Take a Chance on Me

Chapter Twelve



After assuring Mitch that she’d be all right on her own, he’d left for the bar, leaving Maddie to wander the farmhouse. Still needing a distraction from her thoughts, she’d jumped at the chance when Gracie had come to keep her company.

Now several hours later and once again on her own, she sat in Mitch’s library, which looked like the set for Masterpiece Theatre, and dialed Penelope’s number. She narrowed her gaze on the row of books lining the bottom shelf of the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

Law books. Why wasn’t she surprised?

“It’s me,” Maddie said as soon as Penelope picked up.

“It’s about time. I was getting worried.”

Maddie glanced at the clock on the large, executive desk. “It’s only eight.”

Penelope huffed, sounding disgruntled. “Eight’s an eternity when the phone rings every half-hour with demands to know if you’ve called today.”

Guilt, the ever-present thorn in her side, jabbed her in the ribs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

A memory rose, of her mom standing in the kitchen as Maddie sat at the table. Her father had been visiting Sister Margaret again because Maddie had set off the school fire alarm on a dare. You never think, Maddie. You only act and expect everyone to clean up your mess.

Was that what she was doing now? Expecting Penelope to clean up her mess? She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I’ll call them, Pen, right after I get off the phone with you.”

“I promised I’d take care of it, and I will.”

Her efficient friend was more than capable of taking care of everything. It was one of the reasons Maddie looked up to her. But if she left the mess she made in Chicago to Penelope, where was the change? She was still sitting back, letting someone else manage her life.

She could make the argument that she was letting Mitch take care of her, but deep down she didn’t believe that. There was something here, something vital she’d been missing. She didn’t feel like she was running away; instead, she felt like she was running toward something.

“No, you shouldn’t have to. I’ll call Shane.”

A long pause, followed by Penelope’s sigh. “Okay, but Shane’s not really the problem. Oh, sure, he’s being his normal, intimidating self, but it’s Steve. He’s called me fifteen times today, insisting I tell him exactly where you are so he can come rescue you.”

“Oh,” Maddie said lamely. “Is he upset?”

“That’s just it,” Penelope said. “He’s acting weird, like nothing happened. No anger, no hint of emotion. He keeps saying if he could just talk to you, you’d see reason.”

A cold, clammy sweat broke out on Maddie’s temples. This was it. As much as she wanted to avoid all things home, she had to take responsibility. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to. I can put him off,” Penelope said.

“No,” Maddie said, sure despite the knot in her stomach. “It’s the right thing to do.”

There was a shuffle of noise in the background. “Maybe if he hears it from you, he’ll listen.”

Maddie scoffed, shaking her head. She was the last person Steve would listen to. “Not likely, but at least he’ll stop calling.”

“I hope so,” Penelope said, her voice soft. “More importantly, how are you?”

“I’m good.” To Maddie’s surprise, she realized it was true.

“Hmmm,” Penelope said. “You’re still not going to tell me where you’re staying, though, right?”

Maddie pressed her lips together. There was no way to spin the story of Mitch Riley without causing major concern over her safety. Penelope was cautious by nature, and unlike Maddie, she walked the straight and narrow because that was who she was. Penelope looked at the facts and played the odds, and going home with a stranger because he made your head spin with illicit thoughts was never the safe bet.

“I think it’s best this way. You can’t spill what you don’t know.”

“Ha! I never break.”

“I know.”

Another long, put-upon sigh. “So tomorrow then?”

Maddie traced the detailed etching on the desk. “Tomorrow.”

Maddie took a deep breath, her heart pounding against her ribs as she disconnected the call. She had to bite the bullet and get it done. She picked up the receiver, blocked the number, and dialed as fast as she could before she lost her nerve. Steve’s cell phone rang three times before he said hello.

She experienced a moment of unbridled panic before composing herself. “Steve, it’s Maddie.”

“Thank goodness. How are you?” He sounded completely normal, like she had called him to check in after work.

“I’m fine,” she said, as cold sweat broke out on her temples.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you,” Steve said calmly.

“No!” she shouted; then she lowered her shrill tone. “Look, I’m . . . I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

He clucked his tongue, and the sound vibrated through her, making her stomach twist. “I’d thought we’d gotten this impetuousness under control a long time ago, Madeline.”

The condescension lacing his words was like nails on a chalkboard, and she stiffened, tensing all of her muscles. This was where she failed: he knew her weakness—her guilt. Even worse, he understood where it came from. But she couldn’t buy into it, not anymore. Not if she wanted to make changes in her life. She ignored the dig. “Please leave Penelope and Sophie alone. I didn’t tell them where I was, and I’m not going to. In fact, I’m not telling anyone because I don’t want to be found.”

A long, tension-filled silence. “And how are you going to survive without any money?”

Maddie sucked in a breath. Had Steve had something to do with her credit card being reported stolen?

