5. Margaret

Margaret

I stand next to Harry's Crown Vic, giving him a quick update. The midday sun beats down, warming the car's black hood. I sense Grayson coming even before I see him. The man has a powerful aura that seems to precede his body wherever he goes.

His very sexy body . He has a beard now. Not too long; just the right amount to leave a delicious burn wherever his mouth lingers. I shake the thought away. Dangerous Criminal, I remind myself.

A small boy is in his arms, and I scan them both with my diligent cop eyes. It has nothing to do with how hot seeing Grayson hold a kid is. Nope. None at all. The kid is cute, though. Age four, dark hair, same scowl as his father plastered on his face. But as they walk, Grayson tickles the boy, and they both smile.

With Grayson's, his entire face lights up, like flicking a million-watt light bulb on the dark side of the moon. My stomach does an excited flop, and I bite my bottom lip.

"Oh boy," Harry says, and my face flushes with warmth. "Dark and brooding is your type, isn't it? Or maybe it's the single dad thing?"

"Fuck off, Harry." He laughs at me as Grayson arrives beside the car. He opens the door, deposits his son into the booster seat, and buckles him in.

"Did you need anything else?" Grayson asks.

I stand up straighter, hoping I'm oozing professional cop vibes and not a horny middle-aged lady. "Yes. I have a few more questions about Lucas."

"Hop in, then."

Hop on, more like it. I curse myself even as I think it. With a calming breath, I open the door and climb inside.

As soon as I do, the kid stares at me from the backseat. "Daddy, who's she?"

"A friend, buddy. This is…uh, Maggie."

My head tilts at the name, but I don't get a chance to correct him. "Hi Maggie, do you like dogs?" the kid asks. I almost laugh at the random question.

"Yes, in fact, I used to have a little cocker spaniel at home named Chap."

If the child is impressed with my personal information, he doesn't show it. "Daddy, can we call Gwamma now?" he asks, already moving on to his next focus. Kids have the attention span of earthworms, but in my experience, that makes them more resilient. I certainly was. Just don't ask me to tell you what my childhood was like between the ages of six and fourteen. Isn't repression great?

I can already tell that this kid, George, won't have any repressed memories like that with Grayson in charge.

"Of course, Georgie." Grayson holds out his cell phone to me. "Do you mind? Just select Lori and hand him the phone."

Huh, he's not using his phone while driving? That makes him thoughtful. I push that thought away. He's probably only doing that because I'm in the car. Either way, I do as he requests.

Soon, Georgie is yapping away to his gramma in the backseat as Grayson drives.

"He's cute," I say.

"Hmm," Grayson replies, his scowl only deepening.

"You could at least say thanks," I mumble, crossing my arms against my chest. I see his lip twitch again. Is that as close as I can get to a smile? Probably. It'll have to do, I suppose.

Grayson pulls into his condo's parking lot and goes into a numbered spot. But as he looks out his window, he frowns, backs up to adjust maybe a few inches, then pulls back in.

Cold, calculating, perfectionist, and sexy. Check, check, check, and oh boy, check. He gets out without saying a word to me and goes to the back seat. Georgie is still chatting with his grandmother, but Grayson scoops him up and throws him over his shoulder playfully.

Definitely no traumatic memories for Georgie to repress. I can check 'excellent father' off on my profile too.

I follow him inside and into the elevator. The soft hum of the machinery is comforting, almost soothing. We ride up to the seventh floor and walk down the modern hall to his front door. The building is nice. It's well-kept without scuffs or marks on the walls. The carpet is clean underfoot. No mysterious stains for Mr. Cardenas. He unlocks his front door with a code, and the three of us step into his home.

Grayson immediately flicks a light on and starts rolling up his sleeves. "Wash your hands, mister," he says as he goes to the sink and does the same.

I look around his home. It's like something out of a magazine. Sleek modern furniture is carefully arranged everywhere. The air carries a subtle scent of pine and cedar, as though the rooms have just been freshly polished. Not one picture or toy is present.

Odd. But it fits his profile. The one I can't help but build in my own mind. Detective training is hard work, and I've been damn good at studying. That includes learning to profile, to a degree.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "You too, Detective Parker." It's so devoid of emotion, I suddenly hate my own last name.

"Call me Maggie," I say. As soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, I wince. Maggie? Where the hell had that come from? No one has called me Maggie since… ever.

Wait, not ever. He told his son that was my name. Somewhere, the information is already settling into my core memories. I like the way it sounded coming from his lips. It seemed right.

Maggie. Yeah, I like that far too much.

