic but hadn’t gone through with the procedure.

She’d searched Google further for New Horizons, then used Lexis Nexis to take an in-depth look at the now-defunct clinic. They’d falsified data, claiming donors had Mensa credentials, and they’d charged for procedures patients hadn’t received. An avalanche of lawsuits had been filed and the clinic’s owners had left the country. There was no telling why her mother had a file at the clinic or why it had been altered to show she’d undergone the procedure.

She flipped through the pages, not really reading them. Zeke. The name exploded off the page with a boom that echoed in her brain. She backtracked and read the entire response, which had supposedly been transcribed from her mother’s exact words.

Jessica Connelly: Zeke really wants a son. He says he doesn’t care about the sex but I know how much he wants a boy. Zeke had asthma as a child. His mother refused to allow him to participate in sports and his father went along with her decision. Zeke always felt he missed out on the father-son bond other boys enjoyed. He wants a son to share ball games and fishing. You know, guy stuff.

Madison sucked in a stabilizing breath. Zeke. No one called Zachary Connelly anything but Zach or Zachary except her mother. When they were dating, she nicknamed him Zeke. She didn’t do it in public for some reason, but at home, especially when she was joking, Jessica Connelly called him Zeke.

This transcript might possibly be authentic. How else would they have come up with the unique nickname? This reinforced an earlier assumption. Her mother had consulted doctors at the clinic. It still didn’t prove Jessica Connelly had been inseminated there.

She glanced up and met Paul’s eyes. Her doubts didn’t show, did they? Her instincts told her this man would exploit any weakness. “How much did the inseminations cost?”

“They ranged from five to seven thousand dollars per session.”

A loud gasp exploded out of her like a grenade. “That’s a lot of money today. It was even more back then. My parents never had that kind of money, even when I was in high school and my father was at the top of his career. I couldn’t have gone to MIT without a scholarship.”

“True, but women were desperate to conceive and wanted those Mensa credentials. Your mother could have gone to the clinic—”

“Wait! You said my mother, not my parents. Why?”

He responded with a smile she couldn’t quite decipher. What about this seemed so amusing? “Keep reading.”

With a growing sense of unease, Madison directed her attention to the next page. It was the last page of the transcript.

Nurse Avery: Mrs. Connelly, the clinic requires an interview with every applicant’s husband.

Jessica Connelly: Why? I’m the one having the baby.

Nurse Avery: True, but New Horizons needs to be certain the baby is wanted, by both parents.

Jessica Connelly: What if I were a single mother?

Nurse Avery: Well, that would be different.

Jessica Connelly: I don’t see how.

God! thought Madison. The challenging note so obvious on the page seemed exactly like her mother. Jessica Connelly—now Jessica Whitcomb—always confronted people, demanding they explain themselves. The words on the page hit an invisible target she hadn’t known existed, a hollow place in her heart. She forced herself to keep reading.

Nurse Avery: In those cases, it’s the mother’s decision alone…to have a child using artificial insemination. Since she would be the sole parent, the clinic doesn’t require—

Jessica Connelly: I understand what you mean, but my case is different. My husband would rather be childless than use a sperm donor. I don’t feel that way.

For a moment, Madison was torn by the urge to close her eyes and imagine her mother. Her parents had been close…yet so different. Her father openly loved Madison in a way most fathers reserved for their sons. Zach Connelly had never mentioned sports but he’d always encouraged Madison to participate. No, more than encouraged, now that she thought about it. He had playfully insisted. At some point in junior high school, Madison had realized this was how many fathers in her class behaved with their sons.

Madison had never cared for dolls or dress-up the way other little girls had. She’d been content to read books and experiment with her science kits. Buddy’s Bodies had been a favorite. It required the assembly of the human body from the internal organs outward. Another kit had been Living Chemistry, which involved many simple experiments.

Her father prodded Madison to get out of the house and “exercise.” She’d found that she enjoyed sports but she’d never been a real star. It took time and practice that she would rather devote to her kits. She’d earned a spot on her high school varsity tennis team. She wouldn’t have stuck with it except her father had assured her that a sport was a necessary component to be awarded an academic scholarship.

He’d been correct. Colleges these days required students to be “well-rounded” and those who qualified for a scholarship needed over-the-top grades, superior SAT scores and a slew of other commendations that would elevate them above the herd. She could thank her father for channeling her energy so that she set herself apart from other high school students across the nation.

