For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) (10 page)

“
D
o
we really have to take both tests tomorrow?” Yaniel whined.

Madelyn continued writing the review pages for their test on the abolition of the Caribbean slave trade. “Yes.”

“But…with everything that’s happened… I don’t know. I figured we’d take time to mourn Mrs. Gallow,” the boy continued.

Talk about a low blow. Madelyn snapped the cap on the dry-erase marker and then wiped the stray ink from her fingers. She faced the class and centered her no-nonsense glare on the boy in the back of the single-room hut. “We won’t just mourn her, Yaniel. We’ll honor her with high marks on our tests.”

No one had a good comeback to that. She smiled. “Make sure you have these page numbers in your notebooks and that you study them tonight. Now, on to my man Hamlet.”

“
I
need
to use the ladies’,” Martha interrupted.

“We break in ten minutes. I’m sure you can hold it that long. Now, who can tell me which characters survive at the end of the play?”

A few hands raised, but Martha’s hand whipped through the air.

“Lin.” Madelyn called on the girl in front of the student whose eyeballs apparently floated in urine.

“Horatio and Fortinbras.” Lin beams.

Almost.

At least the pandemonium allowed little free time to think about the sorrow, the decisions to be made, the fear, and the unexpected spark that Nathan Brewer’s presence ignited. A spark that seemed to burn her from the inside out.

Martha flailed two hands and added her head in the mix, shaking side to side.

“Okay, Martha.” Madelyn held up a hand. “Answer the question correctly and you may be excused.”

“Thank you, Ms. Garrett.” The girl’s hands gripped the edge of her desk. “Horatio, Fortinbras, the English Ambassador, and likely Osric.”

“Nice work.” Madelyn nodded. “You may go, but if you make less than ninety percent on the test tomorrow you won’t get to go again.”

“Yes, um’.” The girl slid her seat back.

“Ms. Garrett?” Zuberi’s voice turned her attention to the back of the room. “If I answer a question right can I go to the bathroom?”

Two other hands shot up. Kids. They saw a perceived crack in her armor and took aim. But watch out for the chasm beneath. She smiled. “Sure. You just have to earn a one hundred on the test tomorrow or you lose your bathroom privileges for the rest of the year.”

The two hands sank. Zuberi puffed his chest and jutted his chin.

“All right,” Madelyn conceded. “Compare and contrast Hamlet with Horatio, Fortinbras, Claudius, and Laertes.”

He balked, but she knew he could answer the question. Despite his macho swagger, he paid as close attention to their reading of the play as he did Martha’s short skirts. Well, almost.

“So,” Zuberi started, “Horatio is—”

A shrill scream sliced through the orderly classroom assembly and severed the boy’s answer. The sharp pitch radiated from the young girl lurching from the gaping classroom door. She backpedaled, slammed into an empty desk, and fell to the ground.

What on earth… Then Madelyn remembered that this was no ordinary day. Nathan’s warning flashed in her mind. She sprinted hard and fast, clearing the long room in a few strides.

“Are you okay?” Madelyn kneeled next to the girl. Her gaze searched for signs of injury, but found none. Martha’s bloated eyes focused on a point over Madelyn’s shoulder outside the classroom.

She turned and the reel of her life hitched. Everything slowed. A frame per second ticked by. The bright Caribbean sky framed the doorway. A ghastly silhouette absorbed the sunlight. Camouflage rope knotted around the wooden rafters of the porch. The noose, tight around his neck, severed life. His. Hers.

No!

The word ricocheted in her skull. It rang her ears louder than the roar of the sea. And yet, she didn’t make a sound as she stared at Deacon’s suspended bulk. Her only friend left in the world hung limp. Lifeless.

No!

This time the silent word boomeranged as a command. Like her will had the power to change reality.

The wicked laugh from her past echoed. A chill settled along her spine. Her gut flipped. And she’d swear his ghost stood over her, mocking the seed of hope as he’d done so often all those years ago. He’d beaten down every sprout of hope in the desert that had been her life. That was quickly becoming her life again.

No.

“Deacon.” Madelyn scrambled across the distance. Her bare knees stung from the traction of the rough floor. One of her sandals slipped from her foot, but she made it to the door.

