Traffic had finally opened up on the 248-mile stretch southwest on a drive that had crawled out of Houston despite leaving early.
Her job had netted more than a few interesting assignments over the years but this request topped the list, literally coming out of left field. For one, she hadn’t been working on a story that involved cattle, ranching or dead maverick billionaires. In fact, she’d had no association with the senior Butler although she might be one of the few women in Texas who hadn’t, she thought as she rolled her eyes. What could she say? The man had a reputation.
Speaking of which, Butler’s lawyer hadn’t given her anything to work with, either. The man who’d identified himself as Ed Staples had kept the call short and sweet, promising her the message he needed to deliver would be worth the trip to Cattle Barge. Not even her editor, Harlan Jasper, could get answers. He’d made a few phone calls to see if he could dig anything up and had gotten zero. He’d thrown his hands in the air, pulled her off her current assignment, a piece on the real story behind the new districtwide alcohol-free campaign being implemented at local high schools, and had told her to make a story out of whatever information came out of the meeting. Even in death Maverick Mike Butler was news. Or maybe she should say especially in death. His demise had already created a media circus.
Leave it to a man with a big reputation to go out with fireworks, she thought. And even though her relationship with her own father was strained—well, that was probably a generous way to put it since she hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks—she appreciated the fact that she knew what she was getting into with him. He lived in the same bungalow-style house she’d grown up in on the outskirts of Houston. He mowed the lawn at eight thirty every Sunday morning—no matter how many times the neighbors had begged him to push back the time even a half hour later. And he’d never remarried after losing her mother shortly after childbirth to negligent hospital practices, although he had dated the same woman for twenty-six years since. He was as reliable as fall football in Texas. And just to prove it, he still hadn’t called her back. Her father phoned on the first day of every month, and any news—no matter how important to her—could wait until their monthly phone call, in his opinion.
Even though she desperately wanted to share her good news, her father didn’t operate on the same excitement scale as her. There’d been more than work news. A few days before her promotion, her former high school swimming coach had called to say that she was being inducted into the school’s hall of fame. Thanks to generous alumni donations, the school was getting a new wing. They wanted her to bring her family to the celebration. She’d almost choked on her mouthful of coffee. Even though she’d called her father right away, she was still waiting for a response. She seriously doubted he would change his schedule. He didn’t like to upset his routine.
Madelyn wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to ask him to go with her to the high school event. Maybe it was because he was getting older and she saw less and less time to repair their relationship. And she could never exactly pinpoint how it became broken in the first place. Her father loved her in his own way. She’d never doubted that. Her friend Aiden thought it was because Madelyn resembled her mother a little too much. She glanced into the rearview for a quick second. Did she remind him of what he’d lost?
Exiting the highway, she decided to table the thought. She pulled into the parking lot of a small motel. She was roughly two towns over from Cattle Barge.
Madelyn desperately needed a place to cool off and regroup before the meeting with Ed Staples. It was hot. A drive that should’ve taken four hours had spread to a hard six and she still hadn’t reached her final destination yet. She could already tell that the media circus surrounding the death of Maverick Mike had brought in news outlets from around the country. Traffic had thickened the closer she got to the small town.
Even though it was a very real possibility that Madelyn might be turning around and going right back home tonight, she’d learned a long time ago it was best to grab a room when she had the feeling a big story was about to break, and this one, two towns over, was the only one available.
All these reporters swarming couldn’t be wrong.
Where there was smoke, there usually was fire. And she was curious just how big this blaze was going to get.
The motel room was sparse but had everything Madelyn needed—clean sheets, a decent Wi-Fi connection and a soft bed. She set her overnight bag down, walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. There were eight missed calls on her cell with no indication of a return call from her father. She shouldn’t be surprised but it was impossible not to be disappointed.
There were, however, repeated messages from her ex-boyfriend’s lawyer. What was it all of a sudden with her and lawyers? As for Owen’s attorney, no amount of calling or pleas would stop her. She had every intention of following through on the charges she’d filed. The next time she saw Owen Lockwood he’d better be explaining himself to a judge. And apologizing to her and every other woman he’d tried to manipulate and bully. She looked at her hands and realized that she’d been clenching her fists thinking about him.
Madelyn dried her face on the white hand towel before heading back outside and into gnarled traffic.
According to her GPS, she’d be arriving at her destination in thirty-seven minutes. A glance at the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her said she needed a new system that could adjust arrival times based on traffic jams. In this mess she’d be lucky to get a quarter of a mile in half an hour.
To make matters worse, cars slowed down, stopped and then sped up with no clear reason. It went like this for forty-five minutes as she tapped her finger on the steering wheel. Her patience was wearing thin and especially since an oversize black pickup had been practically glued to her back bumper. She changed lanes. He whipped behind her. She shifted back and glanced in her rearview. There he was again. Was he afraid he was going to miss something? Because she could promise him there wasn’t anything going on in front of them. Ten minutes later, they were still doing the same dance and the song was getting tired.
Madelyn pressed her brake, leaving a large gap between her and the car in front. The pickup wheeled around her, pumped his fist as he passed and then cut her off. She steered her blue two-door convertible into the right-hand lane to avoid a collision. Wasn’t this turning out to be a red-letter day?
GPS said she still had twelve minutes before she reached her destination, which meant another twenty-five at a minimum. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically, looking at the four-lane highway. Before she could celebrate ditching the truck, a sedan came bearing down on her. Rather than tango with another frustrated driver, she put her blinker on to let him know she planned to get out of his way.
As she tried to change lanes, he whipped beside her. She turned to see what his problem was and caught the glint of metal. Shock gripped her. He had a gun. Pointed directly at her. Panic roared through her. Madelyn hit the brake. The white sedan mimicked her.
What on earth? The driver was going to shoot.
She slammed the wheel right and sped onto the shoulder. Horns blared and she didn’t need to look in her rearview to know the sedan was following her. Gravel spewed from underneath her tires as she gunned the engine, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Adrenaline kicked in and her hands shook. A gun being pointed at her had to be the equivalent of half a dozen shots of espresso.
Eyes focused on the patch of shoulder she navigated, she searched around for her cell with her right hand.