10. Grayson

Grayson

T he inside of my car feels too small. Spending two hours in traffic to get to LA was not at all fun. I insisted we meet away from the police department. It wouldn't do well to be seen there when I've already pissed off the Ukrainian Mob. But that's still a source of confusion.

As far as I know, the fact that I gave them up is fiercely protected. No one outside of my small group of confidants knows. The story is that the DEA finally caught up and seized all my work because of Tia.

Since Tia is already dead, I figured the Chernobog was done with our family. I'm not a known rat. But still, there's a contract on my life. Laughter slips from me. Not the happy kind, though. The kind that says a person is probably losing their mind.

It's shit. And right in the middle is a cute detective that I enjoy spending time with far too much. The moment her text came through, I wanted to call her. I'm surprised I resisted for as long as I did. That doesn't mean I lied when I said it needed to be talked about in person, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about seeing her again.

Why did I have to kiss her? She's a cop. Even as I think it, I roll my eyes. Cop, yes. But so damn cute I'm going crazy. Every spare moment, she pops into my mind, and damn it all if it's not driving me mad.

I hop out of my new car. Or rather, my used car. Miranda had to co-sign the loan, which was a level of demeaning I don't even want to think about. It's sleek and gray, something just fancy enough to suit my taste. Though if I had it my way, it would be something more luxurious. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. My phone rings, and I click the button on the dashboard to answer it. "Hey, Tommy."

A loud crunching echoes in my car. "Yo."

I wince as the sound of food rolling around his mouth booms through my speaker. "Are you eating rocks?" I bark out.

"Gravel and screws," he deadpans. That has me cracking a smile.

"Is George okay?" I ask because he has to have a reason for calling.

"Oh, he's here?" At first, I think he's joking, but I hear him yell over his shoulder for Tilly, and they have a quick conversation about George that I catch snippets of. Tommy comes back to the phone. "He's great, man. Too quiet, but he ate his dinner, and they're watching/listening to a movie." I hear an explosion in the background. Doesn't sound very appropriate, but I decide it's not worth the argument.

"If you didn't know my son was there, why were you calling?"

"Oh! Pie!"

I'm so lost. "Pie?"

"Yes. My ma found this cafe on Coronado that has the best pie. We usually get a slice once a week together, but she's busy today. Wanna grab pie with me?" I blink a few times, staring at the slow-moving traffic in front of me.

Is he serious right now? "Uh, I'm in LA tonight."

"Well, I know that now. When you get back, though? They're open till eleven." I doubt I'll be back by then. It's about an hour and a half drive without traffic, which hopefully there will be none of once my meeting is over. I rub my hand over my face. This is beyond strange. "Tommy, am I in trouble or something?"

"What?" he asks with a chuckle. "No, man. I just want to get pie with you."

"Without an agenda?"

"Dude, aren't you bored all the time? I thought we could hang out."

He wants to hang out? Are we in high school again? Is this the equivalent of being asked to the cool kids' table? He sighs loudly. "Grayson, I'm trying to be your friend. Am I doing this wrong? Should I offer cigarettes for your time or something?"

Another prison joke. Fantastic. But his offer of friendship, that is nice. Something I could use. It actually sounds…nice. "No payment necessary. I can't do pie tonight because…" I swear under my breath, but it might be nice to talk some of this out. "I have a date of sorts."

There's rustling on the phone, and I think I hear labored breathing, then a door slam. "Okay, I'm in the office. Spill." He sounds extremely giddy, and for some strange reason, I picture him laying on his stomach, his feet kicking back and forth like a teenager waiting for the juiciest gossip. Since I've been in his office, I know that's not the case, but a grin breaks out on my face regardless.

"With uh, Maggie."

"God, she's hot, Grayson."

"Hey," I warn. Both because his woman is my cousin and because I don't want him looking at Maggie like that.

"Relax, my cock doesn't work even for porn anymore. I gotta think of Tilly or it's like hot taffy down there. Flaccid city, man. A complete wet noodle. Giant noodle, but—"

"Would you please stop talking about your dick?" I snap out. He laughs because of course he does. "She's sweet, too. Looked like she got along with Georgie." She certainly does. "So what's the problem then?" he asks.

"We kissed."

"Go on." His tone is pensive and reserved, two very foreign sounds from him.

