You're Mine, Maggie
Page 4
“You think I like some sick fuck sending my girlfriend flowers and gifts?” He gestured toward the beautifully expensive box of chocolates nestled in gold tissue paper. “He’s making me look bad,” he complained.
That was the second time he’d called me that this week. We hadn’t discussed the particulars of our relationship, preferring to zigzag back and forth in the nebulous Going Out but Not Formally Committed Even Though We’ve Slept Together zone.
“So…I’m your girlfriend?”
He picked up a ropey strand of my hair and twisted it around his finger, bringing me closer. “You got a problem with that?”
I shrugged.
“Most women would’ve nailed that down weeks ago.”
“I’m not most women.”
“No kidding. Anyone ever tell you that you have intimacy issues?”
“Oh, do tell me about them, Mr. No-Talk-Unless-I-Absolutely-Have-To.”
“I’m a guy. We don’t do chat.”
I looked down to where his towel gaped, displaying how very much a guy he was. I pointed at his crotch. “You got a permit for that?”
He readjusted the towel. “What was I saying about intimacy issues?”
“I showed you intimate last night.”
“No. You showed me avoidance.” He released my hair and clasped my hand. “When are you going to talk about what happened yesterday?”
“I talked about it.”
“Not with me.”
“Can I eat the chocolates?”
“No.” He squeezed my hand. “Avoidance.”
I rolled my eyes and huffed out a breath.
“We’re going to have to report the email, missing items and the presents to the police. They might be able to track down your phone if he still has it.”
“Do I have to be here?” I wasn’t super excited to be in a room with cops again even though I’d essentially had one in my bed last night.
“Yes, but I’ll be with you.”
I nodded. “All right. If you’re there. But you can’t leave.”
“Why don’t you go get dressed? I’ll take care of everything here.”
I got up and headed for the hall, then turned back. “Hey, ah…about last night. You gave me something better than any present. And I’m not talking about the—” I made a back-and-forth gesture between us, blushing like a virgin, “—you know. So…thanks. For that. And the other thing. The other thing was good too.” Clearly I didn’t excel at gratitude either. “You don’t have to buy me a gift. Not that I wouldn’t love getting presents from you just…you know…don’t kill anyone for me.”
Chapter Nine
The good news was that I found my cell phone and the FBI was getting involved. This was now a computer-hacking incident, as someone had hacked into my computer to send the email through my own account. The FBI being all up in my business—again—also might have had a little something to do with Super Agent being pissed off that a murdering bastard was hassling his girlfriend. And giving her presents. Would he ever let that go?
The bad news was that I found my cell phone and the FBI was getting involved. My voicemail was jam-packed with messages from reporters, salivating over the news of my arrest, the charges I’d brought against Cruz and the FBI’s involvement in Shasta’s murder. Evil ninjas! Everyone wanted a piece of me, including the FBI, which had taken my computer, my statement and way too much of my free time. More paperwork had been added to my brick-thick FBI file. Yay.
Daryl called to let me know that Stratford’s department store was still closed because of the ongoing investigation but would probably reopen tomorrow. So no work for me. Xavier wouldn’t stop texting me, much to Super Agent’s annoyance. My mother had gotten wind of my arrest and so I had to endure an endless lecture about responsibility and all the disgrace I’d brought down on the family. Of course no mention was made of my brother and his multiple brushes with the law. On top of all of that, Super Agent had taken it upon himself to hover over me like a nervous, new mother. Again.
This feeling of déjà vu was starting to feel all too familiar.
“Your place or mine?” Super Agent asked as we climbed into his car outside the Phoenix FBI office.
I was twitchy and on edge, having spent way more time with law-enforcement types than I could handle in the past couple of days. Even Super Agent was starting to scrape against my shredded nerves.
“I really just want to go home,” I answered.
“Okay, we’ll stop at my place and I’ll pack a bag.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Seemed kind of inconvenient given what was happening, but okaaayyyyy.
“I’m staying with you.”
“Whoa.” I put my hands up palms out. “Slow this ride down. Since when did knocking together and calling me your girlfriend mean moving in together?”
He ticked his points off on his hand. “This guy knows where you live. He’s stolen from you. He’s hacked into your email account. Who knows what else he knows about you and how he’s going to use it. He’s so obsessed with you he killed somebody for you.”
My slut side got distracted by his big hands, remembering how skilled they were. She wanted to know why I was turning down the chance to have those hands on me again. I was beginning to come around to her way of thinking. Almost. Maybe. Her argument was flawless.
My practical side threw a flag on the play. Hello! Murderer after you! Protection!
“I get all that,” I said, hating my practical side. “But I don’t think you staying at my place is such a good idea.”
He studied me for a moment. “It’s about last night, isn’t it?”
“No.” His FBI-Special-Agent gaze practically drilled a hole in me. “Sort of.” I really didn’t want to talk about this. “Yes,” I finally blurted out. “Okay?”
“You regret what happened.”
“Regret wouldn’t be the word I’d use.” But it was close.
