15. Maggie

Maggie

A t my desk, I'm scrolling through mug shots on my computer. A police sketch of a rapist sits on the corner. The computer has already run an analysis and found no matches, but I like to be hands-on. Sometimes, I can catch a similarity that the computer misses. It's been four days since the blow-up at my house with Grayson, and saying I've been in a terrible mood would be an understatement. But mundane, repetitive work is safe. Simple, even. So I'll click through thousands of mug shots. Over and over and over again.

Harry comes up to my desk, a bag in hand.

"What now, Detective?" I ask. If he's bringing me treats, something's afoot.

He eyes me like I'm a venomous snake about to strike. Accurate in my current state of irritation. "Just gauging your mood today, Miss Margaret. How are we feeling?"

I purse my lips and click for the next picture. Harry chuckles and leans against my desk. "So not great. Got it."

"What do you want? I see you brought bribery." Eyeing his bag suspiciously, I click again. Donuts or not, I will not be dressed as a sex worker on a corner again.

Harry holds up the bag and points to it. "Oh, this? Not from me, my love."

That grabs my attention. I swivel in my seat and look at the package. "Maggie" is written in fancy handwriting on the front. Only one person in the world calls me that, though I am trying to slowly integrate it into my life more. Harry has flat-out refused, saying I will always be his little Margaret. Old dog, new tricks, and all, I'll give him a pass.

"He's waiting at the front," Harry adds. My heart does a small flutter before I shut it down. Grayson Cardenas is a victim, not a love interest, despite what my body is telling me. Since the fight, I've come to a few realizations.

On day one, I realized that cleaning my apartment while cursing his sexy body did not help me forget about him at all. It made me want to show off the newly cleaned space and maybe even get tips on how to organize my pantry better.

On day two, I tried food to get him off my mind. I'm out $85, and the steak wasn't even that good. The first thing I wanted to do after mowing it down was text him and say $15 arroz con pollo beats French seared steak every time.

On day three, I went for the tried and true method of drinking, only to figure out that it is not, in fact, tried and true because all it did was make me sad and hungover for day four.

Today is day four, and so far, it's sucked. But during all the suackage, I found myself understanding something very simple: arguing with him was…hot. It's another item that I should put on the list of things I need to talk to a therapist about.

So seeing him today? I'm not exactly thrilled. I'm running out of coping mechanisms. The next one could be dangerous, like jogging.

Harry dangles the bag again and chuckles. "You've got that look, Margaret. Like you're about to fight a baboon. I really hope Grayson brought some protection."

I shove him and snatch the bag. Opening it up, I see a single donut and a carrot. I chuckle despite my reservations. Crunching the paper top closed, I stand from my desk.

"Did he do well?" Harry asks.

Despite myself, I smirk. "For now. But if he's like you, he needs something. Ask me again in ten minutes."

As I start toward the front, Harry follows behind me.

"Whoa, I can't watch?"

"Ew, don't be a voyeur, Harry. It's creepy when you're old."

"I'm not old!" he yells after me.

Spinning around, I shrug my shoulders dramatically. "You know who says that?" I ask, wiggling my brows as I continue to walk backward. "Old people!"

He grabs a pen off my desk and chucks it at me. Since it misses by a mile, I laugh and turn to face forward again.

I head out of the detective area and into the front, where I sense him before my eyes find him. Grayson stands in all his powerful glory. His broad chest is covered in a dark blue that makes his eyes look all the more alluring. Even how he's standing, with his hands tucked away in his pockets, adds to his appeal. I want to see those hands again. I've felt them on my body before, and with them hidden, it's suddenly all I can think about.

Grayson touching me in a powerful, dominating way. His fingers working the buttons of my blouse open. His palms covering my breasts. His thumb running over my bottom lip. God, I want those hands.

As I get to his side, I lock those unfortunate feelings away. He was a complete asshole last time we were together. And sure, I wasn't in my prime either, but I didn't say anything that hurt him personally.

I'm ready to chastise him, demand an apology, but when his eyes lock on mine, all those thoughts fade. There's just him and me. Cops, dispatchers, even the sex worker puking into a trashcan in the corner all disappear, and I walk in his direction, lured by his contrite expression.

And boy, does sorry look good on Grayson. His eyebrows are furrowed in the middle, concern etched into his features that gives my stomach a fresh flop.

