The Misadventures of Maggie Mae Boxed Set

by Beth Yarnall

  I screamed. It burned like a son of a bitch.

  “I’m sorry to have to do that to you, but how else are you going to learn?” He pulled in a breath and straightened his spine. “Apologize to me.”

  “What?” I sputtered, trying to shake the soup out of my eyes. “I’m not freaking apologizing to you, you jerk. Let me go!”

  “In that case, no food for you for the next twenty-four hours. Everything you need, you’re going to get from me, do you understand?” He patted his chest. “I’m in control. I decide what happens to you and when. You need me.” He reached out a tentative hand and stroked my face with his finger. I didn’t try to bite it off. “Remember that the next time I show you a kindness.”

  He backed away from me toward the door, gathered the tray, and left. He opened the door a second later and turned the light off. At least I couldn’t see the photo collage of me anymore.

  I shook my head, squeezing my eyes. They burned from the soup and running mascara.

  “Daryl!” I waited a beat and then tried again. “Daryl! Help!”

  He burst into the room and flipped on the lights. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Could you wipe my eyes? They burn.”

  He frowned. “I suppose that would be okay.” He plucked a couple of tissues from a box and wiped my eyes. “Better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He started for the door.

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Panic flittered across his features. “Let me think about this a moment.”

  “Could you think faster? I’m about to have an accident here.” I pressed my thighs together to prove it.

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll be right back.” He left and then came back with a device that looked like it came from one of his video games. “I’m going to untie you. One false move and I’ll hit you with this.”

  “Did you get that in your box of sugary cereal this morning? It’s cute.”

  “No. It’s a Taser.”

  “Ooohhh. I’m scared.”

  I heard a zap and every muscle in my body burned like the worst leg cramp ever.

  “Are you scared now?” Daryl asked.

  No. I was freaking terrified.

  All of a sudden the cramping let up and I could move again. This guy was seriously racking up dead-to-me-list points.

  “The probes are still in your arm,” he informed me. “All I have to do is hit the trigger again and you go down. I’m going to untie you now.”

  He worked on my feet, disconnecting them from the chair, but he left them tied together. “So you can’t run away,” he explained.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Lean over,” he said. He then untied my left arm and retied it behind my back, securing it with rope around my waist. “Sit up.” He freed my right arm. “There.” He seemed really pleased with himself.

  “I have to hop one-armed to the bathroom?”

  “I’m going to roll you to the doorway. Then you’ll have to hop.”

  I had to admit this guy was no dummy. I had about a foot and we won’t mention how many pounds on him. I could’ve easily overpowered him.

  He wheeled me toward the bathroom and disconnected the Taser probes. “Don’t try anything,” he warned.

  As if I would. At this point I really did have to go to the bathroom and was afraid one more shock would loosen my bladder. So I hopped into the bathroom and did my business. I was just coming out when I heard a loud crash from somewhere in the house.

  Daryl grabbed my arm, shoved me into the chair and pushed me into the bathroom, closing and locking the door after us.

  “What was—” Darn Daryl tased me again!

  He shoved a handkerchief in my mouth and bound my free arm to the chair. “Be quiet,” he warned. “Or I’ll tase you again.”

  Like I had a choice? Finally my muscles relaxed again. Every second with Daryl made me hate him more.

  “Oh, no,” Daryl breathed.

  “Maggie!”

  Super Agent! I was rescued.

  I tried to yell, struggling in my chair to make as much noise as possible. Freaking Daryl tased me again. Daryl’s wild gaze swung to the rattling door handle.

  “I have a gun! I’ll shoot her!” Daryl yelled.

  Finally in control of my body again, I worked at forcing the cloth out of my mouth. Eureka! “No, he ugh—” The bastard shocked me again! I was really getting sick of that.

  Something hit the door, splintering it. Daryl backed away, tripped on the edge of the bathtub and tumbled in. The back of his head hit the tile with a sickening thunk.

  Freed from the effects of the Taser, I started yelling my head off and didn’t stop until I saw Super Agent come through the door.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I asked Super Agent while the paramedics did annoying things to me.

  I was fine except for the fact that I smelled like chicken noodle soup and had mascara raccoon eyes. It was going to be nothing but waterproof mascara for me from now on.

  We were outside of Daryl’s house, sitting in the back of an ambulance. Or at least I was. Super Agent leaned against the opening, watching me get poked and prodded. I’d tried to tell him that I was okay, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Finally the paramedics finished and declared me fit but recommended an overnight stay at the hospital to make sure. I declined before Super Agent could agree.

  Super Agent picked a noodle out of my hair. “Your microphone was still transmitting. That was very clever of you to casually mention being in his childhood bedroom so we knew where to find you. We’d run out of leads.”

  I’d totally forgotten about the microphone. “Yeah, I’m clever like that.”

  “Scared twenty years off my life when you screamed and it cut out.”

  “That would’ve been the hot soup.”