“What would the word be?”
I thought on it for a moment. “Rethinking.”
“Rethinking.” Now it was his turn to be contemplative. After a couple of moments he nodded. “Okay. Can I ask why?”
I pulled my sleeve up and pointed to the tattoo I had of a bunch of forget-me-nots with ribbon-wrapped stems on my forearm. “Read this.”
“The flowers?”
“Look at the words in the shading of the ribbon.”
“‘I will make better mistakes tomorrow,’” he read. When he looked up at me I couldn’t quite pin down the expression he wore. “Is that what you think it was, a mistake?”
How to explain? “The same part of my brain that thought last night was a good idea—” I moved my finger to the handcuff marks on my wrists, “—also thought it was a good idea to question a pissed-off cop’s ability to get it up while I was handcuffed in his backseat.”
He leaned back in his seat, disbelief parting his lips. “You’re comparing being with me last night to what that asshole cop did to you?”
“No.” Oh crap, this wasn’t going well. “This isn’t going well.”
He just stared at me. Uh-oh. I’d hurt his feelings. And pissed him off. The anger was just now fading in across his features.
“I got the tattoo hoping it would remind me not to act on impulse,” I tried to explain. I really sucked at this touchy-feely stuff.
He continued to watch me. At least he hadn’t kicked me out of his car. Yet.
“I’ve been told I might have anger-management issues. And a slight impulse-control issue. I’m trying to improve myself.” I paused for applause. Yeah, no. He clearly wasn’t impressed.
His gaze unnerved me, which was probably the point. I didn’t want to hurt him or make him think I regretted being with him. What I regretted was not taking a moment to make the conscious choice to be with him. Flying high on emotion, I’d just wanted to trade one memory for another much better one.
“I just wanted different hands on me,” I told him in a rush, shame heating my cheeks. �
�Can you understand that?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, sagging a little in his seat. “I can.”
It was my turn to stare at him. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I also wished I could thank him for muddling through my lame-assed explanation and for making the effort to understand it. Especially since I could hardly make sense of it myself.
“I’m trying not to feel used,” he said. “I get it. I really do. I just wish it had meant the same to us both.”
Oh. Ouch. “I thought I was the girl in this relationship.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, then mumbled under it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Stupid impulse issues! “It did mean something to me. I swear. Honestly, I don’t even know why you stick around sometimes.”
“You have your charms.” He reached out and did that thing where he wrapped my hair around his finger. “How about next time we plan ahead so we’re both on the same page at the same time?”
I lowered my hand and gave him the side-eye. “You want to make an appointment with me for sex?”
“Not exactly. I want you to tell me when you’re ready. Ahead of time. No impulsive decisions. No regrets or rethinking.” He made a back-and-forth motion between us. “Same page.”
“Okay. But doesn’t that take some of the fun out of it?”
He leaned in, a wicked smile curving his mouth. “No. It gives me time to think up new ways to make you scream.”
Chapter Ten
“I don’t think you should move in with me,” I told Super Agent on the drive back to Scottsdale.
I had a plan. Well, not so much a plan as a hair-brained scheme that just might work. If I could talk Super Agent into going along with it. Big if there.
“I thought we settled last night.”
“We did.” Mostly. “My secret admirer won’t make a move with you there.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard my idea.”
“If it involves leaving you alone without protection to possibly get hurt or killed—no.”
“Not alone alone. Just hear me out and then you can decide that you really like my idea and go along with it and then this whole thing will be over.”
“No.”
“Quit being so stubborn.”
His gaze tracked to our joined hands and the marks on my wrist. “Haven’t you been through enough already?”
Oohhh. The quiet torment in his voice was a punch to the gut. Blinking stinging eyes, I gave his hand a squeeze. “Just listen. If you decide that it’s a no-go, then it’s a no-go. And I’ll do it whatever way you want. Okay?”
He stared out over the dash for a moment then slowly nodded his head. This was big doings for Super Agent. In a rush I filled him in on my plan for drawing out my stalker. When I finished, Super Agent gave me a quick appraising glance. Heh. I’d surprised him with my cleverness. Maybe not so much cleverness as my ability to be conniving. His second, worried look confirmed the latter.
“I’ll call and put things in the works when we get to your place.”
Huzzah! He’d gone for it. Although I didn’t know why I was so excited. I was the one who was going to have to do all the work.
It was all set up just the way I’d laid it out for Super Agent. Although if I’d known what a control freak he’d be about it all, I would’ve tried to come up with an entirely different plan. That man would make some child a very good mother one day. We barely had time as it was to get everything together, let alone check, recheck, double and triple recheck, and check yet again.
Stratford’s Department Store was open and I was at the Estelle Landers counter as scheduled. Everything had begun here. This was where I’d started to miss things and where Shasta had been killed. It only seemed logical that this would be where things would escalate.