From her earliest years, Madison had shown an aptitude for retaining obscure facts. They began playing the child’s edition of Trivial Pursuit when Madison was in the second grade. She still remembered her first correct answer. What animal has a day named for it? She could almost hear herself shouting out the answer as she jumped up and down. “A groundhog, Daddy. Groundhog Day.” The memory triggered a raw ache. This wonderful man had been her father, not some jerk who’d sold his sperm for cash.

Her mother hadn’t been good at arcane facts but Zach Connelly was a trove of information on far-flung subjects. In order to compete and win his approval, Madison had trained herself to remember facts so unimportant that they never registered with most people.

“Does it sound like your mother?” Paul asked in a low-pitched voice.

“A little,” she grudgingly conceded.

“What more proof do you need?” he asked.

“Proof?” Madison huffed her disgust. “This so-called transcript from a defunct clinic that everyone sued for all kinds of illegal things doesn’t prove anything.”

“No?”

“No!” she shot back in a tight, pinched voice. She’d never been a good liar. Evidently, he’d seen or sensed her reaction to several items in the transcript. The air in the room seemed to be charged the way the atmosphere heralds an approaching storm.

“No,” she asserted again in her most authoritative tone. “I don’t believe I’m related to that man.”

“A simple paternity test would prove it one way or the other.”

That stopped her. Madison couldn’t deny a test would be definitive. “I want to talk to my mother before I do anything.”

“Isn’t she in the South Pacific on a sailboat? It might be—” he shrugged “—weeks before she telephones you. Right?”

“She should call any day,” Madison said quickly. “I heard from her a few weeks ago. She’ll phone as soon as she gets to a port with a telephone she can use or when she meets someone with a yacht that has satellite service.”

What she said was true. She did expect to hear from her mother. Jessica had called every few weeks since she’d sailed from Fort Lauderdale with the stud-muffin she’d married. But Madison couldn’t honestly remember exactly when she’d last spoken to her mother. It could have been two weeks ago, maybe three. Madison had been so caught up with the business and looking for a new home that she hadn’t paid that much attention.

She needed to have a heart-to-heart talk with her mother now. It occurred to her that she and her mother had shared only one intimate, soul-baring talk. That had been the night her father had died. They’d discussed what a great man he was and how much he’d meant to both of them.

Her mother had been so agonizingly upset at losing the man she’d met in college and married the day after graduation that it came as a physical blow when she’d brought home a much younger man she’d met at a fund-raiser. It was even more upsetting when Jessica Connelly had married him less than a year after Madison’s father had died.

What had she been thinking?

Madison still didn’t have a clue. She’d always been closer to her father than her mother. It had begun in early childhood when her father had been more willing to play with her. She’d reveled in the attention and as she grew, Madison took her problems and her triumphs to her father first.

“Why don’t you at least meet Wyatt Holbrook?” Paul asked. “That way you’ll have more to tell your mother when she calls.”

Why don’t you go to hell. Although she was tempted to yell this at him, Madison kept her temper in check. “I need to talk to my mother before I do anything,” she insisted.

She knew she sounded a bit childish, but she did feel the need to talk to…Erin. That’s who she would have called about this as soon as Paul Tanner had spouted his wild tale. Erin’s death had closed that door irreversibly. Never, ever again would she be able to discuss anything with her best friend.

But even if Erin were here, this was a question for her mother and she might not check in for days or even weeks. When she did, the connection might be a hiss of static the way it was last time. But Madison wouldn’t have any choice. She would have to ask this question over the telephone.

She was meeting Rob at Erin’s home tonight to decide what to do with her friend’s things. She could talk to Rob. He had a level head and he was accustomed to listening to people with sick and dying pets, giving him a wisdom and empathy few others had.

Once she could have discussed this with Aiden, but those days were gone. Even if she could, she knew Aiden would insist Paul’s story was true. She could just hear Aiden saying, Why would a man like Paul Tanner make up such a thing?

“I understand how hard this has been for you. These last few days have been tough. Why don’t we go get the bill of sale for the dog?” Paul suggested. “It may help us decide what’s going on here.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

PAUL GAZED at Madison for a moment with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He knew she wanted to get rid of him, to make the whole business with Wyatt Holbrook disappear. Not on his watch. “I’ll drive you out to your place. You can give me the sales receipt. Burgess expects me to bring it to him.”