  “And when he hit you…” I felt the look in his eyes deep in the pit of my stomach before he turned away and hid it from me.

  I was in so much trouble with this man. Trouble in a good, scary way.

  “How’d Daryl get me out of the store?” I asked to bring Super Agent’s attention back to me. I liked his attention way too much.

  “The security cameras caught him wheeling you out on the office chair and right into the parking garage. We knew he’d taken you, but weren’t sure of where until you tipped us off.”

  “Did you see what he had in the bedroom?”

  “The photos? Yeah.”

  “I can’t believe that I’ve known him for almost two years and had no idea what he was really like.”

  “You never know what will set someone off. He has a history of mental illness, but nothing that would’ve given anyone a clue as to what he’d been planning to do.”

  We both turned to watch another set of paramedics wheel Daryl out to a waiting ambulance. Daryl hadn’t regained consciousness since he’d hit his head. I tried to drum up some sympathy for him, but all I had was disgust. He’d killed Shasta and kidnapped me. Who knows how long he would’ve tried and what he would’ve done to make me love him. I shuddered at the thought.

  “Hey.” Super Agent took my hand. “You’re okay.”

  “Yeah, I’ll live to make better mistakes tomorrow.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Maggie. None of this is on you. You believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” No. Not really.

  “You knocked out another one. You’re getting really good at that, Knockout.”

  “Not my fault. This one’s on you.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry.”

  “Do you think he’ll make it?”

  Super Agent shrugged. “I hope so. I’m looking forward to what will happen to him in prison.”

  “You have a very attractive revenge streak in you. I like it. A lot.”

  He crossed his arms across his very broad chest, tucking my hand against his heart, and grinned at me. “Oh, yeah? How much do you like me?”

  Aww, crap. The microphone. He’d heard me
tell Daryl that I loved him. Dang technology!

  “That’s not on tape anywhere, is it? I mean, please tell me it’s not going to be used as evidence in Daryl’s trial for the whole world to hear.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s recorded.”

  Dang. I really did have the worst luck.

  He leaned forward, brushing his lips across mine. “I love you too, Knockout.”

  “No duh. I can’t think of any other reason why you’d stick around and put up with my crap. It’s either that or you’re a masochist.”

  “Maybe it’s a little of both.”

  “Maybe.” I grinned up at him. “And that’s why I love you.”

  YOU’RE MINE, MAGGIE

  Beth Yarnall

  Copyright © 2014, 2017 Elizabeth A. Yarnall

  All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1940811772

  Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations

  FIND ME, MAGGIE

  Tonight is the night that Maggie Mae Castro and her boyfriend, FBI Special Agent Clive Poole, will finally have thoroughly thought-out, all-options-weighed, completely premeditated, totally intentional sex. There’s just one little problem. Maggie’s twin brother, Miguel, is missing and his pregnant girlfriend begs Maggie to find him.

  Having seen Miguel’s rap sheet, Clive is sure this is just another stunt designed to get the con artist out of whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into. But as Maggie digs deeper, she discovers that Miguel swindled a very scary man out of a very large sum of money.

  Maggie strikes a deal with the man Miguel conned—if she brings Miguel back, her brother lives, if the man’s henchmen get their hands on him first, all bets are off. The race is on across state lines. But the con has gone on too long, and even Maggie’s best finagling might not be enough to convince Miguel to give the money back—or keep the man from killing her twin.

  Dedication

  To my Super Agent, my husband, Mr. Y. for buying in to and supporting every single one of my crazy Lucy and Ethel schemes…including the one where I thought I could write a book.

  And to my sister, Sarah Pirch, for being the very best sibling in the world. Thank you, Sarah Sister!

  The way a man chewed his food should not have been sexy, but watching Super Agent slide a bite of broccoli between his lips, then slowly withdraw the fork, was hotter than that Forty-Eight Colors of Carnal book that may or may not be stuffed under my pillow at this very moment.

  He stabbed another piece and I snatched up my wine glass. Really, was it too much to ask for the man to have a flaw? Just one. Or a quirk. I’d even settle for a quirk, like whistling his S’s or hoarding sugar packets or something.

  FBI Special Agent Clive Poole, aka Super Agent, and I had been dating officially for several months now. I wasn’t counting the weeks he’d been my bodyguard and we’d kinda, sorta ripped each other’s clothes off while he was assigned by the FBI to protect me from the man-stealing man-slut who’d been out to kill me. I also wasn’t counting the time I’d bent the bedposts with him after a traumatic experience, wanting to trade one bad memory for a universe-altering night of screaming his and the Great Almighty’s name.

  If I counted them, which I wasn’t, then I’d have to take a hard look at the huge mutant moth holes in my moral fabric. And I couldn’t keep ignoring the raging desire to repeat the experience, right here on top of the pristine white tablecloth, right now with the entire upper crust of Scottsdale as an audience.

  “Want more wine?”

  I set down the glass I’d been sucking on like a nursing infant to find Super Agent watching me with a mixture of bemusement and concern.

