by Lucy Farago
“Why would you think that?” she asked and bit her lower lip. Sitting on his thighs, they were at eye level, and she had to resist the urge to lean into the sweet smell of him.
“For starters, you’re only wearing a towel. Most would get dressed before leaving the bedroom.”
“Nope, not me. I usually drink my coffee naked. The towel is for your benefit.”
“Hmm, don’t do me any favors.” Before she could object, he disposed of the towel and pinned her beneath him.
He kissed her like he was starving and she was breakfast, Beck’s hunger evident between their legs. When finally he let her breathe, he pulled the blanket over her body.
“I didn’t get my morning kiss,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Oh,” she replied, dazed.
“How do you feel?”
“G … good,” she stammered. “A little sore, but good.”
“I really want to make love to you again, but I only had the one condom. Unless,” he stroked her cheek, “unless you have some. Or maybe you’re on birth control. I’m safe,” he assured her. “My boss orders a test every six months and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said, avoiding his question.
“I don’t have much free time to date.”
He drew her closer and she tried not to think about the hard length of him pressed into her hip.
“And you only sleep with women you date?” How she doubted that.
“That’s a loaded question.” He ran his thumb over her mouth and wet his lips.
“So do you? Are you?”
His touch made her brain fuzzy. “Huh?”
He lowered his head and kissed her, sweeping his mouth over her cheek and across her lips. His tongue darted out, teasing, encouraging. “Maggie?”
“Mmm?” Her stomach contracted as an ache built between her legs.
He nibbled on her earlobe, numbing her mind before he whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” Maggie jumped up and ran to the closet. Hurrying so he wouldn’t see her naked again, she grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a running bra, cringing as the tight band squeezed her back. On her way out of the bedroom he met her at the door, zipping his pants, the only thing he wore. Why couldn’t he put his shirt back on?
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, arms folded and blocking her exit. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No,” she said, touching his arm. This wasn’t his fault.
“If I did anything—”
“I’m just coffee deprived. I think I’m turning into Horace. I’ll have to give the stuff up—tomorrow. Kitchen?” She pointed behind him.
Lascivious eyes stared at her as he considered her request, apparently in no hurry to comply. Her skin tingled under his scrutiny. When she thought she couldn’t tolerate it any longer, he let her pass.
“Are you always this frazzled in the morning? Or is it me?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.
“Coffee first.”
In the kitchen, they sat in silence. Propped on stools, she drank her coffee, he kept his eyes glued on her. In the good cop bad cop game the police played, Beck would have been the bad cop. Appearances could be deceiving. Standing half naked in her kitchen, elbows on the granite as he leaned forward, he oozed sexuality. She imagined putting the cup down, sliding between the counter and his body and rubbing herself all over him.
“Are you sure I can’t get you a cup?” she asked, trying to break the silence and her erotic daydream.
“Coffee’s bad for you.”
“It can be,” she agreed. “Horace was diagnosed with high blood pressure. It took weeks of harassing him to get him to quit. He cheats. He thinks I don’t know.”
“The two of you are close, aren’t you?”
“He saved my butt a couple times,” she answered indifferently.
Beck lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay,” she admitted “more than a couple of times.”
“How often does stuff like yesterday happen?”
Was that disapproval she heard in his question? “It’s been a while. I try to keep my work with the group home in-house. I take the kids on outings they may enjoy; movie night, things like that. Occasionally I drive them to appointments, bail them out of messes they dig themselves into with their schools.” Stuff where someone wasn’t pulling a knife on her.
“Good,” he sighed “that’s good.”
“I thought you weren’t going to lecture me.” Had he understood or not?
“I’m not. It’s just nice to know incidents like yesterday don’t happen every day.”
“Kids like Hannah need help every day,” she said defensively. “I may not be a counselor anymore but the streets didn’t suddenly turn into pretty rich palaces for troubled teens to live in.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. And why are you getting defensive? I know there are a lot more kids like Hannah out there. But excuse me if I’m happy you’re not getting your ass kicked every day.”