She hesitated, then finally responded. “Can’t I do it tomorrow? It takes forever to get to Fisher Island and back. I’ve been out of the office for days. I’m swamped.”

“The sooner Burgess tracks down the person who sold your friend Aspen, the sooner he can pursue a valuable suspect or eliminate that person. Don’t you want Erin’s killer found?”

“Of course I do. It’s just that I doubt someone would sell her a dog, then kill her.”

“You never know.” Privately he agreed and Burgess must have, as well. Aw, hell. Maybe not. Lincoln Burgess was a piss-poor excuse for a detective—not exactly the best choice for a complicated investigation. Around the department, they referred to Burgess as “the missing link.” Over the years, it had been shortened to Link. Dumb schmucks thought it was a nickname for Lincoln.

“Well…I guess I—”

Paul stood. “Come on. You can bring the dog with you. I’m in an SUV today.”

“What dog?”

Her wide-eyed, innocent stare didn’t fool him. “The golden retriever under your desk.”

It was a moment before she replied, “You can’t see him from there.”

“No, but I see a few gold hairs on the carpet. Considering this is your first day back at the office, the dog has to be here.” He gestured around at the small cube. “The only place he could be is under your desk.”

She rewarded him with the suggestion of a smile that alluringly tipped the corners of her mouth upward. With her wild mane of hair and no makeup, she could have passed for a woman who’d just gotten out of bed. The thought alone sent a rush of heat through his body.

He cataloged every inch of her face while keeping his expression neutral as if he were thinking about the dog. Yeah, right. Something about this woman made his mind wander to sex every time he was around her.

He resisted the urge to allow his eyes to detour lower to where the V-neck of her T-shirt revealed the shadowy cleft between her breasts. His pulse thrummed just thinking about the way she’d looked when he’d walked into her office and had taken the opportunity to give her the slow once-over. True, he hadn’t seen below the waist—she’d been sitting—but he liked what he could see.

“You’re right. Aspen is under the desk.” She rose from her seat in one fluid motion that he found undeniably provocative even though he knew she didn’t intend it to be. “I didn’t let on I had him because I didn’t want Detective Burgess to take him.”

As they walked out to his Jeep with the golden retriever at Madison’s side, Paul thought about the dog. When he’d heard her screaming and raced into Erin Wycoff’s home, he’d charged through the kitchen, barely noticing the envelope on the counter beside the pizza box. Minutes later the envelope and the dog had been gone.

He’d followed Madison from the office and knew she hadn’t had the dog with her, but he hadn’t realized it wasn’t her dog. The way she’d pitched a fit at the scene about the dog needing eye treatment, he’d assumed the dog was hers.

Never assume. When he’d studied criminology at the University of Florida, his favorite professor, Dr. Wells, often tried to trick them into false assumptions that led to erroneous conclusions in the test cases he taught.

All right, all right. He should have known better, but his mind had been busy processing the horror of the scene and trying to decide what type of killer had been responsible for the brutal attack. Hell, he’d been itching to get back into action. He hated being on leave. That was why he’d gone into the station this morning. He was hoping to find that his leave had been terminated. No such luck.

He held the back door of his car open for Aspen. The dog hesitated.

Madison patted the floor in front of him. “Go on, boy. Hop in.” The dog leaped up into the car.

They got in and Paul drove out of the parking lot. This close, he caught a whiff of the same scent he had the other time he’d been this near her. Flowery but fresh, not heavy the way some women wore too much fragrance.

He waited until they were down the road before asking, “What did the vet say about Aspen’s eye problem?”

“He needs drops twice a day. He’ll be fine.”

“How did you know to take him to the vet?”

“His eyes were tearing a lot more than normal. At least that’s what I thought. I just threw that show-dog stuff at them because I had to get away. I couldn’t stand thinking about my friend with all those people walking around her naked body, taking pictures, measuring things, collecting particles of hair and fiber and…I don’t know what.”

Paul nodded, letting her think he believed her, but there was a missed beat in the conversation. Something about the dog. What?

“You got him help pretty fast,” he remarked, to see if she would reveal something incriminating.

“I took him to Robert Matthews. He was Erin’s boyfriend but they broke up last year. I knew he’d get me in right away and he did. I saw his associate.”

