For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) Read online

  “No boys allowed,” Nichole agreed after thanking the waitress.

  “Good thing I’m a man.” Tommy dragged over a chair from a nearby table and sat.

  Irritation prodded her temper. What was it with men on this island? It was as though women’s wishes were suggestions a man could choose to heed or ignore all together. Instead of getting angry, she decided to have some fun. After all, it was girls’ night.

  “Like I said before,” she smiled at Nichole, “sorry I’m late. My feet are just so bloated right now. I could hardly get my shoes on my feet.”

  A twinkle lit Nichole’s dark eyes. “Oh my God, are you on your period too?”

  Tommy’s hands slid from the table.

  “Yeah, the cramps are so bad the first day. And the bleeding. Gah.” Madelyn wrinkled her nose for effect.

  “A massacre,” Nichole nodded, pouting her lips.

  Tommy leaned back in his seat, his mouth half-gaped in horror.

  “And by day three…” Madelyn added.

  “The bloating,” she and Nichole said in unison.

  “I…ah…I’m gonna go get a drink,” Tommy said without moving. “Yeah, yeah. You ladies have—”

  A concussive, all-too-familiar roar chilled the blood in Madelyn’s veins and silenced the crowded bar. Jim Gallow, the boozer and part-time fisherman, stood at the entrance. Towered, really. On the far side of six feet and two hundred pounds, he had a body made for towing eighteen-wheelers and tossing boulders.

  “Get the fuck away from my wife.”

  2

  “Oh no,” Nichole breathed the words. The joy in her expression mutated into pure dread. At Jim’s forceful words her shoulders drew and her head ducked. The glimmer in her eyes shadowed and her murky gaze met Madelyn’s. “I’m so sorry. Please,” she whispered, “just let me deal with him.”

  Blood churned in Madelyn’s ears like a violent sea.

  Breath by steady breath she settled into calm as her body prepared for the confrontation. She refused to answer Nichole one way or the other. What she did depended on Jim.

  Tommy stood. When he should’ve scampered away he spread his feet and puffed his chest.

  “Just go, Tommy,” Madelyn insisted. “You’ll only make things worse.” Damn, now she sounded like Nichole.

  Behind Jim a bartender flagged his arms toward the back offices. Help was on the way. All they had to do was hold the line. The bouncers would make him leave. They’d had enough practice to perfect the task.

  “We’ve been friends since before you were around, Jimmy Boy,” Tommy boasted. “I can talk to your wife if I want. It’s not like I’m trying to get in her pants.”

  Idiot.

  Jim stomped forward. In his hand a bottle of Johnny Walker sloshed its meager contents. His thigh grazed a table and sent it careening. The table thudded. Glasses shattered. The couple who’d been enjoying barbecue ribs and draft beers shrieked their displeasure. Jim’s bright blue eyes remained locked on Tommy.

  The closer Jim stalked the quieter Tommy’s sermon grew, but he didn’t stop. That took bravery or stupidity. Maybe both.

  “It’s not the dark ages, man. You can’t say who she talks to just because you married her. She’s not going to cheat on you. I don’t know why, but she loves you. Even though you’re a total—”

  Madelyn knew it was coming and still she didn’t see it until Jim’s knuckles connected with Tommy’s jaw. The poor guy’s head snapped back. A crack pierced the air. Her stomach gave at the sound just as Tommy’s slack body descended.

  She lunged forward. Ice-cold liquid froze her skin and soaked the front of her pants. Madelyn ignored the tilting table and falling ’ritas. Her arms wrapped Tommy’s waist. His height pitched her forward, but she shot a foot out. Straining every muscle, she controlled the man’s fall.

  “Jim, please stop this right now,” Nichole begged. “If you keep it up, Chief will lock you up for the night.”

  Madelyn straightened in time to see Jim wrench Nichole’s wrist from the back of the chair and yank her from the only remaining seat at the capsized table. Her friend used the wooden chair as an anchor, tugging against her husband’s insistent tug. It was as effective as holding on to a blade of grass in a typhoon.

