Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
LUKE
The ice is perfect, freshly cut and still gives off a bit of mist. I skate drills with the guys, feeling my edges grip and the puck snapping between our sticks. When Coach blows the whistle, I look down the rink.
Madeline stands with the Ice Crew, her red jacket bright against the white. She laughs at something Kory says, but I can tell it’s not a real one. Her mood is off, and I know she’s still pissed at me. She was quiet at lunch but didn’t stop me from kissing her and keeping her tucked into my side.
Before lunch, Grant had already figured out where Emily is staying. She’s at one of the few bed-and-breakfasts in town. I also talked to my brother.
I didn’t get much information since I had to slip out of class to go to his office. He only told me it’s Murphy, but no one can know until they get a positive ID. He also said she’d been dismembered. I pretended to be shocked.
“Watch it, Locke. You’re in my lane.”
“Your lane? You couldn’t hit the net even if you had a GPS,” I shoot back at Caleb.
Grant laughs from the far circle, winds up, and fires a puck that bounces off the glass near Caleb’s head. “GPS wouldn’t help. He’d still miss.” I let out a low chuckle.
“Fuck off, Grant,” Caleb says, but he’s grinning.
Someone on the bench hollers, “Caleb, my grandmother shoots harder than you!”
“Your grandmother’s in my DMs,” Caleb yells back, making the guys groan and laugh. They’re all idiots, but honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb actually killed Coach Murphy.
We get ready for another drill. I push off hard, trying to focus on the play and its rhythm. I circle back toward the boards and glance down the ice. Like always, my eyes drift to where the Ice Crew stands.
She’s gone.
I look over to the benches, the tunnel, and the far corner. There’s no red jacket anywhere.
“Locke!” Coach’s voice cracks. “Let’s go!”
I ignore him, skate to the end of the rink, and bang on the glass to get Kory’s attention. She looks left, then right, like she thinks I’m calling for someone else.
“Where’s Madeline?” I shout.
“She said she had a headache and took off.”
“Luke, we’re practicing here, not keeping tabs on your new fuck toy,” Lana sneers.
“The fuck did you just say?” I growl. I watch her swallow hard. “You really think this glass will keep me from getting to you?”
Her face tightens. “Are you threatening to hit me? I’m a fucking girl.”
“I don’t give a shit. You need to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut.
Telling people I stuck my dick in you.” I make a disgusted expression.
“You’ve been warned,” I tell her then skate away.
I don’t have time for this. I’m sick of her bullshit.
I don’t miss the other girls trying to mask their laughter, not wanting Lana to turn her ire onto them.
I skate to the bench, tugging off my gloves as I go.
“Get back out there!” Coach yells after me. I step off the ice, legs heavy and chest tight. I have to find her.
I hit the locker room at as fast of a pace as possible on skates, pulling my jersey over my head as I make my way there.
My pads are next, along with my skates and whatever other gear I can get off so that I can head out.
My fingers pad clumsily on my shirt buttons as I try to dress quickly.
I call Madeline, but she doesn’t answer. Voicemail. Again.
I let out a frustrated growl. Never in my life have I felt this type of worry.
The tracking app finally loads. Her dot is moving steadily toward town. It’s no coincidence that her current location is awfully close to the bed-and-breakfast Grant mentioned Emily is staying at during lunch.
I grab my keys, tossing the rest of my clothes on.
The drive is a blur. I pull up to the Victorian house, a crooked sign swinging, the location dot pulsing inside. I kill the engine, fix my shirt, and head up the steps.
The door opens before I touch it.
A woman stands there, gray hair pinned up, apron dusted with flour. She smiles like she’s been expecting me. “Afternoon, young man. Tea starts in ten minutes. You’re a bit early, but come in, come in.”
I step inside, scanning past her. The foyer is all dark wood and doilies with some floral smell choking the air. Then I see my Madeline. I have momentary relief.
She’s perched on a velvet bench, laughing at something, a teacup balanced on her knee. She catches my eye and freezes for half a second, then her smile widens, too bright.
“There you are!” She stands and sets the cup down. “I was just telling Mrs. Halloway about how I stumbled on this place. Isn’t it adorable?”
Mrs. Halloway beams. “Built in 1892. The woodwork is original, you know. Those mantels came from an estate in Boston—”
“I love the history,” Madeline cuts in, smooth as glass. “Babe, we should really get going. My sister is expecting us.”
I nod, playing along, but my jaw is tight. “Right. Dinner.”
“So lovely to meet you both,” Mrs. Halloway says, following us to the door. “Come back for tea anytime. We have the most wonderful lemon cakes.”
“Oh, we will. I love everything with lemon,” Madeline promises as she steps onto the porch.
I grab her hand firmly and pull her toward the steps. She tries to pull away, but I hold on.
“Luke, I was getting—”
“Getting what? Yourself killed?” I glower down at her.
I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control.
The thought of her putting herself in harm’s way intentionally has me all out of sorts.
My hand aches to bend her over my knee and spank her for this.
What the fuck? I don’t even know where that thought came from.
“I was being friendly. People talk to friendly people, and I’m new in town.”
