Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap Read Free Page A

emblazoned across the plate-glass window: Russell Barnett, Licensed Private Investigator.
    A wave of heat rushed over Madeline as her brain registered this news. She took a couple backward steps, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the building. What is happening? she thought, as she gasped for air. She found herself unable to think or move. She felt rooted to the spot, as if what she had witnessed had turned her to stone.
    A shrill horn blast brought her back to reality just in time to see Russell Barnett exit his office. Madeline ducked behind a van and inched her way toward the front in order to observe the P.I. With casual alertness, Russell scanned the block before getting into a silver Honda Accord.
    Madeline edged toward the rear of the van, staying completely out of sight as the Honda pulled out of the small lot and headed down the one-way street. As soon as his vehicle cleared the intersection at Victoria Street, she turned to flee to the safety of her car, where she could sort through the implications of what Steven’s involvement with a P.I. meant.
    By the time she reached the BMW, there was no room for doubt: Steven was paying a man for a job completed. She had run every possible scenario through her mind, searching and hoping for any other reasonable explanation for what she’d seen.
    She had grudgingly shot down the desperate hope that Steven had hired this man to find out who had sent the photos to him. There simply hadn’t been enough time between receiving them and the payoff. There wouldn’t have been time for a meeting to examine the evidence, to go over possible suspects, to initiate a plan and secure hard evidence. Besides, she had the photos. Of course, Steven could’ve made copies, but that didn’t really change anything.
    No, the payment was for a service already rendered. And by the weakness in her knees, Madeline was sure the assignment had already been carried out, and that Steven was satisfied with the results. If she couldn’t prove otherwise, she had to face the fact that her husband no longer wanted to be married to her.
    For several minutes, Madeline rehashed every alternative that would justify the need for hiring a private eye, in hopes that her instincts were wrong. The type of business Steven was in required careful vetting; whether it was for financing start-ups, would-be film producers, land-rich individuals in need of private mortgages, or the investors culled to back them—everyone was subjected to in-depth background checks. Knowing who he was dealing with was of paramount concern to Steven and his group of investors.
    But Steven had an in-house security team that handled everything from vetting to protection. She could think of no other reason for Steven to hire the services of a lone P.I. Not a single one, and she’d thought so hard, her head was splitting.
    She suddenly felt the need to put a safe distance between Steven and herself. She started the car and pulled out into the street, driving by rote, with no destination in mind. Where could she go? She couldn’t bear the thought of running into anyone she knew. She sure didn’t want to be anywhere near Steven, but as long as he was at the office, she might as well take advantage of being at home, where she could think in private. She turned at Mission Street, headed for the 101 south.
    Fifteen minutes later, she was winding up the steep drive to her house, her beloved home, the place she had been so happy for the last five years. Tears blurred her vision as she parked the car out front, leaving the keys in the ignition for Hughes. She entered the house unnoticed and headed straight to her sanctuary—her spacious, 20 x 20 square foot closet, her favorite room in the house. Her favorite room in the world.
    As soon as she passed through the doorway, some of her anxiety began to melt away. Ever since they built the house, this room had become Madeline’s fantasy hideout, nerve center and think tank. It was where