Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  Maggie’s nearness, the feel of her body, the sight of her bed less than five feet away couldn’t matter. Catching the snake mattered.

  And it was big. Easily as big around as his forearm, longer than his leg, and it liked to eat things. BD tightened his stomach muscles against the urge to turn away. Being as still as possible, he called on his training and calmed his racing heart.

  He hated snakes. The way their fangs sank through flesh. The venom spreading through the body. It only took one bad move as a kid to get struck. His wrong move had landed him in a hospital at the age of five.

  “You don’t think that’s big?” Maggie’s hushed question brushed his arm.

  “Mags, honey, I think you’re scared of him.” He tsked her playfully. “And you say you grew up on a farm.”

  “Cautious. A lesson learned well on that farm.”

  He took her hand and squeezed. “It’ll be fine. He’s not going to bite us.”

  “He? How do you know it’s a him?” Her chin still angled over his shoulder. All he had to do to taste her again was lean left a tad and… BD mentally slapped himself.

  “Why else would he head to a beautiful woman’s bedroom?”

  “Harte!”

  “Now I know I’m in trouble.” He turned his head and met her gaze. “You’ve employed the mom tone.”

  “You may think this is funny. I don’t.” She pushed up on her feet until her nose almost bumped his. She was too small to reach him unless he stooped down. “Catch that damn thing.”

  Ooh, the lovely lady cussed. She was rattled. “Open the tub.”

  She pulled the green tub closer, and then stepped around it so the lid formed a shield. Amazing. She didn’t look ridiculous with her legs braced wide as she prepared to catch a venomous snake while dressed like she was going to an afternoon tea.

  BD spread his legs and raised his hands, one with the hoe, the other formed in a fist. His pulse thundered in his ears. He caught his reflection in the mirror and groaned inwardly. He looked like he was preparing to attack some crazed maniac, which was his preference. “Okay, babe. Here we go.”

  Taking a deep breath, he reached toward the snake’s head with the hoe. When his arm shook, he hesitated. He’d lost his mind. They should’ve grabbed Emma and left this to Animal Control. Saying so now would make him look weak.

  Willing himself to remain steady, he stretched out the hoe and jammed the flat blade down, pressing the snake’s head into the floor. His hand shook. The snake wriggled its body. Stepping gently on the blade, not wanting to squish brain matter all over the carpet, he made sure the head and mouth were well secured. He closed his eyes and counted to five in another attempt to slow his heart rate.

  Bending, he grabbed the wriggling copperhead just behind its head in a tight grip. No matter how much his palms sweated, he wasn’t losing his grip. Removing his foot from the hoe blade, he let it fall to the floor as he took the weight of the struggling reptile in his hands.

  He stepped over to the empty tote, and lowered the tail in. If he thought he could do it without drawing attention he’d take the tote outside when they finished and fill it with bullets. It would be a Catholic cleanse.

  “All right, Mags.”

  “Don’t lose your grip.” She moved closer, positioning the lid over the box, leaving him room to drop in the snake and jerk his hand free.

  “Not an option.” Its mouth hung open above the fists of his sweat-slicked hands. Soulless eyes met his. “Okay. On three.”

  “Like one, two, three then drop or drop on three.”

  He breathed deep and swallowed. “Drop on three.”

  “Got it.” Maggie held the lid in both hands, legs braced apart and completely ready. “Move fast.”

  “Right.” No big deal. People moved faster than pissed off, venomous snakes every day. He held her gaze and nodded.

  “One…” Adrenaline zinged through his system. “Two…” He was a goner if their timing was off. “Three.”

  BD dropped the snake. Its body plopped into the base of the tub. Maggie slammed the lid down. He pressed his foot on the lid to make sure it stayed shut.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” She ran from the room, leaving him alone with the snake and no clue what she was doing.

  Adrenaline surged, expanded his veins until the heated blood itched his skin. He took advantage of her absence and indulged in a furious torso scratch to banish the pervasive itch. It helped a little.