“That’s good.” Something in her explanation still sounded off but he wasn’t sure what. Evidently the dog meant a lot to her. He had the feeling it was more than the last link to her murdered friend.

“Did Erin leave her boyfriend or was it the other way around?”

She kept staring straight ahead. He couldn’t help noticing she had a turned-up nose that gave her profile a cute upward tilt. “I think it was mutual,” she finally said.

“She was your best friend. Right? Don’t girls discuss stuff like this?” He knew damn well they did. He was pretty sure now that Madison was hiding something. From the first, he’d been positive she hadn’t killed Erin Wycoff, but now he wondered if she knew more about the murder than she was admitting.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t working on this case. The department could have requested to have him removed from disability leave now that his doctor had approved his return to the force, but they hadn’t. He was working for his father and needed to complete this job.

“Women do talk,” she told him in a low voice charged with emotion. “But at the time Erin and Rob called it quits, my husband had just left me. I had all I could deal with.”

“Wouldn’t that have brought you closer to your friend?”

“It did. Erin listened to me whine big-time, but she didn’t talk much about herself. It was several weeks before I came out of my fog of self-pity and noticed Rob wasn’t around. Erin didn’t want to discuss it.”

“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. He didn’t have any sisters, and his mother had left them and moved to California when he was seven. His experience with women amounted to sex and not much more.

“You see, Erin was a secretive person. Always.” She’d turned to face him as she explained. “Our mothers met when they were pregnant. I’ve always…known Erin…forever. We were like sisters, but even as a child she kept things to herself. I didn’t find it unusual that Erin didn’t want to talk about Rob.”

The earnest note in her voice told him this was the truth, as she saw it. One thing he’d learned as a detective was the truth often depended on your perspective. “She never mentioned the property she left you.”

“Erin believed her parents left her a worthless chunk of property. She never told me it had become valuable or that anyone was interested in buying it.”

“She must have mentioned the chimp place—”

“Save the Chimps in Fort Pierce. No, she didn’t, but Erin volunteered at a shelter for homeless animals. She probably found out about it there and discussed it with them.”

They pulled into the ferry line for Fisher Island. Aspen had hopped up onto the backseat, and Paul rolled down the rear window so the dog could stick his head out and sniff the breeze while the ferry made the short crossing to the island.

The guard recognized Madison and waved them onto the ferry used exclusively by Fisher Island residents. Personally, Paul thought the whole private-island bit was a pain in the ass. It was a hassle to get on and off the place. While guards helped protect residents’ privacy, it wasn’t a guarantee they were safe. He’d easily gotten onto the island. He could have had a fake police ID and been admitted.

It was almost noon and there were only a few other cars on the small ferry. Neither of them said anything on the short trip. They drove up to the Italian villa where Madison was staying. Madison jumped out and opened the door for Aspen. It seemed to take the dog a split second longer than necessary to jump down.

Paul got out of the car, asking, “Did the vet say Aspen has some sort of a vision problem, not just an eye infection?”

Madison’s eyes became sharper, more focused. “No, but his infection wasn’t treated early enough. He has some vision loss, but he’s okay now. Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog nuzzled Madison’s hand. Again, Paul thought there was more to the connection between them than Madison wanted to reveal.

Inside the house, Madison went right to what he assumed was the bedroom she was using. Waiting in the entry with Aspen, he stroked the dog’s smooth head and looked into his eyes. “Trouble seeing, huh?”

The dog poked at his hand with his nose. His eyes appeared a little cloudy, as if he had the beginnings of cataracts. He knew dogs could develop cataracts like humans, but Aspen seemed too young.

“Here it is,” said Madison, returning to the entry.

Paul took it from her and pulled the certificate out of the envelope. He scanned the document. It immediately raised a red flag. “Someone sold a purebred dog for twenty-five dollars?”

“I guess. Erin told me a woman couldn’t keep her dog. I assumed she just wanted to find it a good home, then I discovered this bill of sale.”

“What did Erin say exactly?”

Madison silently regarded him for a moment, seeming to weigh her words. “I’m not sure. We were in a club. The music was really loud. She just mentioned the dog. I didn’t ask a lot of questions because of the noise.”

“You didn’t discuss it later when you came back to her house and had pizza?”

