Trouble Walks In (6 page)

“Then we need to change that.” Ronan pointed at her and grinned. “So, practice it is.”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrowed as he strode slowly toward her. “What kind of practice?”

“You're the maid of honor and I'm the best man. Right?”

“Right…” she said slowly.

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”

“A date?” Maddy blinked. “No.”

“Me neither.” He shrugged. “We can be each other's dates. As best man and maid of honor we kind of are anyway, but we wouldn't want to be selfish.”

“What are you talking about?” she said through a laugh. He could feel her watching him as he strolled around the couch toward the front hall. “How exactly would we be being selfish?”

“Come on, woman. Think about it.” He picked up Bowser's leash off the sofa table and snapped his fingers. The dog stretched, yawned, and rose to his feet before trotting over to Ronan. “We can't have our first date be at Gav and Jordan's rehearsal dinner or wedding. Now
that
would be awkward.”

“Oh really?” Maddy sat up and rested one arm along the back of the couch. “Then what do you propose?”

“I'm not proposing yet.” He hooked Bowser's leash onto his collar. “Don't you think that we should date for a little while first?”

Maddy stared at him as though she couldn't figure out how much of what he'd just said was meant to be funny, and what was serious. The truth was, he didn't know what the percentages were on that either.

“You and me. A
real
date right here in New York City.”

Maddy nibbled her lower lip and fiddled with the edge of the cushion as though weighing her options. Ronan played it cool on the surface, but his heart was thundering in his chest like a damn drum. What if she said no?

After what felt like forever, she finally spoke. “Okay.”

Thank God.

“Great.” He nodded and grabbed the doorknob of the front door. “Do you have plans for Thursday?”

“Um…isn't that Thanksgiving?”

“Whaddya know?” He smacked his forehead in an overly dramatic gesture. “It is!”

“Are you serious?” She let out a short laugh. “You want to take me on a date for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yup. And don't try to tell me you have plans because I know you don't.”

“Oh really? And how could you—” Maddy's mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed. “You've been talking to Jordan and Gavin, haven't you?”

“When Gav called trying to get me to go home for the holiday, he might have mentioned that you refused their invitation and planned on staying home.” He pointed around the room. “Not real festive around here.”

“Are you asking me out or insulting me?”

“I'm teasing you…and asking you out.” He grinned. “So what do you say? You and I will go out for Thanksgiving dinner. Provided you can walk by then, of course.”

“I'm sure I'll be walking—or limping, at least, by tomorrow. It's feeling better already.” She held up one hand before he could argue with her. “Where should we meet?”

“Woman, what kind of man do you think Carolyn McGuire raised?” He arched one eyebrow and tugged the door open. “I'll make a reservation and pick you up here at seven.”

“What about Bowser?”

“He can get his own date. Besides, if I bring him a doggie bag, he'll forgive me.” Ronan winked. “See you then.”

The image of her smiling face filled his head all the way home. Maddy Morgan was going to start living again, and if he had anything to say about it, it would be with him.

Her phone had buzzed somewhere in her bag several times already, but Maddy made it a habit not to answer calls while showing a home. It was rude and could give the client the impression that they weren't her number one priority. Mr. Gregory was
definitely
one of those clients—finding him and his wife a new home had become her most important job.

Mr. Gregory took his time strolling through the fifth apartment of the day. Maddy gritted her teeth against the pain in her ankle but kept a polite smile plastered to her face. She'd already gone through the place with him once and was now standing by the front door, giving him the privacy to look on his own. Many real estate agents hovered over their clients, but that wasn't Maddy's style.

She leaned against the wall and gently rotated her ankle to loosen it up, but to no avail. The tall leather boots she wore had a low heel, and while they weren't as tough to walk in as her shoes with higher ones, she'd give just about anything for a pair of flip-flops.

Being a real estate agent in New York City was a far more formal venture than when she' had her business in Old Brookfield. Back home, she could wear her long, flowing skirts and peasant tops, and nobody would look twice. If she did that in this market, her clients would never take her seriously. Nope. Gone were her trademark hippie-chic clothes, and her free-spirited lifestyle had vanished right along with them.

When Rick died, that part of her had died too.

She hadn't glimpsed that side of herself since that fateful August day—at least, not until recently. Something about Ronan McGuire brought that missing part back to life—or a glimmer of it anyway. Maddy pressed her fingers to her lips, a smile blooming there. The man could kiss like the devil. Hot, passionate, demanding. Holy hell. Ronan McGuire was a force of nature, and equally dangerous.

“Ms. Morgan?” Mr. Gregory's voice interrupted her memories. “I've seen enough. I'm afraid this won't do either.”

“I see.” Maddy forced herself to stand on both feet but kept most of the pressure off her sore ankle. “Unfortunately, these were the only listings on the market that met your specifications.”