"She shut me down after."

He hisses through his teeth. "Ouch. So how'd you get the date?" I quickly run through what we're meeting about, and he hems and haws at all the right times. When I'm done, I ask, "How do I, uh play this? I mean, you have game, I think."

"Once upon a time, sure. Now I only know what works for Til."

"And?" I'll take any advice at this point.

"When she initially says no, I turn into a yes. Multiple yes's, in fact. Over and over and—"

"Stop!" I growl out. "That's not helpful in this scenario."

"Yeah, guess it's not. So maybe you just turn up the flirting and charm? Pay for her meal, joke around with her. Take every innocent opportunity to touch her. A graze of your fingers across her forearm, sit on the same side of the table so your legs can brush, put your hand on the small of her back as you walk to the table." He's a little breathless, and I kind of need to fan my face as well. The picture he's painting is hot.

"That sounds, um, great. Thanks."

I think I hear him crack his knuckles. "That's what I'm here for. So pie?"

"If I'm back in time, I'll text you." He lets out a whoop and wishes me good luck. It's perfect timing because my GPS is telling me I've arrived.

The restaurant is a small Cuban place near the outskirts of downtown. I love Cuban food. A remnant of my travels from what feels like a different life. The inside is bustling, and I know I've made a good choice. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation fill the air. Busy on a Tuesday is a sure sign of excellent food. I lock my car and stride inside. My outfit is probably a little much. But I wanted to impress. A suit is the way I know how to do that. Light music plays overhead, and the low lighting gives the restaurant an intimate feel. My pulse quickens.

Damn this detective for having this effect on me. The hostess, a beautiful but young woman, smiles at me. "Name?"

"Erm, Cardenas."

Her grin broadens. "Your date's already here."

"Not my date." I mumble it under my breath, almost as if I don't believe the words either. We're at a restaurant, and I have every intention of turning this into something more. But Tommy's words bounce around in my head. No opportunity to touch the small of her back. Strike one for my plan, I suppose.

The hostess weaves through the tables and patrons like a doctor on the way to save lives until stopping with an outstretched menu.

Maggie stands as I arrive, fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse. And goddamn me if it isn't adorable. Like a fresh jolt of pure electricity to my entire nervous system.

"Mr. Cardenas, nice to see you again." She holds out a hand, and I scowl at it. I want to wrap her in my arms, to kiss her until that shy smile is gone and she's moaning into my mouth. But she's putting on her professional face, so I shake her palm once before sitting. There are only two chairs, and they are across from each other. A braver man might slide his chair closer. That man is not me. And that's already strike two for opportunities to accidentally touch her.

"You like Cuban food?" I ask.

"I do, but I don't really understand why we're here. Surely, we could have grabbed a coffee." That makes my cheeks flush with warmth. I hadn't thought of that. Only of sitting with her somewhere nice, talking and having a good time.

"I thought the conversation might take long, and I like the food here." She eyes me suspiciously but picks up her menu.

When the waiter comes around, Maggie orders a glass of red wine, but I only request iced tea. I'll need to drive home later, and alcohol makes me sleepy. Not a great combination.

"No booze? Is that part of your…?"

"I'm not on probation, Detective. I would have thought you looked that up."

"What? No way. That's an invasion of privacy." But she winks at me. Damn, that's sexy. I clear my throat and sit up straighter, partly because I need to relieve some of the tension in my groin. We're here, and I do have information to give her. But that wink changes everything. That flicker of one eyelash gives me hope that I haven't entirely missed an opportunity with her. When the waiter comes by a bit later, she quickly orders Arroz con Pollo, and I decide that sounds fine.

I sip my tea and watch her swirl her wine glass. She has a furrowed brow and looks along the glass as if inspecting for poison.

"Something wrong with your drink?"

"No. But this is a nicer place, right?" I nod. It's not anything fancy, but not the bottom of the barrel either. "So, this is good wine?"

"A '76 Merlot. Yes." I smile and nod again, thinking I know what she's going to say. She takes a small drink, and her expression only gets more confused. "I must be crazy, but it tastes the same as my box at home."

I laugh heartily. This woman is good at coaxing it from me, another in a long line of reasons for me to push a bit harder. "You're not crazy. Maybe…" I pretend to ponder my phrasing. "it's an immature palate."

