Rush to the Altar Read online

  The words slurred in his head, repeating themselves. Forget her. Forget Maddie. For—get—her.

  As he was thinking that, Tabitha reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Before he really understood, he found her kissing him, deep and hot. He let his eyelids fall shut, allowing the kiss to wash over him, but his insides recoiled with the feeling that it was wrong. She felt wrong, she tasted wrong, she breathed wrong—it was all wrong.

  Pulling back, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and must have looked at her hard, because she stared a moment, lips compressed, eyes narrowed and then turned away and sat up, angry. Lisa had watched the ordeal.

  “Give me a try, sweetheart. Maybe cold-blooded girls like Tabi aren’t your type. Maybe you like warmth and softness.”

  Jake looked at her, knowing he shouldn’t, but there was something more appealing about Lisa and he shrugged. “Let’s dance first.”

  “Really?” Lisa gave him a shrug and a small smile. “Who knew? The man likes foreplay.”

  They went out onto the dance floor, where the current song was dying away. At the end of the song a stage came down out of the ceiling, unfolding like butterfly wings with a middle and two side sections. Lights began to dance as eerie music filled the space around them. A snow machine whirled, showering brilliant, iridescent white flakes through the colored lights, catching on clothes and eyelashes, making everyone croon in delight.

  Jake and Lisa stared in growing fascination as a slight woman came out onto the stage. She looked like a shadow waif, with no light to see her face. The audience was spellbound by the sight of her and the rainbow snowflakes that held no cold. When she reached the middle of the stage she turned, her back to the audience. They held their breath, waiting for what might happen next.

  Jake found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure on the stage. She was cold, he sensed, and afraid, holding her slim shoulders erect, waiting…waiting…for something.

  The music began, building to the opening, and suddenly she turned, a spotlight lighting her to glowing brightness. She was almost too bright to look at, wearing a white shirt that tied at her waist, white leather pants with leather insets of butterflies and colorful wings scattered across her thigh and down one side. Jake’s gaze traveled up the column of her throat, noting the extra long, thick, dark waves of hair that tantalized and teased her throat and shoulders, but her face was too bright to make out from where he stood.

  They all stood mesmerized by the music and her brightness when she opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice had a lilting but raw quality that captured them into silence, stillness, rapt attention. The room grew stone silent, except for the quiet whir of the snow machine as the single notes of a piano echoing behind the power of her raspy, breathy persuasion.

  Jake studied her face, feeling an uneasy grip take hold of him. His breathing quickened. He knew this woman, knew the way she held her arms, tight and still against her sides, all the strength within her bottled, held and then releasing in a slow resonance that exploded from her throat. It couldn’t be. It could not be Madeline Goode on that stage. He stared at her face, trying to see past the stage makeup, the thick, glittering eyelashes, the bright red lips, the too-white light, making her face seem unearthly. Her body contained the sound, became a living instrument, so like her and yet so unlike her. She didn’t move around on the stage, she didn’t gyrate and call attention to herself. She just closed her eyes, opened her mouth and unleashed total rule over them.

  He found himself breathless.

  The others around him had begun to sway and dance, but most of them still had their gaze locked onto her face, most couldn’t tear themselves back to the women and men that a moment ago had so enthralled them.

