Controversy Read Free Page B

as a desert.
    Griffin chuckled. “Didn’t know you had a thing for crazy women.”
    â€œThey keep life interesting.”
    Â 
    Michael searched all of the cupboards and cabinets and came up empty. Just her luck. She was out of coffee. An amazingly gorgeous man was in her house and she couldn’t even offer him a decent cup of coffee.
    â€œMaybe there’s some downstairs,” she muttered.
    Last week, Michael’s father had given her boxes of canned food and whatnot from his overflowing Costco stock. There had to be some coffee down there.
    â€œJust a minute, guys.” Michael exited the kitchen with a pasted-on smile and raced to the door leading down to the basement. “Make yourselves comfortable, I have to get a new can of coffee.”
    â€œThat’s okay, ma’am,” Detective Dekker said. “We don’t want to put you through any trouble.”
    â€œNo trouble,” she lied. “Be back in a moment.” Michael took off down the stairs. “C’mon, girl. Get it together,” she coached. If she played her cards right, she might get Detective Fine’s phone number. She clicked on a light.
    â€œWhere the hell did all this mud come from?” Michael glanced around and noticed the back door cracked open. “What in the hell?” She went and closed it. “Just more work that needs to be done,” she mumbled and made a beeline to the piles of boxes from her father.
    â€œCoffee. Coffee. Where’s the coffee?” She dug through the canned goods and spotted the familiar burgundy canister. “Gotcha!” She smiled.
    Pivoting on her heels, her gaze scanned across the basement and crashed into a horrific sight.
    She jumped, screamed and dropped the can of coffee.
    There, sitting before a cinder-block wall, looking bruised and battered, not to mention, tied in a wooden chair with his mouth duct taped, was her missing ex-husband, Philip Matthews.

Chapter 3
    R emembering the cops upstairs in her living room, Michael clamped a hand over her mouth, but continued to stare wide-eyed at the angry face of her ex-husband. What in the hell did she do last night?
    Phil rocked and bucked in this chair. No doubt his mumbled words behind his taped mouth were a long fervid stream of expletives and, given the circumstances, she didn’t blame him. A lean five foot ten with hair shaved so low one would question whether to call it hair at all was still neatly groomed, but one would not miss the ugly purple-and-blue bruise against his left temple or the trickle of blood from his lips. His sable-brown eyes were wild and angry.
    Again, she didn’t blame him.
    Michael stomped over to a squirming Phil and ripped the duct tape from his mouth.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing here?”
    His eyes rounded incredulously. “What does it look like?” he hissed. “I finally decided to take a vacation and spend it tied up in your basement.”
    â€œMs. Adams?” Detective Dekker’s voice floated down and filled the basement. “Do you need any help down there?”
    Phil filled his lungs with air, but before he could yell for help, the duct tape was back wrapped around his mouth and she clamped her hand over it for good measure and plopped down into his lap to prevent him from bucking and rocking the chair.
    â€œUh, no. I have everything under control.”
    â€œYou’re sure?” The top stair creaked, letting her know that he was about to come down. “I thought I heard you scream.”
    â€œRats!” she shouted, and cut her gaze back to her ex. “I seem to have a rat infestation. I’m on my way back up.” With her free hand, she reached for the roll of duct tape on a cluttered shelf.
    Dekker paused. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
    â€œPositive.” She waited.
    And waited.
    Then finally she heard his weight shift on the stairs. Thinking he was about to