“People also remember friendly people. When the cops come asking—”
We reach the bottom step and stop.
Emily stands there, key in hand, looking up at us. She goes still. Her eyes find mine first, recognition flashing, something cold and calculating. It could be because she’s hiding something or that she remembers I’m an asshole. Then they slide to Madeline.
Her expression shifts. The coldness melts into something else. She smiles slowly, and her gaze travels down Madeline’s body and back up, unhurried, like she’s deciding what to order from a menu. If she were a guy, I’d punch her in the face for the outward disrespect.
“Hi,” Emily says, her voice warm. She tucks a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “Are you two staying here?”
I step slightly in front of Madeline, my grip tightening. “Just leaving.”
Emily’s eyes stay on Madeline, amused. “What a pity.”
She brushes past us, close enough that her shoulder grazes mine, and pushes through the door. It swings shut behind her.
I don’t move. Madeline’s hand is stiff in mine.
“Was she checking me out?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling her toward the car. “I don’t only have to worry about every swinging dick, now I’ve got to chase off girls too,” I mutter under my breath. Madeline lets out a laugh. I jerk open the passenger door. “It’s not funny.” She slips inside.
“It’s a little funny.” Another growl escapes me, and I shut the door.
I go around the back of the truck and stand there taking a few more calming breaths so I don’t jump down her throat.
I’m so pissed. This is the most pissed I think I’ve ever been in my life, and I know it’s all wrapped up in fear.
It’s quiet as I pull away from the curb. Madeline’s arms are folded over her chest, and she’s glaring out the window.
I pull into the first empty parking lot I find, gravel crunching under the tires. I turn the engine off. My hands are still shaking.
“Luke—”
“Why didn’t you answer?” My voice comes out rough, too loud for the small space. “I called three times. Three.”
“I was busy being charming.” She tries to sound light, but her brows are drawn together. “It worked, didn’t it? I got information.”
“You could’ve been—” I stop, throat closing. I can’t even put my worst fear of something happening to her into the world. “If I hadn’t shown up, you would have been alone with her. With Emily. Do you get that? If she’d recognized you, if she’d—”
“I’m not helpless,” Madeline says, her voice rising. “I know what I’m doing. I made a choice.”
“A stupid choice.”
“Excuse me?” We’re both breathing hard. I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, and then force myself to let go. “I wouldn’t have been alone with her. I was in the inn with people around.”
“You don’t know who she’s working with. If she killed Murphy, she has a partner.
She’s not sawing through bone on her own.
I’m starting to think it wasn’t about cutting up the body to make it easier to move.
It was about disposing of it, and the boathouse is a good location.
It would have power for tools and shelter to hide under while you did the task. ”
“I wouldn’t have gone with her to her room.”
I turn to look at her.
“When I saw you were gone,” I say, my voice quieter now, “when I saw where you were going, I couldn’t...” I stop and swallow. “I thought something happened to you. I thought I’d find you hurt. Or worse.” My voice cracks. “I can’t lose you, Madeline. I can’t.”
Madeline gives me reason to wake up every morning.
She gives me a drive, breathing life back into me I didn’t know was missing.
I know it sounds sappy, but it’s like I’ve locked up so much shit that I’ve emotionally shut down, not letting anything close.
She’s taken a sledgehammer to that door without even trying.
Now that it’s open, I can never let it fucking close, and that means having her.
Her expression changes. The anger fades, replaced by something softer. She reaches up and touches my jaw.
“You were really scared,” she whispers.
She leans in and kisses me. It’s soft at first, then deeper and hungry.
The fear turns into something else—heat, relief, and need.
I pull her across the center console, hands on her waist, lifting her onto my lap.
The seat creaks. Her knees settle on either side of my hips, her weight pressing down, and I groan against her mouth.
She pulls back a little, breathless, her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for telling me that. I like seeing that side of you. I also like that you realized your anger came from fear. A lot of men can’t process that.”
“I’m not sure I’m fully processing anything.” I shake my head, and Madeline smiles at me.
“Can you process what I found out?”
“Can you promise not to do that to me again?” Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “I know you’re used to calling your own shots, but we’re a team, Buttercup.” She releases her lips.
“Okay, I agree.”
I lean in and press my mouth to hers again. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to have to toss you into the basement and keep you captive.”
“Shut up.” She laughs and smacks my shoulder. It wasn’t a joke. I’ll do what I need to keep her little ass safe.
“Now tell me what you found out.”
“Emily’s been there for three days,” she says, voice low.
“Keeps to herself. Breakfast at the bakery and dinner in her room; goes out for walks and comes back. The innkeeper thinks she’s sad.
Writes in some journal all the time.” Madeline’s thumb traces my collarbone.
“She didn’t mention anyone visiting. Didn’t mention Murphy. ”
I kiss her throat, her jaw, and back to her mouth. “You got all that?”
“I’m good at listening.” She rocks slightly and deliberately, and I grip her hips tighter. “People like to talk to me.”
“Yeah,” I mutter against her lips. “I noticed.”
She smiles, then it’s lost in another kiss, deeper. The car feels too small and exactly right. For now, the danger outside is forgotten. It’s just her and me and the heat between us.