She shoves the drink away and takes my tea. She gulps a few long swallows and smacks her lips. "I think I prefer the '24 tea."

Reaching across, I take the cup back. "Then order your own."

She raises a single brow. "Does Mr. Cardenas not share?" Oh, how I love the way she says that. It makes me feel powerful and validated. Not being rich and in charge anymore does bother me, if I'm honest with myself. The mighty have fallen. But hearing her mouth form the designation does things to me that I'm trying very hard to ignore.

"I might be persuaded, Detective." Our eyes meet, and I see a flicker of fire in her irises. Teasing! That's right. Some women like to be teased as a form of flirting. Damn. I can't believe I forgot that. I'm off my game from being benched so long.

She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. "Call me Maggie." Oh, I would love to call her Maggie while she's under me, eyes closed, mouth opened with a silent scream of pleasure.

Damn. I'm doing it again. Skipping to date three when she hasn't even agreed that this is our second date. Hell, even the first date wasn't real. An impromptu dinner with me and George probably doesn't count. The kiss did, though.

The memory of it has my lips tugging up. "It's a beautiful name. Where did your parents come up with it?"

"My parents didn't call me Maggie." Something like disgust crosses her face. She reaches for her glass and runs a finger along the edge. Without meeting my eyes, she says, "In fact, I went by Margaret up until a week ago."

"What prompted the change?" I think I already know the answer. It doesn't take a genius to realize that was when we had dinner together at my home.

Her expression turns just a tad sultry. Oh, I like that, a lot. My cock especially. "I liked when you said it." There's no way I would admit I did it purely for my son. George still has trouble with the ‘r' sound, and ‘Margaret' would have been difficult.

She swirls her glass, watching the red drink slosh around. "I always wanted to be taken seriously. Detective is still, for some dumb reason, considered a man's job. And my parents, too, they never seemed to take me seriously. They didn't have the time or energy for me at all, even when I was young. So I was always called Margaret."

How could anyone not take her seriously? She's damn good at her job as far as I can tell. I've met a lot of cops over the years. Many had taken small bribes easily from my family. After knowing her a short time, I can tell that's something she would never do.

The waiter returns and refills my tea, asking if we need anything else. I wave him away with a flick of my wrist, only wanting to focus on the beauty in front of me.

After he is gone, I continue our conversation as if it had never been interrupted. "I'm sorry, Maggie. If there's something I can't stand, it's bad parents."

She nods and takes a long drink. "Not everyone can be as lucky as George," she says.

My heart churns. She's calling me a good dad. "I try. With his mother gone, it hasn't been easy."

"Can I ask what happened?"

I take a long breath. "We married quickly. I was head over heels. She got pregnant fast, and I was a little shocked but happy. I don't think she understood the reality of my… family."

Her scowl deepens at the mention of my family. "That seems rash." Tilting my head, I wait for her to explain. "Marrying without knowing the family. Was there a reason you rushed into it?"

My lips twitch at the question. She's inquisitive, and I find myself wondering if she was born that way or if it was taught to her when becoming a detective. I'll bet anything it's the former option. "No reason other than thinking we were in love."

"But you weren't?"

I shake my head. "Looking back, I can see that we weren't. Suzanne paid attention to me, she trusted me, and she was gorgeous. Like I said, we were young. I thought those things equated to love."

She nods like everything is making more sense. "So, I know the official story. But I'm guessing when she found out what your family did, she was upset."

"Yes, she wanted me to leave them. I wouldn't, and things went downhill quickly."

"Fighting?" she asks.

That makes me break our gaze. No, it wasn't fighting. I probably wasn't even invested enough in our marriage at that point to argue with her. " She went downhill quickly. Started drinking too much. So I got her some therapy, but still, she turned to other things. Prescribed things, but too much. My family found out, and they… intervened."

Her face is a mess of shock. Why did I tell her all that? I really am being ridiculous. We're supposed to be talking about my information. But Maggie makes me feel like opening up. Her long looks and easy smile make me certain my words are safe with her. I stare at the table, unbelieving the story came out. Maggie's soft hand rests on top of mine. I meet her eyes. "It's been four years, but it still isn't easy. That's why when I saw my grandfather doing the same thing to Tilly, I had to stop it."

"You did the right thing."

"I think it's why she's helping me so much now."