  An electric guitar solo began, like classical and rock blended, growing more and more rocky until it suddenly faded away. The woman stood, soaking it in, only her hips swaying, making Jake feel shaky. It was Maddie. The real Maddie. This was what she had been talking about.

  ~~~~~~

  Maddie took a deep breath as the last strains of the song faded into deep silence. Had it been horrible? Did they hate her? She stood, seeing nothing but the blackness of the room and shadow forms, knowing that they were staring at her, but not knowing anything else.

  Sudden applause broke out. It grew and grew into echoing clatter, filling the room and her with a feeling of elation. They liked it. As they clapped longer and longer, she found tears streaming down her cheeks. They really liked it, but more, she had so loved singing it.

  When she turned to leave the stage there was an immediate demand from the crowd that she come back and sing more. She wished she could, but Rick, one of the owners of the club and one of the players for the Racers, had given her this opportunity out of a fluke, and it was the only song she’d had time to prepare. He had heard her singing in the parking garage, getting in her car after work, something she had begun doing in her free time. The echo of the parking garage had pulled at her, and without thought, she had belted out an old favorite, Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, deciding not to care if anyone was around to hear. Rick had clapped behind her, asked her if she sang on stage, which she promptly denied, the school choir and church choir being her only experience. He’d laughed and said, “You should, girl. You should.”

  Then he’d given her this opportunity. One song, showcased with all the lights and a million-dollar sound system that he assured her would make her successful at his new club. He’d been excited. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Asking her, “What do have to lose, Maddie?”

  Her sanity. Her privacy. Her pride. She shook her head as he pressed his card into her clammy hand. He turned, ignoring her fear, telling her the time to show up and to “dress to kill,” a task that Sasha had risen to with typical aplomb.

  The next four days seemed like an eternity and yet a minute. Sick with nerves, afraid she would throw up on stage, Maddie drove to the club feeling like a fraud that was about to be exposed. But this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? This finding out who she was and what she loved. She hadn’t sung anything but lullabies in so long that she’d forgotten. Forgotten the lost hours in her bedroom with the removable finial from her headboard gripped in her hand, staring at the mirror and singing with quiet force, trying to keep her parents from hearing, trying to keep the scary power in her voice from escaping control.

  But not tonight. After the first few terror-filled moments, she let go. Out of her mouth had come a sound she didn’t even know she was capable of making, and she wasn’t sure but she thought it was pretty good.

  Rick met her in the makeshift dressing room. She could hear the DJ start up again as he came in and shut the door behind him. He had a giant grin across his face, teeth glowing white in the dim lights, eyes excited. “That was great. You got some real talent. You know that? It’s about to turn into a mob out there, they want you back so bad.” He walked over to her and lifted her chin with his long, basketball handling fingers. “Where you been hiding this great big voice, Maddie girl?”

  She blushed, fighting the knot in her throat. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Well, it’s all out there now. They want you back. I’m gonna make you a star, okay? You’re gonna come back next Saturday and sing a longer set, okay?”

  Maddie was trembling, everything moving too fast. “I’ll think about it.”

  Rick pulled three hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket and pressed them into her palm. “Three hundred per song. And I’ll look into getting you a band for live gigs. I’ll call you about that, we’ll audition them together.”

  He kept rambling, but Maddie no longer heard a word he said. Three hundred dollars per song? For doing something that was so wonderful? It was unbelievable. She would do it for free. She had thought she was doing it for free. She looked down at her hand, not knowing if it was right to take it.

  Rick must have seen the look on her face because he laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t you feel bad a
bout taking that money. I get paid twice that for each dribble I make down the court, and I gotta say,” he shook his head back and forth, “you got more talent in your little pinkie finger than I ever had.”

  Maddie shook her head, eyes glowing. “That’s not true. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Get used to it. Now, come on out here and greet some of your new fans.”

  ~~~~~~

  Maddie’s intercom buzzed. The receptionist’s voice sounded hesitant and overly curious at the same time as she announced a Mr. Jackson was here to see her. Maddie’s heart began to race. This was it. The investigator was finally here.

  She answered the knock on her door and let the man in. He was wearing a black suit that had “FBI” written all over it and a somber demeanor that had Maddie quaking in her black patent leather high-heels. With shaking hands, she poured him a cup of coffee, spilling some on the freshly varnished wood of the sideboard she’d refinished. She took a small breath and reminded herself that she was glad he was here, glad to finally get this over with. With a small smile she handed him the coffee, smoothed down her skirt and sat, ramrod stiff on her chair, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Nice office,” the man commented, looking around. “They must pay pretty well around here.”

  The accusation was obvious. Maddie bristled. “They do. It’s a wonderful organization.”

  He took a sip, staring her in the eyes, trying to stare her down. Maddie forced herself not to look away. Finally, with a small nod and a slight up-turn to the corners of his lips, Mr. Jackson looked down to sit his coffee cup on the low table between the chairs and pulled out a small recorder. “I’d like to record your answers, if you don’t mind.”

  He said it like she didn’t have a choice and clicked on the record button, rattling off the name of the case into the small microphone.

  She had debated the idea of getting an attorney, but had decided to wait and see what move they were going to make. After all, she had nothing to hide. The person who had hid everything so well was in the grave.

  “Madeline Goode, is it true that you were married to Brandon Goode?”

  “Yes,” Maddie stated simply, determined to keep her answers short and to the point.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Six years.”

  “Were you aware that your husband had a mistress?”

  He was watching her reaction very carefully. “I learned about the woman a short time ago.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “She called me to tell me.”

  The man nodded his head, eyes shrewd. “How did you take the news?”

  Maddie gave him a tight smile. “Like any wife would. I was devastated. Is my reaction to my husband having a mistress really relevant to the case, Mr. Jackson? I’m glad to cooperate with this investigation, but please, keep your personal questions relevant.”

  He looked at her with a degree more of interest. “Did the woman also tell you about your husband’s crime against his employer?”

  Maddie nodded. “She said there was an investigation. That someone had embezzled money from the bank and that they thought it was Brandon.”

  “And what did you think of that, Mrs. Goode?”

  “I was shocked. If it’s true, then it appears my husband was living a double life.”

  “And you had no idea? No signs of a mistress and lots of extra money?”

  “If Brandon stole the money, he didn’t bring it home. We lived modestly on one income. He must have spent it all on his mistress.” She let some of the bitterness creep into her tone and upbraided herself for saying so much, but her response seemed to placate the detective.

  “So for the record. Madeline Goode, did you have any knowledge of your husband’s embezzlement of funds from First Old Bank of Indiana?”

  “No. None.”

  “Would you be willing to take a polygraph test to prove that?”

  “Yes. Anytime.”

  The man clicked off his recorder. Another tight smile and then he finished his coffee. “I believe you. Which is lucky for you. But this isn’t over. We’ll contact you when the bank makes it decision.”

