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

mournful. Madeline found it hard to look at him. She got up and wandered the small kitchen. She stopped in front of the toaster and stared, willing the bread to brown so she’d have something productive to do.
    “Maddie, I’ll take care of that,” Mike said, getting to his feet. “Come and sit down.”
    “I don’t want to sit down,” Madeline said, her voice edgy.
    “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk to someone.”
    “Oh sure…like an FBI ‘special agent?’” she barked cynically. Mike came and stood next to her, but this made her feel even edgier.
    “I need to take a shower,” she said, heading toward the bathroom.
    “What about your toast?” When Madeline didn’t answer, he popped the toast up and went after her. He found her sitting on the corner of his bed, arms wrapped around herself, head bent. He stood there without speaking, unsure of how to help her. After a minute she finally looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
    “Maddie,” he said, his heart wrenched to see the hurt and fear in her eyes. He fought back the catch in his throat and eased down beside her. When she didn’t recoil, he slipped his arm around her and held her close, rocking her as sobs broke through her protective barrier. He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head and tried to say comforting things, but they seemed so shallow compared to what she was up against.
    “I need to take a shower,” she said, pulling away. Mike tried to grab her hand, but anger made her pry it loose. She knew Mike was frightened for her and for some reason this grated on her nerves.
    “Don’t be doing that,” she snapped. She rummaged through her handbag for a brush and ran it furiously through her hair.
    “I’m just worried for you.”
    “I know. I know. But acting like I’m going to self-destruct any second isn’t going to do any good,” she said, her voice hard and cold. Mike stiffened; he’d witnessed enough tirades in his life to know the warning signs. And he’d been on the other side of those angry features more often than he cared to remember. Any word he uttered at this point was guaranteed to set her off.
    “What?” she demanded.
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    “You don’t have to—I can read your thoughts.”
    “I can’t stop thinking,” Mike said. Madeline fumed; she was itching for a fight and Mike wouldn’t give her a reason to throw a proper fit.
    “Goddammit!” she swore, hurling her brush across the room. Mike cringed as it narrowly missed the mirror. “This isn’t fair! This is…so insane. I mean, the FBI knows Usherwood’s stalking me and is just trying to scare me senseless before he kills me…”
    “Don’t say that!” Mike said, jumping to his feet.
    “It’s the truth! You don’t know what a psycho that man is. God knows what hell he put Rick Yeoman through before putting him out of his misery.”
    “According to the coroner’s report, there weren’t any other injuries except for the single gunshot to the head—”
    “I’m talking about psychological torture, the kind I went through three years ago.” Mike made the mistake of trying to reach for her. This only fueled her harangue.
    “I had finally gotten to the point where I didn’t tense up any time I heard footsteps behind me. As soon as I got comfortable in my skin again, Usherwood resurfaces—or his hired gun. The truth is no one knows for sure where he is. And even after they rip my house apart, they still won’t know because they’re not going to find a single speck of evidence that he or anyone with a rap sheet has been there. It was a carefully planned and executed act of terror.”
    Mike didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right and his instincts told him the Feds didn’t seem to take the threat to Madeline’s safety very seriously. They went through the pantomime of a thorough investigation, but he picked up a peculiar vibe from Agent Caulfield. He didn’t dare say