Or I could be totally wrong, as it was looking more and more likely the closer it came to when I’d get off work and nothing had happened. If I didn’t count the reporters who pressed their noses to the windows at the front of the store near the counter, trying to get my attention. They’d thinned considerably since the store had reopened, but there were still a few diehards hanging about like vultures after the last scraps.
“Sorry,” I told Super Agent through the microphone he’d wired me with. “I clock out in five minutes. I was really hoping the Creepy Creeper would’ve revealed himself by now and we all could’ve gone home and gotten a beer.”
He didn’t respond. Communication had only been hooked up one way, which had been fun for about five minutes and then talking dirty to the thin air had gotten kinda boring. Plus Xavier had overheard me at one point and had thought I’d been talking to him. He wished.
Daryl edged around the counter toward me. He always approached me like I was a caged wild tiger and he was doused in eau de meat.
“I thought I’d let you know that I have an interview set tonight for a possible replacement for Shasta,” he told me, wearing black because it was Friday. “Thought you might want to sit in on it.”
“You’re not going to waste my time again and then hire the worst possible person for the job, are you?”
He shook his head.
“What time is the interview?”
“Six o’clock.” He pointed up. “In the boardroom.”
“I’ll be there.”
Daryl backed away, keeping his eye on me until he bumped into the Shy Kitty counter and had to break eye contact. He scuttled back to his office without a backwards glance.
Lance slid into my line of sight. “Hi there.”
“Hey.”
He leaned against the counter, posing like the guy in the ad for Gent cologne. “So I was thinking. Me. You. A bottle of Chianti, some takeout and a DVD at my place.”
“That’s first your mistake—thinking. Your second was voicing those thoughts.”
“Come on.” He shifted a little closer and a cloud of Gent cologne crawled up my nose. “It could be fun. Relieve a little stress.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
I didn’t need to hear Super Agent to know that his back teeth were grinding.
“Yeah. No,” I answered. “I’m pretty sure I already have plans to jab my eye out with a hot poker.”
He chuckled. “That’s what I always liked about you—your sense of humor.” His gaze drifted south and his tone turned oily. “But not the only thing. There’s a whole lot about you to like.”
I scrunched up my nose, trying to prevent a sneeze, and pointed to the other side of the cosmetics department. “You can like it from over there with all of your teeth intact.”
“Your mouth says one thing, but your body tells me another.” He moved even closer, crowding my personal space and pissing me off. “So which should I believe?”
“My fist.”
I popped him one. He went down like the stiff, life-sized cardboard cutout of the Gent spokesmodel.
Uh-oh. This wasn’t going to go over well with my probation officer.
Chapter Eleven
Son of a bitch. I cradled my abused hand. That hurt.
And then holy hell broke loose.
The reporters smelling fresh blood in the water—Lance’s, which was spurting from his nose—and a new angle on Shasta’s murder, exploded through the doors. Camera flashes burst in the air around me, drawing customers to what was going on.
Damn it. More YourVid clips.
Suddenly there was a lot of noise and a lot of people all around us. I got jostled and bumped back by the crowd that had started to form around Lance, who was out cold. I moved back, desperately needing to get away from all the noise and confusion. Someone shoved a cell phone in my face and blinded me with the flash. I stumbled around, my vision dotted and blurry, right into a body.
A hot and hard body. A body I’d felt before. A body I’d had on top of me, all around me, inside me.
Super Agent.
He wrapped an arm around me and hustled me out of the growing crowd and into the elevator.
I blinked up at him, trying to clear my vision. “Are you laughing at me?”
“You’ve got quite a right cross there, Knockout. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“He’s had that coming awhile, but damn.” I shook my hand. “That hurt.”
He took my hand in his. “I’ll see if I can get you some ice.” He placed a kiss on the back of my hand. “Are you all right?”
“I’m clearly not right in the head.” I flexed my fingers. “Or in the hand.”
“You’ll make better mistakes tomorrow.”
“I thought so yesterday, but I’m not so sure today.”
The elevator doors opened to the first floor. Super Agent guided me toward store security office where he’d been hanging out all day watching me and listening in.
As we entered, one of the security personnel scooted past us. “I’ve got to go help with crowd control,” the guy said. He nudged his chin at me as he left. “Nice hit.”
“I have a feeling the guys around this store are going to start giving you a wide berth,” Super Agent said.
“You seem awfully pleased about that.”
He hitched a shoulder and headed for the door. “Where can I find some ice?”
“You’re jealous.”
His gaze connected with mine. “You’re a beautiful woman, Maggie. Guys are gonna notice. I like it. What I don’t like is them forcing you to protect yourself. The ice?”
“Employee lounge. Go back out the way we came and go toward the escalators then hook a left. You’ll see the door. The code is 1-2-3-4.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Yeah, we’re like the Pentagon around here.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Alone in the security office I took a moment to look around. I’d been in here once before to collect a reward for catching a customer trying to pass off stolen gift cards. There was a wall of TV screens with different camera angles all over the store. I sat down in a wheeled office chair and scooted forward to watch Super Agent make his way out of the hallway and onto the sales floor.