The idea had never crossed her mind. She’d chalked up the declined card to a mix-up at the bank and hadn’t given the incident another thought.

No, he wouldn’t. She was looking for a reason to assign blame. Steve wouldn’t do something so underhanded.

But the notion wouldn’t break hold; instead, it burrowed deeper until she was compelled to ask, “How do you know I don’t have any money?”

A pause. “It’s logical. Your wallet and purse were with the rest of our luggage.”

“How do you know I don’t have a credit card with me?”

Another too-long beat. “I’d told you I didn’t want you to worry about anything on your wedding day so I’d take care of paying all the vendors.”

The logic was perfect. The argument was sound, without a hole in sight.

She didn’t buy it. “I gave you my records a couple weeks ago because you wanted to go through them to get a handle on finances. You have my information.”

“How is this the point, Madeline?” Steve’s voice was totally reasonable and totally wrong for a man who’d been ditched at the altar. “We have bigger problems to worry about. Don’t you agree?”

He was right. This was about the time in their normal disagreements that she let it go. “Steve, did you report my credit cards as stolen?”


A long sigh. “For heaven’s sake. You’re being silly.”

In a quiet voice, she said, “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’m not going to dignify such a ridiculous question with a response. We’re wasting time. Tell me where you are so I can come get you.”

Right then, she knew he’d reported the card stolen. She didn’t need any more confirmation. She asked softly, “Don’t you even want to know why?”

“What are you talking about?” His tone was finally tinged with the first hint of aggravation.

A laugh slipped from her lips from out of nowhere, and she shook her head. “You really don’t, do you?”

“I’m getting tired of this, Maddie. Stop with these childish games and tell me where you are.”

A week ago, the manipulation would have worked, but today, nothing. She wasn’t going to budge. She straightened, more composed and centered than she’d felt in a long time. “No, Steve. And stop calling Penelope and Sophie.”

“Madeline,” Steve said, tone gentling. “Let’s talk about this and work things out.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“You’re being very selfish.”

The jab hit her right in the solar plexus, but she refused to give in to the pattern. She swallowed past a dry throat. “Yeah, you’re right. Consider yourself lucky to be rid of me.”

“Mad—”

She cut him off. “Good-bye, Steve.”

She hung up. Yes, Steve was right: she was being selfish. But so what? The heavens hadn’t opened and poured vengeance upon her. She hadn’t been struck by plague or lightning. In fact, she felt . . . good. Better than good: awesome.

Maybe she was on the path to hell, but she was going to enjoy the ride before she started on the path to redemption.





Mitch scrubbed a wet cloth over the old bar’s chipped, faded surface, hating the place more with each passing swipe. Sure, he could make improvements to drive in business. Big Red’s in the next town was always crowded, so it wasn’t like the people in the area didn’t drink. But every time he gave it any serious consideration, he found something else to do. He didn’t want changes, didn’t want to invest. If he did, it’d be admitting that this was what he did.

That owning a dive bar was who he was.

He scrubbed harder, refusing to think about the small box sitting on his desk that was filled with the details of Luke’s case. All night he’d been eyeing it like a gunslinger, each time turning away and closing the office door behind him.

It was wrong. Instead of the surge of rightness he’d been half expecting, it felt like pretending. Acting at something he didn’t have a right to any longer. Reminding him how his golden f*cking life had gone to shit and how he’d never even fought for it.

That was the problem with growing up privileged. No survival skills.

The bar door swung open and Charlie walked in, bringing in a gust of warm, humid air. Thankful for the distraction, Mitch nodded. “How’s things?”

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, Charlie slid onto a stool. “I just got off and thought I’d swing by.”

Mitch opened the cooler and pulled out a bottle of Bud, twisting off the cap before pushing it toward Charlie. “How was your shift?”

“Boring as hell.” Charlie scrubbed his hand over the dark stubble lining his jaw. He didn’t have to say anything else. Boring as hell was okay for some guys, but Charlie wasn’t one of them. Once upon a time, Charlie had tracked down serial killers for the FBI. Small-town police work was something he could do in his sleep.

Tossing the towel onto the cooler, Mitch said, “Yeah, well, what can you do?”

Charlie took a long swallow of beer. “If the boys could see us now, huh?”

Mitch made a grim sound of disgust. “They’d be laughing their asses off.”

Charlie shook his head as though trying to shake loose the bad mood. He took another sip before shifting on the stool. “So, about you and the bride.”

Not wanting to discuss this again, Mitch shrugged. “I told you already, I’m giving her a place to crash, no big deal.”

“For the low price of two grand.”

“Goddamn it,” Mitch shouted before lowering his voice.

Charlie grinned. “No worries, I think Tommy only told me, Gracie, Sam, and maybe a few other people.”

Mitch gritted his teeth. “So basically the whole f*cking town.”

Charlie picked up the bottle of beer and took a sip. “They won’t tell Maddie. She’s an outsider and everyone loves a secret.”

