Simon Says Die

convinced her husband was after her. He didn’t see how she could be that sure without having a really good reason.
    Like being certain her husband wasn’t the one who’d died in the car crash.
    He shook his head. “You’re probably right about all of this. But I have to follow up and make sure she’s safe. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her when I could have prevented it.”
    Casey’s brows rose. “Because you’re still hung up on her?”
    He clenched his hands beside him. “Because I promised her brother I’d keep her safe.”
    Casey didn’t look like he believed his excuse.
    Pierce wasn’t sure he believed it either.
    â€œWell,” Casey said, “unless new evidence comes to light, I can’t classify this as federal. And unless Savannah-Chatham Metro PD invites us to participate in the investigation, there’s nothing we can do. If you work this case, it will have to be as a civilian, on your own time. Now that your undercover work is wrapped up, you’ve earned some time off.”
    â€œShouldn’t take more than a few days.”
    Casey gave him an arch look. “I’m not thrilled about this. I think you’re still emotionally involved with Madison McKinley.”
    Pierce stiffened. “My past relationship, emphasis on past , is not relevant.”
    â€œI’ll spare you the standard lecture. But if you do something stupid because you’re distracted, and get yourself killed, don’t expect me to cry at your funeral.”
    Pierce gave him a bland look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    â€œYou do understand there’s no way I can officially help.”
    â€œUnderstood. But, if you were to look into this, hypothetically speaking, what do you think you could do?”
    â€œWell, hypothetically speaking, of course, I could operate on the assumption the shooter really is Damon McKinley. I could build a dossier on him, see what’s lurking in his background, follow the paper trail, starting in New York.”
    â€œWhen will you have something for me?”
    Casey grinned. “Give me twenty-four hours.”
    M ADISON STEPPED OUT of the taxi onto East Bay Street, clutching her heavy purse to her side. Since Pierce had refused to give her back her Colt .380 unless she produced a concealed weapons permit, she’d had to go home after leaving the FBI building to retrieve her much bulkier, heavier, .357 Magnum. And just to be sure his police buddies couldn’t track her down again, she’d taken a cab instead of her flashy red convertible.
    She’d also printed out a list from her computer, a list that detailed some of Damon’s investments that she’d found while snooping on his computer. That was the first time she’d seen his irrational temper.
    And the first time she’d realized something was very, very wrong.
    Some of the legal documents she’d copied from the folders in his desk drawer all those months ago were also in her purse. He’d supposedly sunk money into small businesses in most of the major East Coast cities, including a handful here in Savannah.
    The few investments Madison had looked into after her husband’s estate went through probate had turned out to be bogus. She didn’t expect the ones in Savannah would be any different, but it was a starting point. If he knew the businesses well enough to write fake contracts about them, Madison figured he knew the area. As her brother had often told her, people tend to follow patterns, whether they realize it or not. They return to the familiar.
    Hopefully that meant someone at one of those businesses knew him, and might have seen him recently. It was the only way Madison could think of to try to track him down. The alternative was to sit in her house and wait, and worry when he might show up again.
    And what he might do.
    Sitting around, being on the defense, had never been her style.
    She sidestepped a group of slow-moving tourists, maneuvering her way down one of the bumpy, stone access ramps to East River Street, taking special care with her weak ankle. The brisk air coming off the Savannah River had her wishing she’d brought a scarf to cover her neck. She flipped her jacket collar up and hurried past the outdoor market to a brick building with a black and orange sign out front boasting its name, MacGuffin’s Bar & Grill.
    The restaurant hadn’t opened