  She returned with a bungee cord and hooked the ends of it to each handle of the tote to make sure the lid stayed secure.

  “Copperheads hang out in packs,” he said, proud of how calm he sounded. “I’ll call Animal Control. Let them know there may be more of these things around.”

  “Right.” Maggie stepped over to him, wrapped her hands around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him long and sweet. “Thank you.”

  When she pulled back, he wound an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. He’d be sorry later. Bending down, he devoured her mouth. Releasing all the adrenaline and energy zipping through his blood was impossible, but the outlet of her honey-flavored mouth was a beginning.

  She trembled. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue along hers. Sliding his hands down her curves, past the sexy indention of her waist and over her hips he pulled her closer. A rumble rose up in his chest. He ached to pull her to the king bed with the fluffy duvet and pillows.

  She pushed her hand against him and pulled her head back.

  Reluctantly, he let her go and cleared his throat. The first kiss had been impulse fueled by the desire to know her taste. The last one had been greed sentencing him to want more. More than he could have.

  He was here to work, gain insights into her husband and their life together. Even facing his worst childhood memory hadn’t been as awful as kissing Maggie.

  Chapter 4

  Maggie had watched Harte carry in boxes and dodged Grace as long as possible. She’d asked him to make the move official after Jared had come home asking questions about her new bed buddy. Though she’d explained to Jared he was not allowed to say such things, she hadn’t been able to explain why Harte was around.

  Having him move his things in made the arrangement seem less temporary. Less clandestine. She promised herself it only mattered for image’s sake with the neighbors. He would be leaving. It didn’t matter that his kisses thrilled her and kept her awake at night. She was not, as Grace suggested, interested in more.

  A relationship would force open the door she’d firmly locked. Moving on with her daily life was one thing. But with a man? No. No matter how sexy he may be, or how his voice made her skin tingle as if he’d whispered a favorite endearment against her ear. A promise of forever was too fragile, so she’d stick to things she could control. Her heart would be counted on that list.

  “I’m going to make some drinks.” Maggie pushed off the floor and tossed a burp cloth to Grace. “Can you watch Emma and keep Jared out of trouble?”

  “Sure.”

  In the kitchen, away from Grace’s probing eyes, she stood at the sink and tried to focus on something other than Harte. Something other than the feel of his touch, his commanding lips, the flare of heat still coursing through her from days earlier.

  She stared into the backyard with dark clouds off in the distance. The threatening rain would be vengeful when it hit, and would do little to cool the record temperatures engulfing Dallas. She'd have to check the flashlight batteries. Storms always knocked out her power.

  The bushes that had gotten out of control over the last year would explode after a solid soaking. Pity. She hated those bushes and their rigid box cut.

  “Hmm.” The bushes were one more thing she’d let Mike dictate.

  Maggie slumped against the counter. Mike had been a good man. A great man she’d loved. She just didn’t love who she’d become with him. Her feelings had been set aside for the sake of keeping the peace and her escape had been the dreamy world of
romance novels while she coped with reality.

  Going along with him, like on so many other things, had been so easy she’d never noticed it bothering her or how often she’d kept her opposing opinion to herself. She’d been so wrapped up in pleasing him she’d lost herself, and if she allowed Grace to psychoanalyze her, she suspected her sister would say she was still lost.

  Harte reminded her of Mike because of his differences and made her wonder if fiction heroes were based partly on reality. Maybe some men thrived on the emotional connections and truly valued their life partners.

  Staring at the bushes, those boring ass bushes with nothing special about them, she shook her head. She’d shoved the loss, the pain, the coldness of being alone down, took care of her children and told herself she was happy. She controlled every aspect of her life, minus her own emotions and happiness. The bushes, the neighborhood drama, Harte’s presence… They all had her wondering. Doubting.

  “I hate you,” she addressed the bushes.