Agitation pricked along Mitch’s skin.

“He also mentioned you were taking Luke’s case,” Charlie said, too casually.

“I was blackmailed.” Mitch crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his hands into fists.

“Yeah, he mentioned that.” Charlie nodded. “Don’t get too tangled. She’s leaving.”

“No shit.” Mitch kept his tone light despite the tightness in his chest.

Charlie pinned Mitch with an assessing look. “After Sara, I’d thought you’d given up the taken ones.”

“Maddie is not unavailable.” Mitch fired the words like bullets. Yes, she’d been supposed to get married a couple of days ago, but she was available. To him. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

“No problem.” Charlie’s black eyes watched him in that hawklike way he had: like he was waiting for the smallest fraction of error before he dive-bombed. That look had made him one of the best in the Bureau. He’d had an uncanny ability to spot a crack and let it spiderweb out until the whole story shattered at a suspect’s feet. “Just be careful.”

Hackles raised, Mitch smoothed his expression into a stoic mask. “It’s five f*cking days.”

One dark brow rose up Charlie’s forehead. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Mitch scoffed. “Are we done?”

Gaze steady, Charlie studied Mitch for an uncomfortably long time before he shrugged. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“What exactly has she told you about her brothers?”

“That she has three of them? So what?”

“They’ll be looking for her soon, and I’m not sure you want them coming this way.”

“Why are you digging into her background? She’s harmless.” Mitch gritted his teeth and waited for Charlie to continue while foreboding crept over his skin like a rash.

“I didn’t dig. You asked me to look her up to see if I could find out any information on her stolen credit card.”

Oh, yeah, he’d forgotten. “And?”

Charlie shrugged. “She’s not reported missing, and there’s no official police report of her stuff being stolen.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s interesting, considering her brothers. One seems fairly harmless: he’s a professor at University of Chicago. Although his name sounded familiar, and I can’t quite pinpoint where I heard it before.”

“So?” The thin thread of his patience started to fray.

“Like I said, he’s not the problem. I’m more worried about the other two. I’m guessing she didn’t mention one of her brothers is Evan Donovan?”

“The pro football player?” Donovan wasn’t exactly as common as Smith, but it was common enough that he’d never connected the names. Besides, why would he connect the petite, flame-haired Maddie with the six-five athlete?


A hometown boy drafted by the Bears had been big news a few years back. But now, at the height of his career, with a fat contract and too much wildness for his own good, he was a media favorite. He was in the paper as much for his exploits as his wide receiver skills.

“That’d be the one,” Charlie said.

“I’d think he’d be too busy chasing his next piece of supermodel ass to come get Maddie.” Mitch could only hope, because he couldn’t ignore that it was the offseason and training camp didn’t start until the end of July.

“Don’t know.” Charlie scrubbed at his jaw. “Maddie seems awfully close to her brothers, but he’s not my main concern.”

A local football player prone to creating media frenzies showing up in Revival was about the worst problem Mitch could think up. “Just spit it out for f*ck’s sake! This isn’t a soap opera—you don’t need to pause for dramatic effect.”

Charlie shot him an amused glance. “Fine, her other brother is Shane Donovan.”

Mitch blinked. He couldn’t have heard correctly. “You’re shitting me.”

“’Fraid not.”

Mitch placed his palms flat on the bar to steady himself. This was not good. Maddie’s brother was one of the most connected and influential people in Chicago.

The pieces from Maddie’s past clicked into place, forming a new image of one Shane Donovan. Bits of news articles flashed in Mitch’s mind. After the man’s father had died in a tragic car accident, leaving his family financially destitute and on the edge of disaster, Shane had built a commercial real estate company from scratch until he held contracts all over the city. He knew everyone: teamsters, union     heads, the mayor, CEOs. Everyone who was anyone.

He was not the kind of guy who’d let his sister go missing.

“If even half the stories are true, he’ll be coming for his baby sister sooner rather than later,” Charlie said, echoing Mitch’s own thoughts. “His revenge is legendary, and I doubt he’ll take lightly to you corrupting her.”

Little did Charlie know that Mitch had been a virtual saint when it came to Maddie, although he doubted that her brother would bother with the particulars.

He raked his hands through his hair. “F*ck.”

Charlie smirked. “I think that pretty much sums it up.”

Mitch’s gripped tightened on the bar until his knuckles turned white. “He’s had run-ins with dear old dad.”

“Yep,” Charlie said, almost sounding cheerful. “And you don’t have the best reputation.”

A chill settled low in Mitch’s gut. This had trouble written all over it. He took a deep breath and loosened his death grip on the counter. “I’ll worry about it when the time comes.”

Charlie shook his head, giving Mitch the resigned, hardened look he reserved for lifelong criminals. “You never f*cking learn, do you?”

Mitch crossed his arms. All his instincts warned of trouble, but he was damned if he intended to listen. Charlie was right: he hadn’t learned a f*cking thing.