She lunged for Deacon and wrapped her arms around his narrow waist. A shiver rocked them. Madelyn gasped. Her tongue threatened to lodge in her throat. Was that his shiver or hers?

His belly still radiated heat.

“Deacon?” she cried.

When he shuddered under her hand a sob choked itself off in her windpipe. She gathered as much of his haunches and middle as she could with him hanging so high and lifted. His uneven weight tattered, but she held strong. She waited, hoped, begged that she hadn’t hallucinated the fight left inside him.

“Deacon!”

He reared against the rope. She shuffled under him, struggling to keep the rope from cinching around his throat. The rope some psychopath had placed there. In the daylight. Silently. With her and her children only ten feet away.

Her gaze scanned the dirt yard, the other huts, the woods surrounding the school. Was he there, watching and waiting?

“Martha,” Madelyn hollered.

“Yes,” the girl squeaked.

“Tell Sauda and Zuberi to come here and everyone else to close the windows and get into the supply closet now,” she commanded.

‘Yes ma’am’s’ murmured behind her. Then the shuffle of adolescent feet scattered. Apparently, she’d gathered a crowd. The boys she’d requested stood before her. Sweat dripped from Sauda’s dark chin.

“Is he…” Zuberi rang his hands.

“No, but I need your help.” Her heart beat so forcefully against her chest it stole all the oxygen from her lungs. Stars danced in her periphery.

“Name it,” Sauda pled.

“A chair,” she panted.

They scrambled.

Her shoulders sang. The feeling in her fingers faded down her arm. Madelyn straightened her back and reinforced her grip. “You’ll be okay, bud. I’ve got you.” A tear slipped down her cheek, but she rubbed onto his fur. She couldn’t lose it now. Her kids needed her.

The clattering of a chair hitting the porch sent a fresh shot of adrenaline through her body.

“Sauda had to help with the windows. Most of the scaredy-cats made for the closet.” Zuberi laughed as he rubbed at the tremor in his hand.

“I’m scared too,” she whispered.

“Ha. You don’t sound scared or look it.” He scooted the chair closer and hurried atop it.

She grew up scared, every second of every day. Crisis mode became her twisted little comfort zone. She learned to operate under pain, and terror, and his ever-watchful eyes.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” Madelyn loosened her stance to catch his falling weight. “I’m ready.” Her breath seized and she waited.

And waited.

Her torso quivered under the weight of Deacon’s body and his sluggish struggles. “Calm down. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” she said in a light, even tone for all their benefit. If only the cramp in her side would agree.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Garrett. But the rope... I can’t get it loose. There’s not enough rope between the noose and the rafters.”

Sweat tickled her brow. Her entire body quaked. She couldn’t hold on much longer. But she couldn’t let go. Not for a second. Not for anything.

“Scissors,” she ground through clenched teeth.

The boy leaped from the chair. His too large feet for his body clopped inside. “Scissors,” he yelled. Seconds later the rumble of feet approached. “I have them. And Sauda can help now.”

“Great. Please, hurry.” She swore she wouldn’t rush them, but the last bit of feeling fled her hands.

Sauda, the taller of the two, bracketed his hands on the lower part of Deacon’s chest. The white of his eyes grew, contrasting against the charcoal of his skin. “Cut it already.”

“I’m trying,” Zuberi huffed. “It’s not like cutting paper.”

“It’s okay,” Madelyn said. But her voice came as little more than a whisper. A wish. Her eyes closed on the hope. One of the boys growled in frustration.

Deacon’s bulk gave way. It crashed down hard on her face, but her arms stayed locked around his back end. She shuffled to balance the awkwardness of the grip. Sauda shifted. He sidled closer to her and encircled Deacon’s chest.

“Inside,” she huffed.

They stumbled into the building and Zuberi slammed the door behind them.

“Put the chair in front of the door.” Madelyn turned to make certain the child did as she asked. Her foot landed on the side of Sauda’s. In an effort not to hurt him, her ankle rolled. The mass in her arms flailed. The classroom tilted.