I walk over to the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. Not a crumb out of place. To my surprise, he doesn't move when I approach. Instead, he holds out the hand soap and coats my hands, then turns on his faucet.

I rub my fingers liberally, rinse, then shake them in the air. But Grayson is wearing a frown.

"What? I washed them."

"You splattered my floor," he says, almost snarling. I laugh. I can't resist. With his grumpy face and bared teeth. The man is like some sort of predatory wolf. His mouth twitches again, and he tosses the rag that's hanging over the dishwasher handle at me. "You think it's funny, then you clean it up."

I bend and wipe the floor quickly before straightening back up and throw the towel at his face. "Lighten up, wolf man, your pack is safe from the bears or elves or whatever it is you're afraid of."

He slowly swipes the cloth off his face, his cheeks ruddy. And there is that twitch again. Is that…? It hits me. He's trying not to smile.

"Can we sit now?" he asks, affixing the towel perfectly back in its place. There's a small dining room table in the adjoining room, and I pull out one of the oak chairs before sitting down. I keep a small notebook in my back pocket, opposite to my badge, and pull it out before pulling the pen from between the buttons on my blouse where it was clipped. Right as I'm about to open my mouth, Georgie comes out of the hall, a happy bounce in his steps, buck naked.

"George!" Grayson shouts, a broad smile on his lips.

I turn away, hiding my giggles from both the boy and his father.

"My shirt got wet, then I peed." Without a care in the world, George hops onto the couch with a toy truck and starts driving it up and down the couch arm, making sputtering sounds the entire time. I'm dying. If I don't release at least a giggle, I will literally pass out.

Grayson puts both hands on the dining table and shakes his head. "My son, when we have guests, you cannot simply bare your bits."

My shoulders shake with my restrained amusement, and I see Grayson look my way. A grin. Glorious and brief, but it was there. Question is; All for me? Or was it because of his son?

His son. Definitely. No way would that wolf-man grin at me unless it was before biting my head off.

"Dad…"

"Pants, George. Now."

The boy drops the toy truck and walks back to his room, shoulders slumped like we just told him his team lost the World Series. When he's gone, I double over in laughter, already in tears from how long I was holding it in.

"Something funny about naked boys?" Grayson snaps.

"Uh, yeah, Grayson. That was funny. Lighten up, and we can talk." The dining room feels all wrong after that display, so I leave the kitchen and sit on his leather couch. When I sit, I frown. The man seriously needs some throw pillows or blankets. Leather furniture is obnoxious. I adjust, and a squeak sounds. My cheeks immediately flush. "It was the—"

"Detective, can we move this along? I would like to be excused from your impatient bowels and inappropriate laughter as quickly as possible."

"Uh, excuse me?" I ask, ignoring his narrowed eyes.

"Forget it. We can do this over email." He's already standing to kick me out, and I don't even know why. One second, I think he's smiling at me, and the next, I'm being accused of farting at the wrong time and laughing at naked boys. To be clear, the attitude of the naked boy was funny, not anything else. And to be even more clear, I held my laughter in until he was out of the room.

Thinking of the kid seems to produce him because he comes back into the living room dressed. It's a plaid button-up shirt, several buttons undone, as well as plaid shorts of a different color, on backward. If Georgie is worried his outfit isn't the norm, he doesn't show it at all. Instead, he has a stuffed giraffe in hand and walks over to where I'm still sitting on the couch. Without a word, he crawls up onto my lap.

In a high-pitched voice, Georgie says, "Nick wants a hamburger."

"Nick doesn't eat," Grayson says with a sigh. "And Maggie was just—"

"Nick wants a hamburger!" Georgie screams and throws the animal at his father.

Grayson doesn't react. The guy has a face of stone. Kudos to him because if a kid treated me like that, I might cry. "Darling boy, we had hamburgers last night. Tonight will be something else." The kid must like the soft, caring tone Grayson has because he does calm some.

Right before he bursts into tears. Grayson's hand rubs down his face, but he doesn't move. Okay, this is getting into territory I'm not sure I'm supposed to explore. I walk over to where the toy is on the floor and pick it up. With it in front of my face, I say in a high-pitched voice. "Georgie! Why you cry?"

Georgie makes noises that might be considered words to a more affluent speaker of child. To me, it's nothing but sobs and mumbles. Still using my best Nick the Giraffe voice, I say, "Oh! That is sad!" And I pretend to cry with him.

Grayson is at my side and leans over to my ear. "Are you trying to make this worse?"