“No, kids like Hannah are.”
Leaving Beck and her frustration behind, Maggie left the kitchen. She heard him on her heels calling out to her as she slammed the bathroom door. She locked it and drowned him out by turning on the showerheads. She glanced back at the garbage can. She was stupid. Why did he have to remind her how useless she was too? Stepping into the shower, she let the water rain down on her head.
Christian considered waiting for Maggie. Did she regret sleeping with him? God knew he’d woken on several mornings wishing he’d used better judgment the night before. The idea of Maggie having second thoughts made his skin crawl. And before he could rationalize his own emotions, he’d have to understand hers. Standing outside her bathroom door, trying to figure her out, was getting him nowhere. There were holes only she could fill, and it was obvious she wasn’t ready to do that.
He decided to leave her a note and give her the privacy she wanted. After finding a yellow sticky pad, he scribbled that he would call her later. To make certain she understood this was not over, he wrote down his hotel room number, his cell and office numbers. Twice he went to knock on the bathroom door and tell her he was leaving and both times he stopped himself. He left realizing she’d done it again, made him feel like an anxious seventeen year old.
Outside, an unmarked navy Buick sat across the street from Maggie’s house, an officer behind the wheel sipping coffee. She needed around-the-clock protection. Not just from the killer, but herself. Christian rolled his neck from side to side with the beginnings of another migraine. He may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. He welcomed the police surveillance on Maggie’s house, but he intended to be the one watching over her.
Back at his hotel, he tried taking out his frustration in the small gym, but after two hours of hard-core sweat, his headache remained. Not until he passed the pool, with its open atrium ceiling, did it dawn on him. Maybe the weights and treadmill had nothing to do with how good that morning by the pool had been. Maybe the stubborn blonde with the gentle blue eyes had more to do with it than was good for him—or her.
He’d seen how everyone, her staff, friends, the police department, all jumped to defend her, protect her. Shit, he’d only known her for a short time and even he felt the same. But he wasn’t in the market for a new best bud. Hell, he wasn’t in the market for a lover. He considered their physical attraction to be an intense, very real heat. Was that all there was? He didn’t think so, because a part of him, a part as real as that intense heat, wanted to spill his guts to her, then listen as she did the same with him.
Shit, he shouldn’t have left her. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have slept with her. She’d been so vulnerable. He’d only wanted to protect her, make things better. He wasn’t going to kid himself, he wanted her too, wanted her again, regardless of the cost to himself and that was a frightening thought. He had a killer to bring down and needed a clear head to
do it.
Unable to concentrate, he headed back to Maggie’s. Not the wisest of moves, but in retrospect, sleeping with her hadn’t been either. Honestly, if he had it all to do it again, he’d have more than one condom.
Maggie’s house sat on the perimeter of a gated community. Remembering the view, he understood why she’d chosen that particular lot. Vistas overlooking the desert carried hefty price tags but afforded good protection—rocky cliff on one side and a secure iron gate on the other. Knowing that hadn’t stopped the spasm in his gut when the surveillance car was nowhere in sight.
Christian pulled alongside the curb, berating his own paranoia. She was going to be the death of him. Obviously, she’d gone out.
So why was every alarm in his head going off? Considering part of Maggie’s face was bandaged, why wouldn’t he be a little skittish? The idea of anyone laying his fist into Maggie … he couldn’t think about it. Instead, he chose to remember last night, remember the way her sweet body fit with his.
As he sat there, aroused to the point of being dizzy, he jumped at the pulsing vibration on his groin. He’d forgotten he’d put his phone on vibrate while he worked out. In his front pocket, the sensation was painful. Fumbling with his seatbelt, he managed to unbuckle and retrieve the phone. Not bothering with call display, he managed an angry, “What?”
