9. Maggie

Maggie

I 'm at my desk, typing away at a report I've been avoiding. The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile glow over the room, making the office feel more like a hospital than a place of work. Phones ring incessantly, a constant chorus of voices blending into a chaotic hum. Officers are moving back and forth, the sound of boots tapping on the floor echoing through the station. The printer beside me chugs along noisily, spewing out documents while keyboards clatter rhythmically around me. The air smells faintly of coffee and paper, mingling with the scent of freshly printed reports.

It's been a long week since my excitement at Grayson's condo, and the memories of that day keep playing in my mind like a movie reel. I'm not just talking about being shot at. The way Grayson kissed me is still burning in my mind. The kiss was intense and filled with a passion I haven't felt in a long time, sending a shiver down my spine. I seriously need to see a therapist if I'm that turned on by bad boys. The guy is a member of the mob, for God's sake. But even that gives me a small thrill. Definitely need a therapist.

Though, I have to admit, he certainly doesn't seem like a hardened mob boss. Dangerous thoughts, Maggie. I curse under my breath at calling myself by the nickname he gave me and delete the string of typos before refocusing on the screen. The chatter of officers discussing cases mixes with the rustling of papers, a monotonous symphony that only adds to my frustration.

An hour later, with the report finished, Harry appears with a brown paper bag, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting through the air. "What's that?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

His brows wiggle mischievously, a grin playing on his lips. "Chocolate donuts."

I swivel in my chair, eyeing the bag with suspicion. He needs something. "And?"

"I've got an idea on Lucas, but…"

I raise an eyebrow, and the old fucker grins like a supervillain. "You might not like it."

My head rolls back with a scoff. Probably something undercover then. Harry only asks me to go undercover when it's for something woman-related. I've been a waitress, a sex worker, a hairdresser, and a secretary. All woman jobs in Harry's mind.

"I swear it's not sexist."

He's obviously remembering my harsh words from last time. A twenty-minute lecture on the waste it is that women have been resigned to jobs servicing men for nearly one hundred years. Except when all the tough guys went to war and us women had to pick up their slack. Wait! That was supporting men too! Damn it all. At least I'm a cop and my cousin Jade is a business owner. My little sister is going to be a physicist. Take that, gender roles. "I'm listening, but gimme the donuts."

He hands over the bag, and my greedy hands grab the first bundle of sugary sweetness I can find. The sugary glaze coats my fingers, and I savor the first bite, the sweetness melting in my mouth.

Munching on my treat, I give a nod so he'll start to explain. "Tilly Jacobs, aka Cardenas, owner of the surf shop. She's the only one listed on her grandfather's visitor sheet."

"You're thinking he ordered the hit on Grayson?"

"Bingo. I mean, he ordered one on her boyfriend. Since you have an in with Grayson…" He licks his lips, and I toss a balled-up napkin his way. I told my partner about the fiery kiss and how Grayson had taken care of my bullet graze after the shootout. To an outsider, it might seem strange, but Harry is a good man and a very close friend. We work well together, even if I have to help him relearn outdated gender stereotypes.

"I haven't spoken to him all week."

"No time like the present," he says.

"I don't even have his number," I admit. Chances are, if I did, I would have at least checked in on him. The San Diego Police Department had been briefed on the situation and promised to increase their patrols in his neighborhood after the shootout, but ultimately decided it was a random drive-by. That doesn't sit well with me. That car had been aiming for me and Grayson.

Harry winks. "You're a detective, figure it out."

I take another bite and turn back to my computer. Harry slaps my back roughly and walks off. Within ten minutes, I have his number. A phone contract under his cousin's name. Tilly seems to be taking a lot of interest in him since his time in jail. That's interesting but not entirely unusual. Still, I make a mental note about it.

I pull out my phone and program his information in with a smile at the nickname I pick. Once that's done, I send a quick text.

Me: Hey Grayson, it's Maggie.

The three dots appear immediately.

Sexy Jailbait: ?

Yeah, I saved him as that. Sue me.

Me: Detective Parker?

Sexy Jailbait: I know who Maggie is. I was asking what you want.

Oh, someone is sore that I said no to drinks. So short-tempered and impatient. Why does that give me a small thrill?