With my mouth half-closed, I say, "Trauma counselor taught me this. Acknowledge their feelings, then try to fix things."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. To his credit, he does step back. Kneeling down, I use the Giraffe's hoof to grab Georgie's hand. "Maybe Daddy will let us have one of those cookies if we eat not burgers tonight?"

And that does it. Georgie's eyes stop leaking, and he gazes up to his dad. Fuck me. If those doe eyes were ever pointed my way, well, hamburgers every night it would be. To help, I turn Nick around too. "Please, Daddy?" I ask in Nick's voice.

"Of course. They were for dessert tonight regardless of dinner." I roll my eyes. He might have the protective thing down, but dude seriously lacks in the flexibility department.

Both Nick's front hooves shoot up to the ceiling. Before I can stop myself, I'm making Nick dance around. "Come on, Georgie! We get cookies later!" Nick cries out. Georgie is on his feet and starts doing an odd little dance. Mostly his butt is shaking around, his elbows flying like he is in a cage match. It's infectious, and I start wiggling my butt too.

Any second now, I expect Grayson to yell out for us to stop being ridiculous. But the overhead lights flash on and off, and I shimmy around to find him flipping the switch with a smile. My head tilts back in a long laugh before I finally stop my ridiculous display of unprofessional LAPD behavior. "Okay, Georgie, let's go play trucks now. The adults need to be boring." I toss Nick back to Georgie, and he sprints out of the room, making Nick talk the entire time.

Huffing and puffing, I fall onto his couch with a loud plop. Grayson follows behind me and sits on his recliner across the room. His intense stare is unnerving me, so I tuck some of the hair that fell out of my ponytail back up. "Uh, sorry. That was probably—"

"I appreciate the assist, Detective."

"Maggie," I say, my tone stern. Hearing him call me detective sucks. I need to hear him say Maggie again. Mostly so I can replay it later on in the shower.

"Maggie," he says and draws the word out. I have to suppress a shiver. Definitely a shower moment coming later. To distract myself, I flip a page in my notebook. It's more to have something to focus on other than the man staring at me. "Okay, so, Lucas Jenkins." I sneak a glance at him, and he nods for me to continue. "Do you know anyone that might want him—"

Grayson holds up a hand. "He can't spell yet."

I understand his request. Even without Georgie in the room, he doesn't want wandering ears to hear anything untoward. "D-E-A-D?"

"Specifically? No. If I had to guess, maybe the Ukrainian mob." I jot that down, though, of course, it is obvious.

"And what about your family?"

He's shaking his head. "They don't have pull anymore. The money's gone, and friends went with it. Lucas would never work for free."

That gives me pause. The way he said, 'friends' doesn't sit well. We are talking about the mob, after all. "Any family that isn't in jail that might have money left? What about your cousin, Tilly Jacobs? Her net worth shot up to $2.4 million in the last two years."

"$4.6," he says.

I'm confused, so I tilt my head to the side. "Uh, her value?"

"Yes. With the additional yacht purchased under a business loan last year, and the apartment we're currently sitting in, her net worth is now $4.6 million. See, I'm a criminal but an honest one."

Okay, not what I expected. I slap the notebook closed on my knee. "You're telling me, your cousin has nearly doubled her net worth in the last two years?"

He chuckles. "Better yet, she started with about $45 bucks in her pocket when she came back from a decade in Costa Rica. That was three years ago."

Ah, I see. Costa Rica? Definitely, something isn't on the up and up. No one makes that kind of money. As if he knows what I'm thinking, Grayson adds, "And everything is in order. No mystery deposits or unaccounted merchandise sales. She keeps every receipt, even from company-bought lunches. Just a bit of luck and good business sense in her books. Scouts honor."

"And what is the mob version of the scouts?" I ask before I can stop myself.

But instead of snapping at me, he grins. "Still scouts, but with lessons in escaping zip ties and how to bribe crooked cops."

I bark out a laugh. "Touché, Grayson, touché."

His chin dips, but his eyes stay on me. It makes him look all the more menacing and, honestly, a little bit hot. See? I'm a giant mess. But damn, he's a beast of a man with looks that can slay me with a single smile. "Tilly Jacobs never had pull, and before you ask, Miranda has no idea who Lucas was."

That crosses off a few names. Narrowing the suspect pool is always a good thing. But I'm pulling out my phone. I select Harry's contact info and quickly update him on where I am. He asks if I need backup. I take a quick look at Grayson. No, this is not a man that would hurt anyone. "Look, I'm gonna have my sister pick me up and stay here for the night. You can head back."

"You sure, Margaret?"