"Mr. Cardenas, nice to see you," I say, extending my arm.

He shakes my hand once but doesn't release my palm. Where we're touching is all sorts of tingly. Four days ago, I was ready to deck him in his stupidly handsome face, but seeing him now, I'm ready to hump it. "Is it, Detective Parker?" he asks.

"It is," I say, a blush rising to my cheeks. Tell me, why am I breathless? What about him does this to me?

"Then it's nice to see you too." He finally releases his grip on me.

We're both skirting around the obvious question, and it's driving me crazy. "Okay, so are we just gonna not talk about it?"

He shrugs. "I was following your lead. My gift of donuts said the words for me."

"There was no card, and I'm not one for metaphors," I say.

He shifts on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with my bluntness, but his face remains impassive. "I need your help."

The bluntness catches me off guard. "What's going on?"

"I have a lead on Axe. He might be hiding out with his brother on San Clemente Island."

My eyebrows shoot up. Whatever I thought he had come here for, this was not it. Saliva is pooling in my mouth at the thought of nabbing one of our most wanted gang members. "Did you learn this through the mob connections?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, but my buddy Greg is former FBI. He set it up."

"Sanderson." I say it under my breath. It makes sense that Greg still has friends at the bureau. He must be one hell of a guy to pull strings like this so far after he's been out of the game.

"Yes. The problem is, it's today. Miranda has a tour boat headed that way, but it leaves out of San Diego in..." He looks at his watch, something shiny and new. If I had any clue about which watches were expensive, I'd probably be impressed. "Three hours."

"I'll chat with Harry, and we'll go," I say quickly. There's little room for hesitation. It's a real chance to help, and I'm not going to let it slip through my fingers. I hurry back to find Harry at his desk, thumbing through old files.

"Cover for me," I say.

"Whoa, girl. I don't think so. Where's Mr. Badboy taking you? A hotel?"

I roll my eyes. Maybe I should think twice about how much I share with my partner from now on. He's way too invested in this thing with Grayson. "San Clemente Island on a lead."

I've already grabbed my purse and am turning when his hand catches mine. "Margaret, hold up a second." I scoff like a teenager, and he chuckles. "Just hear an old man out."

I can't contain my eye roll. "Dad..." I say with a long drawl.

He laughs again. "Margaret Marie, I do love you like a daughter. But I want you to be happy like a friend. I've read his file, and I see the way he watches you. That man is no danger to you. Be careful, but not too careful that you miss out on something. Okay?" I'm too shocked by his words to immediately answer. "Margaret, the court reporter needs a verbal response for the record."

I laugh. "Yeah, Harry. Okay."

With a new spring in my step, I go back out to find Grayson. One of the dispatchers is by his side, obviously trying to get his attention. Grayson has a furrow on his face and is trying to keep his distance, but the dispatcher, or former dispatcher if I have any say in the matter, grabs his hand.

I stomp forward, and Grayson sees me coming. His entire face lights up. God, that smile. It should be labeled as hazardous material. Radioactive even. My stomach does another somersault, but I don't fight it. Harry's small push has done more than I want to admit. He's the closest thing I have to a father, and he's practically shoving me into Grayson's arms.

If that's not a point in Grayson's pro column, I don't know what is. Hell, it's the whole column. Or rather, the excuse I need to open up to the possibilities. But dispatcher bitch-barbi is standing in the way of that. No thanks.

I walk straight to his side and snake an arm around his waist. He tenses at first, then puts his arm around my shoulder.

"Ready?" I ask, looking up at him.

"I suppose I am. Theresa, nice to meet you," he says.

The woman glares at us both before turning around to leave.

Leaning close to me, he whispers, "Detective, I do believe you've made your first save of the day. I owe you my life."

"Gray, please call me Maggie. You're here, and we're working together. Get over it."

He holds open the door, careful to keep one hand still around me, and laughs. "Maggie." The word settles in my stomach like a glass of warm milk. As soon as he says it, I realize how much I want to hear it.

Leading me straight to a parked sedan, he opens the passenger side door for me.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Cardenas."

He slides into the driver's side and starts it up. Though George is gone, I see that the car seat is still buckled in the back. My heart gives a little pang at the thought.

No. I won't dwell on the misery the man is sure to be going through. I'm focused on the job. Grayson needs me to find these assholes and arrest them. Then, he can get Georgie back home where he belongs.