Me: Just wondering how you are. I've been thinking about you.

Oof, too much. I quickly type out an addition.

Me: And George, of course. How are you?

Watching the dots appear and disappear so many times is agonizing. The man is obviously struggling with what he wants to say back to that.

Sexy Jailbait: We are fine. Police said it was a gang-related drive-by. They have a member in custody so things are fine. George is fine.

All business, of course. Right as I'm about to call time of death on any future repeat kisses, a second text appears.

Sexy Jailbait: I've been thinking of you too.

My heart gives a small flutter.

Me: Yeah? Is it because you can't figure out how to build the Batmobile?

His response is immediate. A photo of the Lego set, more pieces added on, but not quite finished. I smile and write back.

Me: !!!

Sexy Jailbait: ??

Oh. I like that emoji coming from him.

Me: What are you doing now?

Sexy Jailbait: Sipping my coffee and daydreaming of someone. And you?

My grin is immediate. Grayson is daydreaming about me. Me! The warmth is building between my legs, as if our kiss happened ten seconds ago and not eight days. My skin tingles with anticipation, and I can't help but imagine what it would feel like to kiss him again. I use my phone to snap a photo of my half-eaten donut on my desk.

Sexy Jailbait: Typical cop. Is that the top or bottom of your food pyramid?

I laugh at that. Maybe some stereotypes are okay. I certainly couldn't live without my donuts.

Me: It IS my food pyramid.

To my surprise, no dots appear. I set the phone down and sigh. Whatever Harry asked me to do, I've already half-forgotten. Talking to Grayson is fun, real fun. I close my eyes. "He's a convicted criminal, Maggie." It takes several times of repeating the words under my breath until I'm calmed down.

But a moment later, my phone rings. "Maggie, you cannot eat just donuts," Grayson's voice is smooth and calm, but there's a hint of amusement beneath his words.

"Not everyone can cook delicious pasta from scratch," I say, leaning back in my chair.

"Everyone can learn, Detective."

"And are you offering to teach me, Mr. Cardenas?" The thrill of hearing his voice and the playful flirting is doing strange things to my stomach. Or maybe it's the four donuts I've smashed since Harry left.

He's quiet for a moment, possibly debating. When he speaks again, the teasing lilt in his voice is gone. "I hear YouTube can be quite an effective learning tool." Before I can say anything back, he's clearing his throat. It seems that whatever flirting we had done is gone. "I have information."

My eyebrows rise. "And?"

"I can be in LA in two hours."

"You can't just tell me now?"

A low chuckle fills the phone, and warmth spreads through my body. Ugh. Just strip me down and spank me already. "Surely you understand the need for utmost discretion. I would prefer these things to be spoken about in person."

I exhale loudly. Working late. Again. My poor gaming squad will miss me at our nightly session. "That's fine, Mr. Cardenas."

"Lovely. And Maggie? Let's leave bad guys at home this time. I wasn't a fan of you getting hurt."

I start twirling my hair, my teeth biting into my bottom lip. "I was only grazed, Mr. Cardenas. And I seem to remember that you were perfectly fine."

That earns me a small snicker. "Indeed. I'll be there around seven."

We say our goodbyes, and I set my phone down. I bite onto my own knuckle, trying to suppress the smile that's only growing on my face. My heart is pounding with excitement, and I can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation for our meeting.

When Harry comes back a little later, I'm filing some papers away. He sits on my desk.

"Any luck?"

"I'm seeing him tonight."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really? In what respect, Detective?"

"Just a meeting, Harry."

"Mmhmm." He gives me a pointed look that seems to dissect all the swirling confused feelings immediately. "Maybe your job is helping your dating life for once."

"Hardly. The guy's a criminal. No, I'm just doing my job. It's not a date." Because to hope for anything else would be ridiculous. We're playing some sort of strange game. We kissed. BFD, right? People do that all the time. I turned him down for drinks, and now we're toeing this line. Flirt, pull back, flirt, pull back. It's a bit dizzying.

Harry clicks his tongue. "Criminal? Interesting. I've read his file. Didn't seem like he was happy doing his family's bidding. Look what they did to his wife."

I've read the file. Hell, I put most of it together. "His wife is missing. I hardly blame the girl if she ran away."