“Are you still at Maggie’s?” Cooper’s agitation zapped Christian’s erotic daydreams.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maggie. She managed to dump my man.”
Her battered face, the bloodstained gauze, came back in vivid color. “Why would she do that?”
“I’m sorry. Have you met Maggie?” His derisive tone got his point across. “Who knows what went through her head.”
“Damn it. It was for her protection.”
“You and I see it that way. Knowing her, she saw it differently. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we find her. Remember the white Durango.”
Christian gripped his phone. “Yes,” he said warily.
“Heather Mackenzie’s car keys were found by her car, specks of white paint embedded in the metal, barely noticeable. The paint is from a 2003 white Durango. Nothing is certain, but I reread the coroner’s report. The girl had bruises on the inside of several fingers of her right hand. Like she’d been holding keys and someone had squeezed her fingers to get her to drop them. Young girl, parking lot. She’d readied herself for an attack, with the only thing she had. In the struggle, maybe she scratched his car?”
“Maybe.” Either way, Christian wasn’t taking any chances. If the bastard was going after Maggie, well, then that was another reason to kill him.
Chapter Fifteen
Maggie sat quietly as Shannon laid into her, going so far as to bully her into compliance. It had been a year since her last one, but the repetitive lecture had grown so familiar with Maggie, she’d learned to tune it out to keep her sanity. Her friend was right. When Shannon finally took a deep breath and stopped pacing, Maggie smiled and patted the couch beside her. “Done?”
“Not even close.” She glowered.
The bright morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the loft made it, thankfully, difficult to see the ferocious scowl that always accompanied Shannon’s lectures. If Maggie didn’t know the hard-nosed woman loved her, she’d have been scared. Lucky for Maggie, Shannon’s barnyard bark was all bluster.
“The whole reason behind the club,” Shannon ranted, refusing to sit, “was to keep your sorry butt out of danger, and off the streets. You,” she wagged a finger at Maggie, “if you need to fulfill this savior complex, do it in the club. Look at your face. Have you lost your mind? Have you? Really? Tell me, because I think maybe we should just buy your casket now. I don’t think I’ll have the courage to do it afterward.”
Maggie flinched at the harsh words. “Sorry,” was all she managed to say.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shannon grumbled. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she repeated, resuming her pacing and long-winded scolding.
Not wanting to think about what it could have cost her to go after Hannah, Maggie ignored Shannon and glanced around her friend’s loft. Everything was so pristine you were afraid to enter the industrial-style living space lest your breath soil anything. The entire unit had an eclectic flavor, but sitting on this stiff, contemporary white sofa, you’d never know the rest of the place was cozy. The hard lines of the room were representative of Shannon’s work persona—don’t-mess-with-me lawyer—and right now a very irate friend.
Maggie had come here to relax, but should have known this was coming. Would Shannon even notice if she got up and went into the kitchen? Unlike the living room, the Connecticut kitchen was a Martha Stewart knockoff. To the untrained eye, Shannon was a gourmet chef. A closer look would reveal that the appliances, expect for the blender, had never been used. This was Shannon’s wannabe persona, the one she never gave time to.
“You done with the lecture?”
As if remembering Maggie was in the room, Shannon finally shut up. “Let’s just say I’m postponing the remainder.”
Again, she patted the couch beside her and this time her best friend took the seat with a loud huff.
“Mags, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. You’re all I have.”
“That’s not true. There’s Alice and Wendy.”
She nodded. “Yes, but they’re not you.” Shannon eyes glassed over, breaking Maggie’s heart.
“Don’t cry. I’m fine, only a few bruises.”
“And the next time?”
Maggie turned her head, unable to reply.
“You promised—no more streets. Focus on the ones that come to you.”
“She’s a kid.” The guilt that had made itself a home in Maggie’s psyche waved hello. “You can’t save them all.”