  “No,” I said to him. “I want to be fully sober when you strip me bare and do things to me that would embarrass a prostitute.”

  His fork clattered against his plate and bounced onto the floor. “Are you serious?”

  He had to ask because I was kinda known to act on impulse and then regret the whole business in the cool light of day. He’d made me promise that the next time we twisted the sheets it would be thoroughly thought-out, all options weighed, completely premeditated, totally intentional sex.

  “Yup.” I took out my cell phone and showed him how I’d keyed it into my calendar as an hourly event starting in five minutes.

  He shot a hand in the air. “Check please!” He shoved his credit card at the waiter as soon as he appeared. “There’s an extra twenty in it for you if you run it and come back within sixty seconds.”

  The waiter snatched the card and took off.

  Super Agent eyed me as though I was a magician’s trick he was trying to follow. He had that hot-cop thing going on from the top of his cleanly shaven head down to his slightly scuffed wingtips and everywhere in between. I knew for a fact he was packing a lot more than a Glock under his baggy suit. And I was looking forward to being reintroduced to every well-honed, mocha-latte inch of him.

  By the time the waiter returned, I had my bag over my shoulder and was already halfway to the door before Super Agent caught up with me.

  Placing a hand low on my back he mumbled in my ear, “You might want to call in sick to work tomorrow right now. What I have planned for you is going to take longer than one night.”

  “You have a dirty, dirty mouth. I hope you’re going to use it for more than boasting.”

  “Count on it.”

  Who needed roses and chocolates with a promise like that? Within minutes we were in his car, breaking speed limits. I dug my phone out of my bag and scrolled through my contacts for my new department manager’s phone number. Before I could hit Call, my phone vibrated.

  “Why is she calling?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “My brother’s girlfriend.”

  I hardly knew her, and it wasn’t our birthday for another five months. Our as in mine and Miguel’s. Mine and Miguel’s as in twins. Twins as in two people who barely managed to coexist long enough to escape the womb and each other.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Maggie!”

  “What’s Miguel done now, Alice?” Not that I cared unless you counted the novelty factor. My brother was nothing if not ingenious at the way he could screw up his life.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Uh-huh.” What did she expect me to do? Miguel went through women like he went through social security numbers.

  “Maggie, he’s vanished.”

  “Yeah, I got that part.” Really, this girl needed to get aboard the Dumped Train and enjoy the ride along with all of Miguel’s other castoffs.

  “I think something bad’s happened to him.”

  Okay, this wasn’t the first time Miguel had left a girl hanging. I’d walked home more times than I could count from places where Miguel was supposed to have picked me up. And this wasn’t the first girl I’d talked through Miguel’s revolving door. By now I’d memorized the speech.

  “Alice, you’re a wonderful person.” I caught Super Agent’s eye-roll out of the corner of my eye. He’d heard me give this speech before. “He doesn’t deserve you. One day you’ll see that—”

  “He didn’t dump me. I think he may have be
en kidnapped…or killed.”

  And this wasn’t the first time I’d heard perfectly sane, articulate and attractive women excuse my brother’s rotten behavior with an old-fashioned conspiracy theory.

  “He’s not kidnapped or murdered. He’s just a raging jerk.”

  Super Agent chuckled.

  “He didn’t dump me. He loves me. We were making plans for the fu—”

  “Miguel doesn’t do futures unless we’re talking stocks.” Alice let out a sob, and my gut twisted for her. I hated Miguel for putting her—and me—through this.

  “Please, Maggie.”

  I gave Super Agent a wistful side-glance and sighed. Miguel was going to pay for this. “What do you want me to do?” I asked Alice.

  Super Agent shook his head and flipped a U-turn back toward downtown Scottsdale.

  “Come meet me at his apartment and you’ll see what I mean,” Alice said.

  “Fine.” Oh! Miguel was so going to pay. “We’re on our way.”

  I called Miguel’s cell number about eighty times, threatening new and inventive ways I’d hurt him with every message I left. In between I called his friend Eric, who hadn’t heart from my brother for a few days. Next I tried my mom. No luck there unless you counted her extracting a promise from me to bring Super Agent over to dinner on Sunday so she could finally meet him. I went through Miguel’s ex-girlfriends, drinking buddies, and old juvie pals. Nada.

  We pulled up to Miguel’s apartment in a neighborhood way beyond his supposed means, whatever that happened to be this week. The sharp, modern angles of the building and the high-tech, glass-and-steel structure reminded me of my slickly polished brother. It was just like him to surround himself with wealth he didn’t come close to possessing.

  Super Agent cut the engine. “I’ll give you five minutes to sort out Miguel’s drama with Alice.”

  “And then what? You’ll throw me over your shoulder and carry me back to your lair?”

  “Something like that.”

  With lines like that was it any wonder I was crazy about him?

  Alice opened the door as we came up the steps. “Finally! Come in, come in.”