“No. She knew I wanted a dog. I’ve always wanted one but Mom was allergic to them, then I married a man who didn’t want animals of any kind.” She shrugged as if her ex-husband didn’t matter, but Paul sensed this was still an open wound. Words were pouring out of her too rapidly, which made him think again that she was concealing something.

“We started to talk about the houses I had seen with the Realtor. I forgot all about the dog until I was on the way home. I figured I’d call Erin about it the next day. My first priority was to find a house where I could keep a pet.” She waved a hand at the elegant living room beyond the foyer. “The owners will return soon and I need my own place.”

It sounded true, but something about the dog situation continued to bother him. He scanned the certificate again. It looked legit but you never knew these days. A lot could be duplicated using a scanner and a computer. Counterfeiters had been so successful at replicating United States currency that the Treasury Department had created new bills just to make it more difficult.

“This says Aspen was born Rudolph Vontreben of Sunnyvale. I guess Sunnyvale is the breeder.” He looked at Madison.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

There it was again, the disturbing note in her voice. What was going on? “Don’t you want to find your friend’s killer?”

“Of course I do!” she cried, then took a deep breath. “I just don’t think the woman—”

“What makes you think it was a woman?” He wanted her to repeat what she’d told him earlier. Something wasn’t right here.

“I told you. At the club Erin mentioned a woman who couldn’t keep her dog. I assume Aspen was that dog.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“Well, no. I…ah—”

“It’s possible this—” he glanced at the paper again “—L. Morgan used the dog as a ploy and followed her home.”

“It’s possible,” she conceded in a voice pitched low.

“I’ll take this to Burgess and let him run down the dog’s owner.” He reminded himself this wasn’t his case. His agenda was entirely different.

“What about meeting Wyatt Holbrook?” he asked, and immediately saw the change of subject caught her off guard.

“Not until I talk to my mother,” she shot back.

“A life hangs in the balance,” he reminded her. He was betting a woman who had a soft heart for a dog was someone who would respond to an emotional plea. “He’s a lot like Erin, from what you’ve told me,” Paul said, making this up as he went. “He helps others even when the benefits to him aren’t observable. We could go over there tonight. He only lives in Palm Beach. You could see for yourself.”

“I’m busy tonight. I have to help Rob Matthews sort through Erin’s things.”

The faint note of irritation in her voice mushroomed into anger so powerful that it must have been festering since the first time he’d told her about her real father. “This man isn’t interested in me. He’s just—”

“True, Wyatt Holbrook wants to live, but he’s a generous philanthropist. He’s given millions to worthy causes.”

“You already told me about him.”

He could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Then something from her bio hit him. “Wyatt’s setting up a special foundation to fund promising advances in science and medicine. There just isn’t enough money for scientists and it’s not likely to get better. The government has too many other priorities.”

Madison silently considered what he said. He knew she’d majored in mathematics and had earned a full scholarship to MIT. She was bound to understand how important such a foundation would become.

“Call me tomorrow. I’ll see what I can arrange. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks.” As Paul left, he was half-tempted to give her a hug, but he didn’t press his luck. Okay, pard. Get your mind back where it belongs. He found Madison disturbingly attractive, but this was business. Nothing more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

How long before maggots appear on a dead body?

“DO YOU WANT any of these pictures?” Madison asked Rob.

He crossed the small bedroom where they’d been sorting through Erin’s things since late afternoon. Madison had kept a few pieces of her friend’s jewelry and was packing the rest of Erin’s clothes to drop off at Goodwill. She’d come to the lower drawer where she’d discovered a shoe box of photographs. The ones on the top were of Rob with Erin.

Rob looked across the room and looked over Madison’s shoulder. “Yeah, save ’em for me.” He almost choked on the words. An emotional second passed before he spoke again. “Those are from our trip to New Orleans. You know, before Katrina, when New Orleans was still the old New Orleans.”

“I’ll put them in your box.” Madison looked up from the floor where she was sitting and tried for a smile. They’d both brought boxes to save things to remember Erin. So far, there was nothing in his.

“Great. I’ll go get it.” He headed to the living room, where he’d left the empty box.

Madison sifted through the photos haphazardly thrown into the shoe box. Again, the scent of something like Lysol, only stronger, made her stomach roil. Rob had arranged for a special service to clean Erin’s home. None of the bloodstains remained, but the astringent odor was a constant reminder of Erin’s brutal death.

Flies.