She’d told herself that a hundred times. Then she’d be walking down the street and spot a runaway. The well-worn clothes were often a good indication, but the expression worn like battered armor was the dead giveaway. Inside their streetwise façade, buried so deep sometimes, they themselves didn’t recognize it for what it was—fear. And they didn’t have a club to hide in.
“Why would you dump the cops?” Shannon’s reenergized ranting cut into Maggie’s thoughts. “There’s a killer on the loose tracking your dancers. I still can’t believe it.”
Neither did Maggie. Truthfully, and she’d never admit it to another living soul, part of her, a big part, welcomed the police protection. But her parents were coming. “How do I explain a plainclothes police officer following me around if my parents see him? Chances are slim, but it’s a chance I’m not willing to take. If the media sees him with me and spots the guard, then what?”
They’d be gone in a few days. Now all she had to do was stay clear of the club, and Beck. Exactly which one would be hardest to do, she wasn’t sure.
“Okay, enough lectures. How did your meeting go with Mr. Beck?”
“Good. I mean fine, better than expected.”
“Oh?” Shannon’s lawyer eyebrow went up. “Do tell.”
“Don’t,” Maggie scolded, deciding she didn’t have the energy to tell Shannon about last night. “I just meant that we developed an understanding. He knows who my father is and what I do at the club.”
And regardless of how they’d left things, she believed he understood her, the part she’d shown him anyway. But what had happened between them couldn’t happen again. As Shannon said, there was a killer stalking her dancers, and her parents were distraction enough.
Shannon looked more concerned than surprised. “I knew it was only a matter of time. That company he works for has a reputation for not fooling around.”
“He’s promised not to go public. I believe him.”
“And after this is over?”
Over? “When they catch this monster, Beck gets a new case and moves on.” On to a new case, and out of her life.
“You don’t seem happy about that
?”
Maggie knew better than to try and lie to Shannon. So she didn’t. “Two of the women who worked for me are dead. And I don’t know how many more he’ll kill before he’s caught.” The idea that he would kill again made her sick. “Do you honestly expect me to be happy about anything right now?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” she said, thankfully accepting Maggie’s explanation. “So, how can I help with your parents?”
“Mom said Dad wants to make peace. For her sake, I’m going to listen to what he has to say, but I need a place to stay. Wanna trade? If my name gets linked to these murders and reporters find out where I live … well I don’t want my parents anywhere near there. The manager of Heart’s Desire can’t be linked to them.”
“Hey, I get it. So, I get your place, hot tub, pool and all?”
“Yup. But last time I saw my parents, they showed up a day early. So we have to do this today. Just in case.”
Shannon grinned.
There was no need to swap keys since they both had each other’s. Thankfully, Shannon’s apartment building was tighter than Fort Knox. Maggie would still be safe.
Her father had to make an appearance in Sacramento on Monday, so it would only be for a few days. Leave it to her mom to think that all the bad blood between Maggie and her father could be purged in two days. “So tell me, what do you mean ICU has a reputation?”
Christian wasn’t certain what, if anything, he’d get out of the loser and maybe he was simply hoping to discover more about Maggie, but one thing was certain, if Juan Desilva was a free man, Maggie would be in deep, deep shit.
He’d read the report, knew she’d ended his operation and, most important to the scumbag in front him, she’d put him behind bars. Smuggling, kidnapping, first-degree murder and rape were but a few of the charges keeping Desilva off the streets and, thank fucking God, away from Maggie.
Cooper had called him early this morning, but by then Christian had already tracked Maggie to Shannon Joyce’s loft. He didn’t know why she was there, but he was grateful. That complex was obviously very secure. You had to pass two security gates, one at the driveway into the complex, and one inside before you were permitted to park your car. At the front doors, two security guards would toss your ass out if you weren’t on the list. When Maggie’s girlfriend had ignored Christian’s persistent phone calls, he’d paid her a visit and now he was on that list. To be safe, he’d positioned his man to watch the place, freeing Christian to search out another piece to the puzzle.