"Yes. But I'd like to know which Chernobog members have a connection with our recent reformed felon. Can you run it for me?" I'm trying to talk in code so Grayson doesn't know I'm checking up on things. The entire reason I'm here is to make sure he's not about to be offed by some contract killer.

"No problem. Stay out of trouble. I know how your sister gets."

I laugh. "No worries, Harry." We hang up, and I tuck my phone back into my pocket.

Grayson is studying me again with that same intensity in his eyes. "You have a sister in San Diego."

It isn't a question, but I feel compelled to explain regardless. "Younger. She's at UCSD studying to become a physicist."

Grayson's eyebrows rise. "Impressive."

"You'd think, but she's a bit of a party animal. Don't blame me, though. She got that from her cousin, Jade. Owns an adult arcade and bar." I laugh at my own blunt words, unsure why I'm even explaining anything. Probably nerves. Grayson's face doesn't change. "As for the mob. Any names that stick out?"

His eyes become unfocused for a moment, like he's calculating. I nearly laugh at the sight. "They have a hitman. I don't remember the name, but I might be able to call around to find it."

"Were they aware of your deal?"

He looks down at his hands. "A few. Ones I trust. But word may have gotten out. I can check with Miranda, that's my cousin." I nod. That would help speed up our search.

George comes back out, fully decked out in a full Batman costume. The thing even has fake muscles. In his tiny hands is a giant box. "Miss Maggie, look what Daddy bought."

"Georgie, please stay in your room until Maggie leaves," Grayson says. Oh, there it was again. Maggie. Yum. I wonder how many pulse settings I can try out before I'm exhausted tonight…

"I don't mind. What is it?" But I see the box. A giant Batmobile Lego set. My mouth opens as I take it in. Between the costume and the LEGO's, I take it that Georgie is a huge fan. My little heart is doing a happy dance. Seeing kids take an interest in hobbies I too enjoy is probably my favorite experience ever.

Reel it in, Maggie, don't scare them off by going full super nerd right now. "Wow, that's um, something."

"But Daddy says I can't play with it."

"Oh really?" I give an accusatory glare at Grayson. The wolf is snarling at me again. He doesn't seem to like it when I talk with his son. Or about. Or near. Or anything.

"Yes, I didn't realize that it's an adult set. I haven't had time to help him with it."

"Can I…?"

He shakes his head slowly. I turn back to George. "Sorry, bud. I'm sure Daddy will help later."

"Possibly," Grayson says with a pointed look at his son.

I get to my feet. I can see that I've outworn my welcome and have gotten enough information for the time being.

"Well, Mr. Cardenas—"

"Grayson."

My face floods with warmth. "Grayson. Thank you for entertaining me. Georgie?"

He looks at me, still fiddling with the box's opening. "It was a pleasure. But I should be going. If you think of anything else…" I pull out my badge bifold and remove a business card. "Give me a call."

He rises from the chair and strides over, taking the card and, without looking at it, stuffs it into his pocket. How in the world is that sexy? I have no idea, but it works. I bite my lip before realizing I'm staring.

"Night, you two," I say as I head to the door. Georgie starts wailing behind me, and I hear my name. Did I do something wrong? Was it the LEGO thing?

"Daddy, why is Miss Maggie leaving?" Grayson scoops his son up.

"She needs to head home, buddy. She is probably hungry and—"

"We have food."

"No." Grayson says.

"Daddy. No burgers and no Maggie?" His lip sticks out about a full inch as he pouts and cries.

I cross the space between us and lean down, making me eye level with George. He looks so cute with the little tears stuck to his eyelashes. Placing a gentle hand on his arm, I give him a tiny squeeze. I'm hoping the move will help with stopping those adorable tears. "Sorry, bud. I really wish I could." His lip trembles, and I click my tongue. "You're breaking my heart, little man!"

I put my hand on my chest and pretend it's physically paining me. George cracks a smile. "There it is!" George looks curious, his tiny head tilting. "There what is?"

"Your smile! I was wondering where it went." I chuckle once, then stand. "Maybe I'll stop by another time, and we can tackle those LEGO's together." I give him a wink before turning around. "See ya, boys." I say, my hand already on the front doorknob.

"Stay," Grayson says, his words clipped.

Though I hear him, I blink a few times before turning around. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I can cook." He certainly can. I'm practically sizzling from his stare. Is he serious or just entertaining his son's demands?

No. Grayson doesn't cave for anyone, not even his son. He wants me to stay.

"Erm, okay." His mouth twitches into a grin. That one, I'm certain, is all for me, and I'm fucking here for it.