"Or she loves you," she says, squeezing my hand. At the touch, a delicious feeling spreads like flames all up my arm. This touch is no accident. She's meant to comfort me, to have that physical connection. "Does Tilly ever visit your grandfather in jail?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"She's the only one he put on his visitor's list."

I snort and pull my hand away. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll do something entirely foolish like kiss the soft skin along her wrist. Mentioning my grandfather is the perfect cock block. That old bastard. Not enough that he ruined my marriage, he's turning a great evening into a chore. "I doubt she would. He tried to have her boyfriend killed."

"Harry suggested maybe she could go and ask about you."

"Then Harry should speak to Tilly." My voice is clipped and harsh.

Maggie sits up straighter. "Since he knew we were meeting tonight, he asked me to speak with you about it first."

"Your seventy-year-old boss knew we were meeting?"

She laughs, her entire face shifting into something entirely irresistible. I find myself smiling, though I don't know where her amusement has come from. "For one thing, Harry isn't seventy or my boss. And he's my best friend."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Harry has been great to me since my own parents are out of the picture."

"I can ask, but don't expect much. Tilly is…" I have to stop myself from saying a harsh word. "Independent and doesn't have any love lost for our grandfather."

Maggie nods before sipping on her wine and I'm glad she doesn't push the subject more.

The food arrives, and Maggie shifts excitedly in her seat before digging in. For a moment, I'm content to watch her enjoy the dish. But when her mouth wraps around the fork and she moans, I have to look away. It's far too easy to imagine her lips sliding over something else. I scoop a heap of beans and rice on my fork, digging into the delicious meal.

After a few bites, she looks up. "So, why are we here then?"

"The hitman for Chernobog, I got a name from one of my aunts."

Maggie nearly chokes on her food. "You did?"

"Phillip Waters. Though I'm not sure if that's his real name." Her eyes go unfocused for a second, almost like she has to shut down external input while she calculates. A small crinkle appears right above her nose, and I have to take a bite to keep from laughing at the expression.

"I'll run it through our system and then talk to my CIs if we don't get any hits." When my confusion crosses my face, Maggie rolls her eyes. "Confidential informants. I have a few I can ask."

"Ah, of course." I slide my plate back, stomach full. When the waiter comes back to ask if we'd like some dessert, I raise a brow.

But Maggie looks at her plate, fiddling with her fork. "I should be going," she says softly. Disappointment laces through me. We're having a nice time, but she must not feel the same way. If I had it my way, dessert would be back at her place, preferably eaten from between her thighs. My thoughts are dirty, and when Maggie rises from her chair and reaches for her purse, I know I'm the only one thinking that way.

Almost in a panic, I stand too. Tommy said pay for the meal. "Please, detective. It would be my pleasure." She shakes her head and pulls out a few twenties.

"Nonsense. This was work; the department will reimburse me." And just like that, she twists the knife. What I thought was an enjoyable evening was simply work for her. Though I shouldn't be surprised. A broke, reformed felon trying to take out a successful and vibrantly attractive detective.

Nonsense, indeed.

I rise slowly. "Can I walk you to your car?"

She smiles and puts a hand on my forearm. "I'm fine, thanks. But please call me if you think of anything. I'm up late, so anytime." She stares at me a moment longer than necessary, and I have trouble reading her expression. But before I can ask or attempt to discern, she pecks me on the cheek. "Night, Grayson." Her voice turns coy, and she lets her fingers slide off my arm as she walks away.

I'm left standing next to the table, literally scratching my head. She's up late but practically sprinted out of here? Which signal do I take? I look over to the table next to me where a man and woman are smiling. "Dude," the guy says with a chuckle. His wife hits his arm. "What? He just got denied, like spike the ball out of his hands at the rim rejected."

They both snicker at the analogy that's lost on me. I'm not a sports guy. It doesn't sound good, though. But the man isn't done with his teasing. The waiter happens by and he flags him down. "My man here needs a doggy bag."

The man's lips twist up as confusion crosses my face. "For what? My plate's empty."

He rubs at his chest theatrically, a grin on his lips. "For your pride. She kind of stomped it into the floor." They both laugh loudly at that, and I join in half-heartedly. She might be giving me the hot and cold treatment, but damn it all if it still wasn't the most fun I've had in years.