  Mike had claimed their constancy reminded him of her. She now saw their lack of color and originality as a mirror of her relationship with him. “It’s my fault. I never told him.”

  Gripping the counter edge, she tilted her head and pictured the yard as she’d wanted it. With a lattice and climbing roses of varying colors and personality. Thorns. She’d had too much perfection, structure and predictability. She wanted something a little wild. Hard to tame.

  Maggie rolled her shoulders back and called into the living room. “Grace, I’m going outside.”

  Determined to live life her way, she went to the garage and grabbed a pair of hedge clippers. She hit the button to raise the garage door and tapped her foot. Waiting. Those bushes were coming out.

  Now.

  Opening the gate, she marched across the yard and started whacking away at the closest bush. Each branch she chopped off filled her with pleasure and satisfaction. Freedom and independence she’d long forgotten soaked into her with renewed dreams and opinions. She was more than a mom and homemaker.

  “Mags, what are you doing?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Harte stood just inside the iron gate. Craig leaned against the truck behind him waiting to move the workout equipment and more boxes in the garage. “If you can’t see the obvious, then you can’t be a very good detective.”

  “Looks like you’re cutting the bushes.”

  “You get a gold star for observation skills.”

  Craig smothered a laugh behind twitching lips.

  “Why now?” Harte glanced briefly back at his partner before turning his attention back to her. “What did they do to you?”

  “Existed.” She hacked another branch. And then three more. Harte silently went back to help Craig unload the truck.

  Did all men think bushes needed to be plain, boring green? Did they all have a problem with a woman having a mind of her own? With her wanting a little color in her yard? So what if wisteria and rose bushes had to be trimmed back more often. They were pretty. They smelled nice.

  Using her foot to push a branch to the ground, she leaned forward and put the cutters at the base. Squeezing the handles together so hard every muscle in her arms screamed their protest, she worked at cutting the damn thing off.

  Crack!

  It broke with a snap. Her foot slipped off the branch. She lost her balance and fell into the bushes.

  The freshly cut limbs sliced at her arms. The newest cut one jabbed into her knee, ripping her new slacks, and scraping off a thick layer of skin.

  “Shoot.”

  She threw the cutters to the ground and stormed into the house. Marching through the living room she headed for her room to clean her knee and change.

  “Maggie, is—”

  “Not now, Grace.” Ignoring her sister currently pacing the floor with Emma, she stepped into the dimly lit hall. A movement to her right had her turning as a tall, slender woman wearing sunglasses stepped out of the office at the other end of the hall.

  The woman stopped and grinned. “Enjoy Detective Harte while you can.” With the cryptic message, she headed for the front door.

  Chills skittered along Maggie’s neck. She’d heard that voice. Seen that woman. Following, she tried to figure out where. And what she was doing in the house.

  By the time Maggie reached the end of the hall and turned the corner, the woman was outside and half way across the lawn. Maggie looked toward Grace. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Jared or one of the guys let her in while I was changing Emma.” Grace cradled Emma in one arm and ran her finger along Emma’s gums. “Is it too early for her to be teething?”

  “Not really.” Unable to worry about her daughter’s possible tooth at the moment, she turned back to the open door. The woman was heading across the street a few houses down.

  Shadows of dread weighed Maggie down as she stepped out on the porch. The woman got into a car and slowly pulled away from the curb, slid her glasses up onto her head and looked right at Maggie. Her cold stare was an invisible dagger to the heart.

  She'd felt the chill of that stare.

  Son of a…

  Shivers swarmed. Maggie. She pivoted and ran toward the garage. Toward Harte.

  BD sat some weights on the rack they’d just finished putting back together as Maggie stepped into the garage with fire in her eyes and a limping step. Her perfectly pleated, tan slacks were torn and bloody around the knee, her arms were scratched up and her hair had fallen out her braid.

  Instantly he moved toward her. “What happened?”

  “Jared, inside with Grace.” The line of her jaw hardened beneath the stress of sounding calm for her son.