The image blipped across her brain. In her mind’s eye she could see the flies on Erin’s body where they’d lay eggs. Maggots would soon follow. It took twenty-four to forty-eight hours for maggots to appear on a corpse. The autopsy and embalming fluids would delay them. But for how long? For once the answer wasn’t in the trove of trivia that occupied her brain. She forced her mind back to the task at hand.

There were several pictures of Erin and Madison taken over the years. Not very many, she mused, considering all they’d done together. There were almost no pictures of Erin’s parents.

Madison thought of her family. Her mother had taken hundreds of photographs. She’d lovingly compiled them into artistic scrapbooks long before scrapbooking became a fad. Madison missed her mother now in a way that she hadn’t before Erin’s death. Madison hadn’t been able to accept her mother’s relationship with Scott Whitcomb. Not only was the guy too young for her, but she’d begun seeing him within months of Zach Connelly’s death. It seemed like a betrayal to Madison.

It wasn’t until Aiden had walked out on her and the true meaning of loneliness set in that Madison realized her mother’s remarriage must have been an attempt to restore the happy life she’d lost. By then, the damage to Madison’s relationship with her mother had been done. Jessica Connelly—now Jessica Whitcomb—had left in Scott’s sailboat. Madison had turned, as she always had, to Erin.

Now she was truly alone for the first time in her life. She decided to keep the box of photos and sort through them later. Who else would want them?

“Hey,” Rob said from the doorway. “Why don’t we take a break and grab a bite to eat?”

“Good idea.” She stood up and glanced over to the foot of the bed, where Aspen was stretched out, head on his paws, watching her. “Is there someplace where we could eat outside with Aspen?”

“What about Casa Carreta? That’s not far and they have a patio.”

“Great. Come on, Aspen.”

The dog eagerly leaped to his feet. She waited at the bedroom door for him to lumber after her. She’d discovered he couldn’t see too far ahead and was more comfortable if he followed her. For an instant, she thought of Paul Tanner. She was certain he suspected something about Aspen.

“The police took the bill of sale that Erin had for Aspen,” Madison told Rob as they walked out to the van he’d brought from his animal clinic so they could load Erin’s things. “I hope it doesn’t show Dicon Labs owns Aspen. I won’t let him be hauled back there to be tortured.”

Rob opened the sliding door to the back for Aspen. Madison patted the floor and the dog hopped in.

Rob slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the EADL created a certificate that couldn’t be traced if it were challenged. I’ve paid careful attention to the news. The lab hasn’t mentioned any lost dogs. Like I told you, I doubt they want any negative publicity.”

Rob had a slow, deliberate way of speaking that emphasized important words. Madison found him to be very reassuring, exactly what she needed at this point.

She shifted out from under his arm and opened the passenger door. “I hope you’re right. We haven’t discovered anything to indicate Erin was still part of the group.”

She climbed in and waited for Rob to come to his side. They hadn’t found anything, but the police had confiscated Erin’s computer and all of the records that she’d kept in the small desk in the corner of the bedroom.

Rob settled himself behind the wheel and started the van. “Trust me. Erin was too careful to leave any trail. There’s a firewall between people to protect their identities. Everyone in the group became hyperconscious of security when the FBI began to crack down on what they called domestic terrorism several years ago. A couple of animal rights activists on the West Coast were jailed.”

They parked in the lot outside Casa Carreta. During the years Madison had been growing up, Cubans and their culture had spread beyond Little Havana, the area of Miami where the first immigrants from Cuba had settled. Cuban food and coffee and music could be found throughout southern Florida.

It was nearly nine o’clock—early for the SoBe crowd, but late for dinner in this neighborhood. They had no trouble finding a table on the small patio. She directed Aspen to a spot at her feet, under the table so he wouldn’t be in the way. The smell of fried plantains reminded Madison that she hadn’t eaten since she’d grabbed a few crackers from the platter of goodies in the lunchroom, where Jade had set out the food from the reception.

“Erin used to have the palomilla,” Rob told her, but he needn’t have bothered. Madison knew her friend always ordered the thinly sliced beef laden with grilled onions and spices. Usually it was served with French fries but Erin always substituted fried yucca.

“That’s a bit heavy for tonight,” she said, her appetite suddenly gone. How many times had she shared a plate of palomilla with Erin? Never again.

“Why don’t we share it?” Rob suggested with a smile.

