Delivery

45. Deed

"Apologies for the room. It's all we've got at the moment," Detective Barrett ushered Madelyn into a large interrogation room. "It's just us," he reassured, noticing Madelyn glancing at the two-way glass that ran the length of the wall.

The steel chair legs scratched over industrial flooring as the two of them settled around the long table.

Barrett shuffled the files around on the table between them. The stack of papers contained within had grown since the last time they had met. Madelyn was definitely not happy about being back at the police station and most especially unhappy about being there alone. She had distracted  Harry enough over the weekend, she rationalized. That conference was going down as the best she had ever attended, thanks entirely to Harry showing up and occupying her completely whenever she wasn't required to be present.

"Some of what we've found is possibly not what was expected, but it is progress and we are getting closer to being able to provide some solid answers."

Answers were good, and over due, Madelyn thought as she shuffled in her seat. It was impossible to get comfortable in this building.

"I wish Mr. Styles had been able to join us today. I doubt he's going to be happy with this news," the sergeant rubbed his forehead with his thumb and first two fingers as if he were pushing back a headache.

"We were out of town this weekend. He had a lot of work to catch up on, so I thought I'd field this meeting alone." In hindsight, that was probably a mistake. Madelyn knew already that Harry would be less than pleased that she hadn't even tried to call. It was too late now; she would have to face the music when she saw him.

Forty minutes later, the rear door to the kitchen at Next flew open with such tremendous force, that it slammed against the building and shook the frame on the return.

"What the fuck?" Harry stood to the side of the ovens, an advanced economics text in one hand, the evening specials menu in the other. Every occupant in the room stared in silence as Madelyn raged into the room. For seconds, only the sounds of music and chatter from the dining room could be heard.

"That bitch! That jealous, conniving, little, criminal bitch, Harry!" Her anger was palpable, nearly rising off her body in streams of smoke.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harry quickly handed the things he held to the head cook he had been conferring with before the temperature in the room rose to approximately the flames of hell. "Slow down, Professor. Come with me," he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the steps leading to his apartment. "Noah!" he hollered into the bar as they passed, "Hold down the fort."

"Sure thing, H," Noah waved him off.

"Sit," Harry gestured to a chair when they got upstairs. He closed the door on strains of Brandy crooning, 'I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me. The boy is mine!'

Instead of sitting, Madelyn pulled off coat her and threw it into the chair. She began to pace violently. "You sit down! You're going to need to be sitting when I tell you this shit."

It seemed best to comply, so he sat on the arm of the chair and waited. She didn't seem to be calming down.

"Mads, are you okay?" That was probably a dumb question, she clearly wasn't okay.

"Definitely not okay, Harry," she kicked the coffee table and didn't wince, though it had to have hurt her toe.

"Baby, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what's going on. Everything was fine when I left your place this morning. What happened?"

Did she just growl? He was pretty sure that was a growl and not the good kind.

"Katelyn! That's what happened."