Free Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay by Cynthia Hamilton

we did have surveillance on your house and place of business.”
    Madeline reared back in astonishment. “Then how the hell did Usherwood slip past you?” she asked, her voice teetering on shrill, arms extended in exasperation.
    Caulfield kept his gaze steady as he answered the rebuke. “We’ve had agents making regular tours of your area. Obviously, counterespionage is Usherwood’s stock in trade. He wouldn’t come near either of your places if he detected our presence.”
    Madeline barked out a harsh laugh and leapt to her feet. “Are you kidding me? You…” she was so furious, she could barely get the words out, “you were basically using me as bait, weren’t you?” Mike got to his feet in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. She brushed his hands away and turned all her anger and indignation loose on the agent.
    “All you care about is catching the big criminal. You don’t give a damn about collateral damage, do you? If I happen to die in the process of you getting your man, it would just be one more offense to tack onto his sheet. Wouldn’t that make it an even bigger catch as far as the bureau is concerned?” Madeline glared at Caulfield hotly, begging him to cross her again.
    “You’ve got it all wrong,” Agent Caulfield said, his tone almost lethargic.
    Madeline grunted at his response. “How have I gotten it wrong? What if I had arrived earlier and surprised Usherwood? You’d be measuring blood splatters right now instead of giving me the third degree.”
    “How about a drink?” Mike offered.
    Madeline shook her head. She was using the last bit of her energy to hold the FBI accountable for their lax surveillance techniques and the invasion of her home.
    “What are you going to do now? Have you got any clue where Usherwood is? Are you going to have someone trail me around town and camp out on my doorsteps?” Exasperated, she lurched toward the sink for a glass of water.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re still dusting for prints,” another uniformed agent said, halting her in the middle of the room. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes as she glared dejectedly at him.
    “Can you just bring me a glass of water?”
    “Sure…I can do that.”
    “Thank you.” Madeline turned back to Mike and Caulfield, all her anger suddenly spent. She sank onto a chair and stared blankly at the table, her arms tucked between her legs, her back uncharacteristically bowed. Mike and the agent exchanged glances.
    “It doesn’t appear that you’ve registered with one of our victim specialists,” Agent Caulfield said.
    Madeline looked up at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “We have special agents who deal directly with crime victims. Because Usherwood is one of our cases, and since he abducted you with the intent of killing you, we can offer special services—”
    “Like what? A personal bodyguard? A safe house?”
    “Like counseling,” Caulfield said.
    Madeline stared at him in disbelief before laughing harshly. “Counseling? That’s the kind of help I’m going to get from your agency? Am I hallucinating?” She turned to Mike. “Get me out of here,” she said as she turned away.
    “I’m afraid you can’t go yet. We still need your help here.”
    “And I need the kind of help you can’t give me, apparently. Knock yourselves out—tear the place apart. And if you find anything useful, I’d like you to share it with Detective Slovitch. He’s got our contact information.”
    Mike fumbled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it to Caulfield.
    “Are you going to have anyone covering her?” he asked.
    “We’ll continue with the resources we have in place.”
    “Great,” Mike said caustically as he went in search of Madeline. He found her trying to enter her bedroom. She was getting the bum’s rush from one of Caulfield’s men. Mike could tell she was trying not to lose her patience and on the verge of failing.
    “I just need to pack a