  “What sort of decision? Mr. Jackson, do I need an attorney?”

  He shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt, but I would wait to see what they decide. With the perpetrator dead, they may be forced to cut their losses, drop the case and not press charges. And then there’s always the mistress. It’s harder to believe that she had no knowledge of this.”

  “Yes,” Maddie agreed, eyes narrowed. “It is.” She reached out for the coffee cup in the detective’s hand. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jackson.”

  He gave her another searching look. “Likewise.” And then he walked from the room.

  Maddie took a deep breath and collapsed back into one of the chair’s facing her desk, closing her eyes, telling her heartbeat to return to normal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Maddie, Jake Hart on line two for you,” the receptionist buzzed in shortly after Mr. Jackson left.

  Her heart gave a lurch at the sound of his name. Jake—on the phone. She had been trying not to think of him, trying to ignore the pull on her heart every time the image of his face came into her mind. Why would he call?

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Maddie.”

  His voice reached down into her and made her stomach quiver with a familiar jolt. “Hi,” she managed softly.

  “I want to ask you a favor.”

  She regrouped. Maybe this wasn’t the call she thought, half-hoped it was. “Oh. Okay.”

  “There’s a game in New York this weekend. They want to set up a meet-and-greet with me and a couple of the other guys. I really don’t know how these things are managed and I was wondering…would you be able to come and help out?”

  “Oh.” It was business. “Of course. As long as I can get Max squared away. Overnight, then?”

  “Yeah. They’ll put you up with the team, I’m sure. It’s a nice hotel. Do you have a pen? It’s American, flight 427, leaving Saturday at 10:30 am. We should be back Sunday evening.”

  Maddie grabbed a pen and jotted down the details. “Got it. Do you have a contact name for the other team? This is with the Kicks, right?” She amazed herself that the name of the team flew off her tongue so easily. She was really starting to learn this game. It was kind of strange to have a meet-and-greet in the opposing team’s city, but you never knew about publicity stunts in this business.

  “This is more of a celebrity thing with more than NBA players. I’ll get a name for you. I’m sure they’ll fill you in once you get there.”

  “Sounds good.” A long pause. “How are you, Jake?”

  Another pause. “I’m okay. My game’s been a little rough lately. I’m hoping this trip will turn me around.”

  “Yeah, I kind of heard about that. Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

  “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”

  He sounded distant and…lonely. She wanted to fix it, but stopped herself. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you on the flight.”

  “That’ll be nice. Thanks for doing this, Maddie.”

  “Sure. It’s my job.”

  “Well, see you soon.”

  “Bye, Jake.”

  She hung up the phone, brought up her calendar and stared at the monitor. She didn’t have any gigs on the schedule for this weekend. She was kind of glad. Rick was entirely too pushy, wanting eight songs for the next performance. The pressure to learn so many new songs and find a band was going to take a lot of time, time away from Max, and it weighed heavy on her mind. She was going to have to set boundaries with this new endeavor. Max and her job had to come first.

  ~~~~~~

  Indianapolis International Airport was bustling with travelers early Saturday morning as Maddie struggled to get her heavy suitcase and bulging carry-on off the shuttle bus. She pulled the handle of the large suitcase up, hearing it lock into place, secured the carry-on on top of it
, and rolled it toward the main doors. Please God, let it be under 50 pounds. It was going to be close but she just couldn’t decide what to wear, so she’d packed lots of options, including everything from a slinky dress to business clothes and even some lingerie. Heaven knew she wouldn’t need that, but she liked wearing it and getting out of mommy mode when she traveled.

  For the flight she had decided on something comfortable but stylish—black knee-length boots, a brightly printed wrap dress and her cream-colored dress coat with black buttons, which she shrugged off and folded across her arm. After a short line, she had her bags checked and turned toward the escalators and the security lines, hoping the TSA agents would be merciful and she wouldn’t have to get into the “naked machine.” Everything went well and soon her gaze was scanning the overhead screens, telling her that she had quite a hike to get to her gate.

  By the time she made the gate, she was breathing fast and sweating. Where was everybody? Was she late? She looked in panic at the clock and saw that no, she was plenty early. Strange, the team must have already boarded.

  A pleasant-looking woman stood at the airline counter and when she saw Maddie, she smiled broadly and motioned her over. “Ms. Goode? We are ready to board you.”

  Maddie nodded and dug into her handbag for her ticket. “Yes, I’m Maddie Goode. Where’s the team?”

  The woman cocked her head to one side with an overly bright smile, blinking rapidly. “Follow me, please.” Maddie nearly laughed aloud as she turned her back, thinking she looked like a Stepford Wife.

  The tunnel to the plane was narrow and dim, reminding Maddie that she didn’t particularly care for closed spaces. She sent up a quick prayer for their safety on the flight and then turned toward the long, narrow cabin of the plane.

  It was empty.

  “Where…” she began.

  The Stepford woman turned, smiled and motioned her to follow. “In first class, dear.”