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Striding from the building and across the street, Nik straddled the motorcycle and pulled the helmet on.
"Give me," he told Tehya as he buckled the strap beneath his chin and started the Harley.
"I'll have what I can get by the time you get to your
room," Tehya promised. "I'll drop it off myself."
Nik pulled into traffic, his jaw set in lines of tension as he headed for the hotel.
"What do you have already, Tehya?" he questioned her firmly. "I know you're not empty-handed."
A chuckle came through the link. "Renegade, trust me, this time, I'm well and truly empty-handed at this point, but I'm still looking. Fix me a cup of coffee and we'll discuss it when I get there."
Mikayla stood outside the home of the deceased foreman, Edmond "Eddie" Foreman. Her lips didn't curve into a smile at the thought of his name now. She felt that familiar sinking of her stomach, that flash of fear at the memory of his face as he hit the ground. His eyes had been wide in surprise, blank in death. Blood had continued to saturate his shirt; one leg was twisted at an odd angle.
The fall had broken his back, his hip, and his leg. What had killed him, though, had been that bullet in his heart. The bullet that Maddix Nelson had put there. Breathing in deeply, Mikayla pushed her hair back, straightened her shoulders, and strode up the cracked walkway to the two-story duplex Eddie had owned with his wife, Gina.
Mikayla had only met Gina once, at a company picnic Maddix Nelson had thrown for his employees and contractors and their families. She was a quiet woman, Mikayla remembered. Gina hadn't smiled a lot and had spoken even less. Eddie had insisted on being the attention getter of the family. He was loud and brash, but he hadn't deserved to die as he had.
Mikayla was hoping Gina would be willing to discuss her husband's death with her. So far, most people were highly uncooperative when it came to answering her questions about Eddie Foreman or Maddix Nelson. They watched her suspiciously or in 22
some cases with outright dislike.
Strangely, Maddix himself was staying particularly low-key about the entire event. He had somehow managed to convince several city officials to give him an alibi, as well as the chief of police.
Maddix wasn't vociferously protesting his innocence. He was being rather smart, she concluded, by keeping quiet and allowing his friends to cover his murdering butt. Moving to the front door, Mikayla knocked firmly at the rough wood door, noticing the peeling paint, the crack in the door frame, and the state of disrepair that the wood porch was in.
Eddie Foreman hadn't done much for the upkeep of his own home. The door opened slowly.
"Miss Martin." There was a hint of a sigh in Gina Foreman's voice. "I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon."
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, the police dispatcher looked harried and tired. No doubt she was staying awake at night, perhaps worried that she was in danger herself. Mikayla knew she would have been.
Dark blond and brown hair framed Gina's pretty features and fell to just below her neck in a layered straight cut. Her chocolate brown eyes were somber, the shadows beneath them attesting to her lack of sleep.
"Mrs. Foreman, I'd like to talk to you for a moment." Mikayla stared back at Gina earnestly. "I just have a few questions."
Gina Foreman closed her eyes briefly. She was dressed for work. The black Tshirt she wore carried the insignia of a dispatcher, and Mikayla only hoped the woman cared more about her husband's death than she did about her job. Mikayla wasn't holding her breath, though.
She was doomed to disappointment, though. It was a good thing she hadn't held her breath.
"You know I can't talk to you," Gina finally stated regretfully as she laid her arm against the door frame and rubbed her forehead against it.
"I understand no one wants you to talk to me," Mikayla agreed painfully. "But he was your husband and he was killed in cold blood." Mikayla wanted to scream. Anger was like a parasite inside her, spreading, eating away at her control.
"Miss Martin, let it go," Gina advised her softly as she straightened. "The police are investigating his death, and I have every confidence that Chief Riley will find his killer."
Mikayla couldn't let it go. She couldn't get that image of Eddie Foreman's sightless gaze staring up at her out of her mind. It haunted her.
"Are you sure?" Mikayla asked, doubt heavy in her voice. "Or will he simply continue to cover for your husband's murderer?"
Gina Foreman's face tightened as grief flashed in her dark eyes once again. There was no doubt she was mourning her husband, even though from what Mikayla understood, Eddie Foreman hadn't exactly been a loving, faithful husband.
"I can't talk to you," the other woman repeated. "Don't do this to me. Don't make me doubt people I trust. . . ."
"Do you think I didn't trust Maddix Nelson as well?" Mikayla argued softly, desperate to convince the woman to talk to her. "Mrs. Foreman, I watched your husband 23
die in front of my eyes. I saw the man who shot him. Perhaps you can ignore that, but I can't. I see it every night in my nightmares. I can't escape it." She couldn't forget it. She had tried. She had fought sleeping just to escape the dreams. She couldn't get the image of Eddie Foreman's dead body out of her mind. She couldn't forget that evening, the sounds, the smells, the horror of it. The feel of complete terror enveloping her as Maddix Nelson had shot at her next was still an ever-present reminder that nothing was certain. Especially tomorrow.