“Very well.” Mr. Gregory's mouth set in a grim line. He was clad in a dark-gray suit, odd even for New York. Even here, most clients didn't dress that formally on the weekends, but this guy was definitely not “most clients.” “Please keep me apprised of any new possibilities. My wife will be here soon, and I simply must have proper prospects to show her.”

“Of course.” She checked her watch. “If you have time—”

“I don't,” he said abruptly. “I have a call with my wife in fifteen minutes, and I mustn't miss it. If anything new comes on the market that meets my criteria, I will see it immediately.”

His dark eyes darted from her face to her ankle, and he gestured to her leg. “Is something wrong?”

“It's nothing,” Maddy said with a wave of her hand. “I twisted my ankle on a run in the park yesterday.”

“The park?” he said absently.

“Yes.” Maddy limped over to the bank of light switches, not bothering to try to hide her injury anymore. “I run in Central Park most Saturdays with a friend. I'm lucky he was with me, or I would have had to hobble home all by myself.”

“I see.”

Mr. Gregory looked her up and down in a way that gave Maddy pause. It wasn't lascivious, but something about the way his gaze lingered made her uncomfortable. For a split second, the caring, dutiful husband vanished, and someone darker emerged. Ronan's words of warning flickered through her mind, and she realized that she hadn't put the Mace in her pocket like he'd told her to. She adjusted the huge leather bag on her shoulder. Nope, the little spray can was somewhere deep inside the disaster she liked to call a purse. Her phone was also buried in the abyss.

This was the penthouse.

No one would hear her if she called for help.

“Shall I walk you out?” Maddy held the folder with the listing details over her breasts. The man continued to stare at her wordlessly. “Mr. Gregory? Are you alright?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, I was just thinking about…” His voice trailed off, and he tugged the front door open. “Never mind. Do call me if any other listings are appropriate.”

“I have to be honest with you. Because of the Thanksgiving holiday, there won't be much activity over the next week or so. I promise that I'll notify you if anything does come up.”

“Of course.” He gave her a tight smile. “Good day.”

He left, closing the door behind him without another word. Maddy let out the breath she'd been holding and silently cursed Ronan McGuire for making her a paranoid crazy woman. Mr. Gregory was nothing but an uptight businessman who probably weighed twenty pounds less than she did. He was a rich man looking to buy a new home for himself and his ailing wife. The man wasn't a killer. She rolled her eyes and laughed at her foolishness. When she saw Ronan, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

A shiver of excitement, along with a hint of dread, shimmied up her back at the thought of it.
When she saw Ronan.
A date. Holy crap. It had been years since she'd been on a first date, and now she was doing it with one of the biggest players she had ever known—and on Thanksgiving, no less! And not only that, but he was her best friend's future brother-in-law.

What the hell was she getting herself into?

Maddy shut off all the lights and locked the front door. She punched the button on the elevator inside the private penthouse foyer and leaned against the wall, waiting not so patiently for it to arrive. Her cell phone buzzed yet again. It was hidden in the cavernous reaches of her purse, and though she dreaded trying to find it, it was a necessary evil.

After digging around, and with a few choice curse words, she finally curled her fingers around the smooth case of her phone.

“Aha!” Breathless from her search, Maddy checked the screen. She had four missed calls and two voice mails from Ronan, but the current call was from her office. “Maddy Morgan, how can I help you?”

“Maddy?” Sharon's voice was teary, small, and meek, and she was sniffling. “Hello?”

The doors to the elevator opened, and Maddy stepped inside. The line went dead almost instantly. Great. Her ankle throbbed, her client was displeased, and now her assistant was crying.

What else could happen today?

As soon as the elevator opened, Maddy hobbled into the lavish lobby of the Park Avenue building and checked the signal. Satisfied they wouldn't get cut off again, she called the office, and Sharon answered after the first ring.

“Hey, Sharon. Sorry about that. I had a crap signal. What's up?”

Sniffling filled the other end of the line.

“Sharon?” Maddy closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, searching for what little patience she had left. “What's going on? Did Drummond hit on you again, or did he yell at you or something?”

“It's not him,” Sharon croaked. “It's Brenda. She's—”

“She's about to get fired, that's what she is,” Maddy interrupted. “Tell her I want to see her in my office this afternoon. I don't care what she says. There is simply no excuse for blowing off her job the way she did. I've had it. If Terrence finds out what she's done—”

“No… She's dead,” Sharon whispered.

Maddy stopped short. “Wh-what?” She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “Brenda's dead? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yes. Someone killed her,” Sharon said, sobbing loudly. “They found her body in the park yesterday. Just like Lucille.”

“Central Park?” Maddy asked, her voice sounding wispy and weak. The woman in the park—the one that Bowser had found—had been Brenda. “Oh my God.”

Somewhere in the middle of Sharon's explanation, the lobby seemed to tilt on its axis. Maddy could hear Sharon's voice, but she could no longer make out the words. She had to get out of here.
Get outside. That's it. Cold air.
If she breathed in cool air, then everything would be okay. It would be clear. The world would be steady again instead of completely insane.