  “But, Mom—”

  “Now.” The command stretched between clenched teeth and glared at BD.

  “Jare.” He laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Rage radiated around Maggie, but she somehow retained a cool façade of control. His gut clenched, but he maintained a level voice for Jared. “We won’t finish without you.”

  Maggie closed the door behind her son and glared. “Answers. Now.”

  Craig mumbled something about the truck and vanished.

  She knew something, but BD wasn’t saying anything without more information. “Excuse me.”

  “There is no excuse for you.” She grabbed a twenty-pound weight and plopped it on the rack with a clang like it weighed nothing. “I want answers about Adalia Wood.”

  Shit. What did she know? “She went to prison a year ago.”

  Maggie picked up another weight and sat it on the rack. He resisted the urge to step back from her.

  “What is she doing in my home?”

  The gun nestled at his back grew heavy. She couldn’t know Adalia had targeted her, that Mike’s murderer was out, which complicated the need to keep his investigation secret. It was a complication they didn't need. “How can you be sure it was Adalia?”

  “I remember the face of the woman responsible for my husband’s death. Why, the day you move in, does she come into my home? Is she behind the murder in the park? The raccoon? The iPod? Is she why you’re really here?”

  “Craig!” His blood chilled. She was too close to putting it all together, but worse was Adalia's willingness to make her taunts so blatant. “I need details, Maggie.”

  “Adalia Wood, who crashed into my husband’s car after killing several people, just walked out my front door and drove away.”

  “Craig!” He yelled again and edged Maggie toward the kitchen door. “What kind of car?”

  “Late-model, four-door Honda Accord. Dark blue.” She crossed her arms and recapped what had happened. “She’s gone.”

  Craig came into the garage with the hedge clippers in hand. “Yeah?”

  “Adalia was here.” Knowing his partner would catch up to them after calling for a patrol of the area, he relayed the necessary intel Craig needed to issue an all points bulletin.

  Craig headed into the kitchen with his phone already to his ea
r. He would run interference with Grace and Jared to minimize the disturbance of any evidence. BD moved to the wall with the garage door button to lower the door. Adalia may still be in the area, and he wasn’t about to make it easy for her to get in a second time.

  “When did she get out of prison? Why is she in my house?” Maggie lowered her voice as they stepped in the kitchen. Her jaw muscles ticked. “What is going on? What have you brought to my home?”

  He hadn’t brought Adalia here. Adalia brought him. “Come with me.”

  Grabbing Maggie’s elbow, he escorted her into the living room. She’d asked him to make her feel safe. He wasn’t off to a great start, but neither had he thought Adalia would walk in the front door of a crowded house. He wouldn’t underestimate her again.

  “What’s going on?” Grace asked.

  Ignoring her, he met Maggie’s gaze. “Stay here. Open the door for no one.”

  He turned to go to the office. She was on his heels. “Harte.”

  Lowering his voice to keep Jared and Grace from hearing, he shook his head. “You wanted me here. Stay out of my way.”

  She swiped her tongue over her teeth in a slight sucking sound and turned back toward the living room. He’d witnessed an inner strength beneath her fancy clothes, but now it threatened to be trouble. He admired her for her even as he wished it away. Her go-with-the-flow temperament had been replaced with a new independence.

  He went into the office with Craig and closed and locked the door.

  “Patrols are scouting the area.” Craig reached into a box they’d brought in earlier and pulled out some latex gloves. He tossed a pair to BD.

  “She’ll be gone.” BD caught the gloves and snapped them on. Shoving back his rage so he could concentrate on the investigation, he noticed nothing appeared to be out of place except his piles of boxes, but she’d had a reason for being there. “She wouldn’t have shown herself to Maggie without being confident she’d get away.”

  “You shouldn’t take it out on Maggie.” Craig sifted through the papers beside a comfortable looking armchair. “She came to you instead of trying to follow Adalia.”