  One jerk of Jim’s thigh-sized arm and Nichole lurched forward, dragging the chair with her.

  “Please, Jim. Baby,” Nichole sniffled.

  The bouncers still hadn’t made their grand appearance from the back rooms. What were they waiting for, special music and a spotlight?

  “Hey, Jim?” Madelyn shouted over the din.

  His sloshy gate slowed. He turned and pulled Nichole tight to his side. She released the chair. Her gaze pleaded with Madelyn. If only she could tell whether it begged her to help or stop. She didn’t want to make Nichole’s situation worse, but by damn if she’d let this man beat on her friend again.

  The dregs of his whiskey swirled as he used the bottle to gesture toward him and Nichole. “We’re good.” He stabbed the spout toward her. Several drops of amber liquid spilled onto the floor. “You’re the trouble maker. You mind your own business.”

  Shoulder length locks framed Jim’s face. Not the slightly greasy roots, the sweated-through T-shirt, nor even the sneer he centered on her detracted from the beautifully sculpted lines of his cover-worthy face.

  Gorgeous or not, muscled or not, hung like a rhino or not, Madelyn couldn’t fathom why her friend would stay with a man who treated her like a possession.

  “You made it my business. The only question is…do you remember what I told you?” Madelyn asked in a voice so low he’d have to strain to hear.

  Nichole grimaced.

  Jim shoved his wife to the side. He threw the bottle on the ground next to his feet. The shards skittered across the floor. One jagged fragment hit her sandal and bounced in the opposite direction.

  His shoulders dropped. Legs the width of old oaks powered forward. All Jim’s mass and drunken rage barreled toward Madelyn.

  3

  Madelyn’s eyes opened to the blackness in her bedroom. The harsh snores of her companion rumbled from the other side of the bed.

  Sneaky, sneaky.

  His bed was sufficient enough, but on occasion he took liberties with hers. The hair and dingy smell wasn’t appreciated on her linens, but the comfort of his presence was nice. Instead of evicting him, she gently patted the pillow next to hers.

  Deacon sleepily wiggled his way up to oblige. The weight of his cinderblock head puffed the air out of the pillow.

  “You big smelly lug. How about a bath today?”

  He shuddered a breath and then settled into a rhythm of deep, even breathing.

  “Faker,” she prodded.

  Deacon groaned.

  Over the loud and lulling breathing of her furry friend, the gulls and terns outside her window thrilled and keened, taunting their early morning feast. The smooth stitching of her sheets and cool weight of the comforter invited her to stay a while longer. With a rolling stretch she moved farther into them, not yet ready to welcome the day.

  She reeled.

  Her brain sloshed back and forth. It pinched and tweeted the nerves behind her eyes. Placing a hand on either side of her skull, Madelyn tried to steady her thoughts.

  It was Friday. She struggled to think through the tequila haze. If she could make it through the day, she would have the weekend to recover.

  One drink was her usual check, but she and Nichole had been in rare form last night. They’d whooped it up something big until Jim had shown up and instantly darkened the mood.

  What a bastard.

  Though…seeing him trip over her well-timed evasion and slide across the floor on his face had been the highlight of her night. Second best came watching the bouncers drag his sorry keister out the front door.

  Madelyn grinned, suddenly ready to tackle the day.

  She gingerly sat, which immediately sent Deacon into playful fits. He bounded off the bed and danced. His nail
s tapped on the wood floor. And though she could only make out his silhouette, it was enough to make her laugh out loud. He wagged so forcefully it towed his behind from side to side, allowing the tip of his tail to whack into each side of his ribs.

  “You can’t talk and still I can hear it— ‘Come on, lazy, get a move on it.’” In submission Madelyn slung the covers back and obeyed.

  She placed both feet on the floor and held the edge of the nightstand, just in case. Her equilibrium withstood the test. Her stomach, on the other hand, was questionable, to say the least.

  Stagnant liquor coated her mouth. She shuffled to the bathroom, scrubbed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and pulled her long hair into a pony tail, all without turning on a light. In the kitchen she slowly ate a banana, and then she sipped some water. Feeling slightly better she dressed in her workout gear. If she could stomach it, she’d grab a better breakfast before work.