Madelyn landed hard on her elbow and Deacon landed on her chest. The impact drove her flat as a paper doll onto the floor. Two feet of the sturdy wooden chair and the stiff back of the top wedged between the knob and the floor. A shard of relief slipped into place. “Thank you. Now, in the closet boys.”

“But who’s doing this to us?” One of them begged.

“Closet now. Questions later.”

She rolled Deacon onto his side and scrambled to her knees beside him. His breaths came shallow and slow. But they came. Distance glazed his eyes. His pulse bumped lazily against his chest. A drop of water splashed against his cheek. He blinked mechanically.

A sob shook her shoulders and she realized the water was her tear. She sucked back the emotion. Her gaze darted around the room looking for her students. The desks stood empty. A few pencils littered the floor along with a piece of paper and a half eaten banana.

Why hadn’t she trusted Nathan? Now her dog and her children were in jeopardy.

Nathan.

Madelyn wasn’t the damsel in distress type, but a vicious, sadistic killer was out of her league. She dove for the closet, frantic for the radio he’d given her last night. Too bad she’d left the gun nestled under her pillow.

She flung the closet door open. Several kids gasped, while others lifted makeshift weapons in their trembling hands. Broom handles, yardsticks, and scissors were better than nothing.

“Someone hand me my bag,” she begged in the calmest voice she could manage.

Arms reached in every direction. Someone yelled, “Here. I got it!” A collective sigh lightened the thick air. They crowd-surfed the woven bamboo tote. Her hand dove into its contents, roving for the feel of hard plastic while she surveyed the perimeter of the room.

Sweet success tickled her fingertips. She yanked the contraption from the bag and closed the closet door. She leaned against it for fortification, pressed the button, and hoped. “Nathan?”

B
road daylight
. The boldness of it had excited him. The reality of it boiled the blood in his veins. He’d been so close to getting caught that the
clink
of the cell door being slammed on his ass echoed behind him. On top of that he’d been interrupted before he’d split the dog in two.

Reliving her reaction in his mind aroused and irritated him further.

Her body jerked at the sight of his glorious work, as though caught dead center by a bullet. Those lips, so often smiling or smirking, formed the terrified O of Edvard Munch’s pastel-painted scream
.
Damn her to hell. Just like the painting, no shrill screech or throaty cry poured from her stretched mouth.

Had Deacon’s blood been splattered across the porch, had his insides been on display, maybe then that sweet song would have caressed him like a greedy hand wrapped around his dick.

He stomped through the woods and came out on the other side of the thicket near the beach. A woman toting a large bowl of fruit on her head gave him a friendly smile. He returned the gesture while inside he seethed, his body suddenly too small to contain the rage. It took every bit of restraint he possessed to let her walk past him without grabbing her in a choke hold, dragging her into the woods, and finishing the work he’d spoiled for today.

The patience he’d strived for revealed itself in that moment. He looked through the fury to the future. To the ultimate prize.

He would break Madelyn Garrett. She would scream for him. She would beg like all the others.

Turning his back on the sorry substitute, he slid into his father’s old truck and started the engine. He pulled from the undergrowth to the edge of the road. An SUV barreled at him.

Fuck it all, but his palms slicked on the worn steering wheel.

Special Agent Nathan Brewer had been on his trail for a while now. He liked toying with the man, leaving just enough evidence to send him in fitful circles. Only he’d never been this close.

Framing Roger Inman should’ve gotten the man off his tail for good, if not for enough time to finish the women so close to home. So close to his heart. His jackknifing heart.

“Fuck.” The vehicle drew closer. Its headlights flashed. He slipped his left foot onto the brake and hovered the right over the gas.

He inhaled, ready to flee, but the rush of oxygen dissipated the fog of adrenaline and the cloak of disappointment.

“Don’t be a rookie. You can explain why you’re here in this inconspicuous car. Even if it got his suspicions up, he wouldn’t have enough to hold you. And you’d have plenty of time to clean away any evidence.”

He dragged his palms over his pants and sat straight. The man zipped past with an expression that could have fit perfectly onto that of any of the four horsemen.

Interesting
.

Either the man got wood from the possibility of catching him or from looking at his
woman. Didn’t that make things more interesting? A challenge. He was up to the task. In fact, he was up for two.