Maddy burst out the front door, practically plowing down the doorman in the process. She choked on the frigid, late-November air when it hit her lungs. A sob escaped her lips, and she fought to stem the tears, but to no avail. She babbled a quick good-bye to Sharon and stood on the sidewalk for what felt like forever, with people rushing by and paying her little mind.

This city had claimed another victim. Once again, the world kept right on going, cruelly oblivious to the latest loss of life. Blinded by tears, Maddy hailed a cab, and one pulled up within seconds. Once inside the warm car, she stared blankly at her phone until the driver asked her for the third time where she was going.

Home? The office? Neither was appealing. What other choice did she have? Ronan?

Maddy shook her head and answered her own question before she even had the chance to ask it. No way. The last thing she should do now was go running to him for help. Their friendship was in a strange place as it was; using him for a shoulder to cry on would only make it more confusing.

“Yo,” the cabbie grunted. “Where to?”

“Um, I'm not sure,” she whispered shakily.

“You okay, lady?” The cabbie adjusted the rearview mirror and peered at her warily. “Where we goin'?”

“I-I don't—” Her phone buzzed in her hand, cutting her off. She answered it without even looking at who it was. “Maddy Morgan,” she managed to croak out.

“Where the hell have you been? Jesus, I've been worried sick about you.” Ronan's firm, steady voice washed over her, instantly putting her at ease. “Maddy, are you there?”

She let out a slow breath and squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to slow the awful feeling of spinning out of control.

“The girl you found in the park,” she finally croaked. “It was… Ronan, she was only a kid. All this time… She's gone.”

“I know.” Ronan's tone was gentle and comforting. “Where are you?”

“In a cab. I'm going to work…to my office.” Maddy swiped at her eyes and leaned toward the plexiglass divider. “The corner of Forty-Seventh and Tenth Avenue, please,” she said to the driver.

“Maddy, you have got to be kidding me,” Ronan scoffed.

“No, I'm not.” She squared her shoulders, the tears finally slowing. “We have an office full of scared, upset people, and I need to get there and get it under control. Terrence is off-site with clients, so this falls to me. Not to mention Brenda's parents. Someone has to call them,” she said, her voice wavering again. “So awful, and right before the holidays.”

Maddy stifled a hysterical laugh after that comment. Would it be any easier on them if their daughter had been killed during a regular week? No, of course not. Rick had died on a normal summer night, and it had hurt like hell.

“They're already on their way,” Ronan said quietly. “I spoke with the detectives handling the case early this morning, once she'd been identified. I tried getting in touch with you, but you didn't pick up. Probably because your phone was still buried in that suitcase of yours. Which
also
means you didn't listen to a damn thing I said about taking precautions.”

A flicker of irritation shimmied up Maddy's spine at the hint of arrogance and outrage that edged his words.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me for not listening to your all-knowing pearls of wisdom, McGuire.” Maddy stilled and watched the city go by through the window of the cab. “You know, I really don't think
now
is the time to lecture me.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Well, I think it's the perfect time.”

“I have to go,” she snapped. “I have responsibilities.”

“You can't control this, Maddy, or manage it,” he said bluntly. “And you sure as hell can't hide from it and pretend it didn't happen.”

She bristled at that last comment because it hit too damn close to home. Facing the truth had never been her strong suit. Nope, she was much better at handling the details and moving on. She could compartmentalize her life like it was her damn job: there was no point in lingering on the good or the bad. “Hit it and quit it” had been her motto, and until Ronan came along, it had seemed like a perfectly acceptable way to live.

But not for him. He couldn't leave things alone. The man had to push and dig beyond the surface of everything, and it was making her crazy.

“Good-bye, McGuire.”

Before he could utter another word or toss any more truth in her face, Maddy ended the call and threw the phone back into her purse. She sniffled and wiped beneath her eyes, knowing there likely were smudges of mascara firmly in place. She would go to her office and do her best to ease everyone's fears. Managing the details of a crisis was when she was at her best.

Nothing made her feel better than being in control.

* * *

Ronan hadn't spoken to Maddy since she hung up on him. Part of him, a big damn piece, wanted to go find her and shake some sense into her. But after a lengthy phone call with Gavin, he came to the conclusion that that would be a bad move. His brother confirmed what Ronan suspected: if he pushed her too hard or crowded her space, she would shut him down and cut him off.

So Ronan did the exact opposite of his instincts. He didn't call or text. He didn't push. He could give Maddy the space she craved, but when the time was right, he was going to dig deeper. Maddy Morgan had quickly become the riddle that Ronan not only
wanted
, but also
needed
to solve.

For the rest of that week, he kept his ear to the ground to gather every bit of information on the case that he could. While he wanted his Thanksgiving dinner with Maddy to be free of unpleasant conversation, he knew that at some point, she would ask about the police's progress in finding the killer. He couldn't discuss certain aspects of the case, but he could definitely tell her some others.