That draws a scoff from Harry. "Ah yes, the wife of a mob rat is ‘missing' for four years. I thought you were a detective?"

I press my lips together and look down at my paperwork.

I'm not na?ve. The woman is probably dead and tossed in Griffith Park in a shallow grave. The idea gives me a small shiver. Though the family has been taken down, they still manage to intimidate me. But Grayson? I can't picture him being intimidated by anything. Even when we were getting shot at, he remained calm and protected me.

The way his body felt surrounding me, firm and comforting. That makes my body tingle all over. I almost yell out 'stop!' aloud. Traitorous body. Then again, he literally shielded me, putting himself in danger.

Being protected is not something I'm used to. My entire life has been about looking out for myself. Deadbeat dads and drug-addicted mothers tend not to care much if their daughter has a good meal and a bath. Then in foster care, well, they tried, but by then, I hadn't needed much.

When my silence has gone on too long, Harry's smile grows. "You know, who was that last guy? The car thief?"

"Ben," I say with a groan. Stop reminding me of that mistake.

"And then there was the pill popper…" he says, letting that awful memory resurface too.

"Jimmy," I say, putting my head in my hands.

"Yes, I'm curious about him. With a name like Jimmy did you really not know or do you just like being tortured?"

My head snaps up. "He was charismatic! How was I supposed to know it was Vicodin induced? Some people really are that happy!"

He's staring at the ceiling and tapping his chin, pretending to be lost in thought. "Oh, I have the best one."

Do not say Kevin. Do not say Kevin.

"The wife beater, Calvin, right?."

"Kevin." I roll my head to the ceiling. "And, if you remember correctly, I arrested him as soon as I knew he had a warrant out!"

He laughs like my dating history is the funniest thing in the world. It's not, and I want to arrest this man on account of excessive asshole-ness. "Okay, what's going on with you and Vicki then, Detective?"

His face sours. "Not cool. She's a friend. That's it."

I'm shaking my head. "So you can dish it out but can't take it. I see how it is." I shuffle papers around like I'm busy but decide to add more. "And there was Luke, who was a total sweetheart, took care of his mom—"

"Lived with his mom." I ignore him and continue. "And Flynn who worked with special education kids."

He holds up a finger. "Ooh, that one, I concede. Flynn was a great man." Yes, the great man that asked every two seconds during sex if what he was doing felt good. I'm all for sensitivity, but that was a little much. And little was how I would describe a lot of things about Flynn. All of which Harry knows. "Poor man," he says like Flynn has died and isn't just bad at checking under my hood while working with small tools.

"Is there a point to this postmortem, or are you just trying to make me feel like shit?"

"Well, you seem to swing both ways." I glare at him, not amused at his attempt at humor. "Super douche or super safe. And you know what excites me?" I shake my head. "Grayson is neither. This might break your streak, Detective." My eyes go hazy as I replay what he's said. Fuck it all if he isn't right. "So, good luck tonight. Try to remember to ask about his cousin while staring into his dreamy eyes."

My leg kicks out at him, connecting firmly with his shin. He feigns like it broke him in half with an exaggerated yell. "Oh, go arrest a drug dealer or something," I say, flapping my hand in his direction. He holds up both arms, pretending like he's terrified. "I swear, officer, I had no idea that thing was loaded!" He points at my foot.

I slap my palm on the desk. "Harry! Most of us do work around here!" He's cackling at my annoyance as I go back to my filing. But the flutters in my stomach only grow every second that passes. The closer it gets to my evening with Grayson, the more I know it's a terrible idea. My hands are already itching for another touch, and my lips feel entirely too dry without his covering them.

A fling with a known criminal? Maybe. It would be stupid, though. I know that in my soul. There's nothing that screams fling like a single dad whose son I've already met. Hell, I've bonded with George. He's pretty freaking awesome. One night around the pair of them and I know that much for certain.

That's relationship stuff. The real deal, sort of thing. That isn't just dangerous. It would be stupid. So, so, deliciously, foolish. I bet he's an animal in bed. The man's wolfish demeanor would translate to beautiful things in the bedroom, that much is certain.

Not much to do except let this play out. I'll have to do my darndest to keep my wits about me. But like hell am I going to miss another opportunity to see Grayson again. In any capacity.