She almost said no but stopped. Why not? She would have if Erin were sitting beside her. Rob ordered palomilla and café cubano to drink.

“Is something bothering you?” Rob asked after the waiter deposited the coffee in cups hardly bigger than thimbles. “Besides Erin’s loss, I mean.”

As usual, the café cubano was so strong that it hit her stomach like a grenade and sent an explosion of caffeine through her system. She realized she hadn’t spoken for several minutes. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but her mind had been on Paul Tanner and her promise to consider meeting Wyatt Holbrook.

“Sorry,” she said, and gazed into Rob’s dark brown eyes. He was such a nice guy and he’d loved Erin so much. He had to be suffering even more than she was. She’d been thinking about discussing her problem with him. Now was the time. Maybe it would distract them both from their grief.

“Something strange happened to me and I don’t know how to handle it.” She paused, not sure where to begin.

“Run it by me. I’ll help if I can.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Okay. A private investigator came to see me.” She pulled her hand from his and took a sip of her coffee. The story tumbled out in as succinct a version as she could manage.

“Wyatt Holbrook is your father?”

Rob was clearly impressed—not that she could blame him. Wyatt Holbrook was a big name in Miami, a city with no lack of stellar personalities. But just hearing Rob say that man could be her father made her feel uncomfortably disloyal to her real father.

“That’s what Paul Tanner claims.” The words were underscored with a hiss of anger. “Like I told you, the clinic closed in a hail of lawsuits for falsifying records and who knows what else.”

Rob let the waiter deliver the palomilla and two plates to share the platter. With it came a side order of pan cubano. The bread had been flattened on a grill and was oozing butter. When the waiter left, Rob asked, “Okay, so they tried to capitalize on some megasperm, but what reason would this private investigator have for manufacturing records to show you were Wyatt Holbrook’s child? I could see this as a scam if you were worth megabucks.” He shrugged and picked up his fork. “But you’re not. Wyatt Holbrook is the one with the money.”

Madison took a bite of the savory beef and chewed thoughtfully. This was what had been bothering her, niggling at the back of her mind since she’d read the transcript. “I don’t know. There must be some—”

“Look.” He reached across the table again and stroked her hand. “I know you loved your father. This doesn’t change anything. He raised you and loved you and made you who you are. Still, he might not be your biological father.”

She jerked her hand away from his once more and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming it wasn’t true. “It’s not true,” she managed to say in an even tone. “When Dad was dying, we discussed everything. He would have told me.”

Rob offered her a sympathetic smile. “Not if he thought it would change the way you thought about him.”

Madison didn’t believe this—not for one second. “My father died of pancreatic cancer. He was in tremendous pain and they put him on large doses of painkillers. I doubt he could have resisted telling me the truth. He knew I’d love him regardless. The last words I whispered to him were I am who I am because you loved me.”

Rob took another forkful of food and ate it before saying, “Is there any chance he didn’t know?”

She remembered the transcript. Her mother seemed to have gone to the clinic initially without her father’s knowledge. From the way the nurse had sounded in the transcript, Madison had assumed her father’s consent would have been required. If—and it was still a really big if in her mind—her mother had gone through with the procedure.

“I think the clinic required both parents to sign the consent form.”

“Not true of single mothers, of course.”

“Of course,” she muttered, and put down her fork. Why was she even considering the possibility? She knew she was her father’s daughter.

“A paternity test would prove—”

“I know.” She ground out the words. “I know.” The stricken look on his face upset her. “Sorry I snapped. This investigator keeps pressing me. I truly believe there’s some hidden agenda here.”

“It’s okay.” He reached over and stroked her hand with his fingertips. “There is an agenda. This Holbrook guy is filthy rich. How much do you want to bet that he’s paying the investigator a bundle of dough to locate his donor-conceived child? So she can be tested to see if she could save his life.”

“I don’t know why, but I feel there’s another reason.”

“Madison, I realize you don’t want to accept this, and I’m not saying it’s true, but I can’t imagine why a man like Wyatt Holbrook would waste his time unless he believed you were his daughter.”

She had to admit that she agreed. “You’re right. I’m sure that man thinks I’m one of his children.”

“One?”

“Doesn’t the fact he donated sperm once suggest he did it several times since he needed the money? I’ve read up on it. A single donation of sperm can be divided and used more than once.”

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