  Deacon tap-danced at the front door. When she stepped toward the door he yipped.

  “Sure you’re excited. Because you’re going to win.”

  He barked at that. The vociferous noise bounded back and forth in her skull.

  “You know the rules. No barking before sunrise. I’m sticking firm to that today. So don’t give me any droopy-faced looks and think you’ll get away with it.”

  Dutifully, he chuffed.

  “I swear you’re brilliant.”

  He rubbed his head into her open palm. She opened the door, and then held tight to the doorframe. “Okay,” she whispered. Ninety-five pounds of bone and muscle rocketed out the door with more enthusiasm than was humanly possible.

  Madelyn stepped from the tiled floor and her athletic shoes settled into the sand. Her lungs filled with salty air. A sigh lifted some of the fog of her mild hangover. Deacon barked.

  “Deacon Garrett, the rules,” she chided.

  She flipped the bottom lock and turned to glare at him. His stocky frame faced the lush vegetation at the back of her small house. The black brindle pattern that made him look like a panther with multi-colored tiger stripes stood out against the white beach backdrop. Her gaze rose over the steep mountain to their back. The first rays of sunshine lightened the sky over the low peak.

  Deacon tilted his head, sniffed, and barked again. This time the noise had an irritated edge to it.

  “Come on, boy. Leave the monkeys alone. We’re late.”

  With no time for a warm up or easy pace, Madelyn hurried down to the shore where the wet-packed sand held against the force of her churning legs and took off. Or so she thought. Deacon’s incessant circling told her she’d eased off instead. His mocking didn’t faze her like it normally would have. Most of her effort went to finding a rhythm, keeping it, and holding on to her stomach’s contents.

  Her calves burned. A sting settled in her chest. The mild morning waves burbled to her right. That sound, and knowing Nichole would be waiting for her, and probably worrying by now, kept her legs moving.

  Finally the diamond-white sand met pitted and broken asphalt. Madelyn eyed her destination a quarter mile past the beach’s edge. The ramshackle metal building had outlived its better days. Still it remained useful, like an old man past his prime who worked his garden daily. It refused to be resigned. Its light-cream paint was chipped in places and the wooden stairs of its entrance were warped by the moist air and unrelenting sun.

  The gleam of its interior lights reassured her. A neon blue sign, jutted out above the entrance, professed Adisa Gym. The sign beckoned like a light house’s beam. The solid surface under her feet improved the resistance and allowed her a strong final effort. A burst of speed propelled her legs to stretch and pull faster and faster. She ate the road beneath her and smiled when Deacon pulled alongside her, lowered his head, and pushed too.

  Madelyn dragged herself inside the gym door. Deacon pranced in front of her and scooted off to make his rounds. Investigating every smell and greeting every patron was hard work.

  Dried sweat mixed with the musk of new in the humid air. The stench had become a comfort. She filled her lungs with it as she worked the tremors out of her leg, resting her foot high on the base of the fighting ring and stretching. Several regulars were scattered across the gym. Some wailed on heavy bags while others pounded weights up into the air with animalistic grunts and groans, their strained muscles binding with tension.

  At least I’m not the only one moving slowly this morning.

  “How’s my best girl?” a booming voice asked.

  “Don’t let Nichole hear you say that,” Madelyn warned.

  Amadi Chiduben, the owner and Madelyn’s mentor, strode his monumental frame from the hallway that housed lockers, bathrooms, and his personal quarters. Muscles wrapped muscles forming a sloping topography of potent ability beneath his midnight-sky complexion.

  “She’s not here yet. Else, I’d never have said it.” His dark lips parted, revealing a brilliant smile. “Nichole is a lover. You’re a fighter.”

  She was now. Thanks to him and years of training.

  “There’s a tournament in Miami in two months. Let me take you.”

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “Never. So?”

  His Nigerian accent and perennially positive attitude always lifted her spirits. She shook her head.

  “If I don’t bring my best fighters to the match it isn’t a true test of my skill as an instructor.”

  “Pff, if there isn’t a first and a really first-place trophy, I don’t think you have to worry.” She pointed to the bloated trophy cabinets framing the entryway. “You’ve got first covered and have for the last… How many years?”

  “The last ten years. Don’t let him razz you.” Ekene snaked an arm around Madelyn’s neck. His thick bicep bore pressure on her windpipe. Her foot slipped off the edge of the ring. The young man’s fit body snugged against her backside and he lifted slightly. She fought the instinctual panic, slacking her muscles. “Besides, cousin, she’d have to beat me in the tournament. And we all know that’d never happen.”

  Using the last bit of wind in her lungs, she laughed. He paused in surprise. Madelyn bent at the waist, pushed with her hips, and tucked into a ball. Amadi’s smug relative flipped over her back, landing on his own in front of her. His ready feet braced his landing.

  Madelyn stood wary, despite the grin on her face. This kid was tricky.

  “Well, you look hung over, but you don’t act like it,” he groaned from the floor.

  “I should have whacked you in the nuts and called it good.” She shook her head. “Kids these days. No respect.”

  “Tell me about it.” Amadi folded his arms. His tank-top displayed the kind of chiseled muscle men half his age would kill for. “You two kids, in the ring.” He inclined his head toward the eighteen-by-eighteen square of canvas, ropes, and a little bit of padding.

  “How old are you, anyway?” Madelyn asked.

  “Stalling I see,” Ekene boasted. He flipped up from the concrete floor and puffed out his chest.

  “I don’t think that’ll help,” she said.

  “No it won’t. I’ll still take you eight points to your one,” his brow furrowed. “Wait...what are you talking about?”

  “Puffing out your chest won’t help. I’ll just knock the air right out of it,” Madelyn explained with a smile.

  Instead of rolling onto the mat like normal, she hiked one knee and her palms onto the edge and pulled herself up. A hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked. She caught her weight on her hands.

  Ekene’s snicker echoed behind her.

  “I’m almost older than both of you put together. Now, let’s get some work done. I’m amazed either of you has learned anything at all,” Amadi explained.

  “He’s twelve,” she pointed at Ekene. “And I’ve been twenty-one for several years now.”

  “Ha-ha,” the young man scoffed. “I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.”

  “So you’re seventeen. That would put you near forty,” she sa
id swinging a look at Amadi. “No way.”

  The man was a top-ranked warrior in Dambe—Nigerian boxing—and wrestling. He’d unseated the reigning champion in Mayolet stick-fighting two years ago. And he was the reigning champion for five years running in the Shotokan discipline, knife work being his specialty. He looked maybe thirty, but he was nearly as old as her dad.

  Just wow!

  “Way,” he said without inflection. “Face your partner.”

  She faced the younger—severely more immature— version of Amadi. They bowed.

  Twenty minutes passed in a fury of flying fists, knees, and feet.

  Their sweat slicked the mat by the time Amadi called for a break. Both she and Ekene hung on the top rope of their respective sides.

  “Nice work. Both of you. Once you started working,” Amadi said from the floor.

  “I think it’s Nichole’s turn,” Madelyn sighed between pants.

  “She’s not here.” Her mentor’s voice came from far away.

  Madelyn was instantly in her head reliving the nightmare less than a year ago when Nichole had last missed a scheduled workout. She blinked the dread away and hopped out of the ring. “Can I use your phone? I need to make a call.”

  “Why else would you want to use the phone?” Ekene taunted.

  She rushed for the office.

  “Sure,” Amadi called out.

  Madelyn wiped perspiration onto her pant leg, snatched the phone from its cradle, and punched in Nichole’s number. The line rang for what seemed like a thousand years. Then the message picked up.

  Nichole’s bright voice filled the line. “I can’t get the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get to you just as soon as I can. I hope you have a great day.”

  “Nichole, call me at the gym or at the school as soon as you get this. I won’t judge. I’ll try not to anyway. I just need to know you’re okay. Call me.”