The Man For Maggie. Frances Housden

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      Jo’s breasts heaved under her blue chambray shirt and spread the zipper edging of her leather jacket farther apart. Boy, she was angry with him! Max had never seen her this mad before. How much would it take to make her blow her stack? There was a calm, calculating part of his brain that thought maybe this was a good thing. Cruel, but good. Good for him.

      He’d been thinking for a while now that maybe Jo was getting too fond of him. And he wasn’t the only one to notice, judging by a few of the comments written on the men’s room walls. The only thing to cut that out would be to make the place unisex.

      At one stage he’d toyed with the idea of getting her a sideways promotion out of Central. A word in the right ear was all it would take. But was it fair to nix a good cop’s career, just because she thought the sun shone on his sorry behind?

      “I knew who she was the moment you said her name,” Max growled. “Maggie’s reputation precedes her. If you’d been here fifteen months ago you’d know to keep away from her, unless you actually want your credibility as a cop to go down the drain.” He swallowed the last mouthful in his glass. Who was he trying to remind, Jo or himself? His divorce was six months old, and the only relationships he’d had in the last two and a half years had been the types that pass in the night. A quick tumble in the sheets and a few more weeks relief were all he got out of them. One look at Maggie and he could tell that wouldn’t be enough.

      “Just because I haven’t seen her in three years doesn’t mean we haven’t been in touch. I can read, and not just the rubbish Gorman let slip and the media blew all out of proportion. Maggie wrote me about it, about the crank calls and the lies. I was trying to persuade her to tell you about the dreams when you arrived.”

      “Good one! You’d send her to me when you know my opinion of these fakers.”

      “I thought if you saw her face-to-face—”

      “It takes more than a pretty face to bowl me over.”

      “Tell me about it. I know it never worked for me.”

      “Don’t let’s get into that, Jo. You’re a friend. Friends last longer than lovers.” He hoped Jo would take the words as they were meant and not as a put-down. It was the first time either of them had openly acknowledged her infatuation.

      Jo shrugged and laughed ruefully. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. But we’re getting off the subject. I’m worried about Maggie. She sounded desperate. Didn’t you notice how edgy she was? Once you arrived she couldn’t wait to get away.”

      “I thought it was my lethal personality she couldn’t stand.”

      “Well… She doesn’t like cops, but her manners are usually better than that.”

      “You’re a cop.”

      “Yeah, but we were at boarding school together and we both come from the same background. It makes a difference.”

      “I didn’t know your family made wine.”

      “I was talking about Dalmatia. Both our families came from there originally. In some ways Maggie’s father hadn’t changed much from the old folks who first settled there. He had a closed mind on some things.” Jo tilted her head to one side, her expression serious as she looked him up and down. “Remind you of anyone? Frank Kovacs forbade her to talk about her dreams. Not that he didn’t love her—he adored her. It was the only thing he was ever strict over. Said he only did it to protect her. Seems he had to die to prove himself right.”

      Max watched Jo swallow, lick her lips, then swallow another mouthful of beer. He could tell she wasn’t finished, so he waited and said nothing.

      “I know these dreams do come true. But I can’t help her this time. I haven’t enough clout, but you do. And I’m guessing from the way Maggie’s acting, she’s going to have to give in and pay you a visit.” Jo leaned across the table and gripped his sleeved arm just above the wrist. By the strength of her fingers, he guessed her desperation was as strong as Maggie’s. “I need you to believe she got nothing from me. Nothing, yet she knows everything, down to the red scarves.”

      Max felt his stomach clench and acid rise. Heartburn.

      Could he believe Jo? The possibility posed too many questions he didn’t want answered. He’d rather keep Maggie in a box marked This One Makes You Hard Just by Being in the Same Room. He’d rather plan strategies to get her into his bed. To start figuring out the way her mind worked would draw him in too deep, and no amount of paddling would keep him near the surface. Not unless it was the pale olive, satin skin covering Maggie’s surface from head to toe.

      There had to be another explanation. Damned if he could think what it might be, though. To give credence to what he’d just heard meant admitting he’d been wrong about a whole lot of other things, including his wife and his marriage, and he wasn’t ready for that just yet…or ever.

      “There must have been a leak. Check the newspapers—we might have missed something. If someone on the case has a loose mouth, your job is to find out who. And I need answers by this time tomorrow. Heaven help us if this gets out,” Max muttered, knowing that, so far, heaven was the only place they hadn’t gone for help. That sounded too much like the area he was trying to avoid.

      “So, you believe there could be a leak? And you’re satisfied it’s not me?”

      “No, I’m not. You’d better work your little butt off and find me someone, or there’s only one conclusion I can make.”

      “Great! I give you a gift from the gods and now you’re going to make me pay for it.”

      A blast of raucous laughter had them both turning toward the bar. Max recognized the bulk of their team, milling around the barman, singing out their orders. “C’mon, Jo. You might as well start right now.”

      “Why do I have to be the spy?” she complained, getting to her feet.

      “You won’t be alone. I’ll stick around for a while. Check first for anyone who might have worked with Gorman. Maybe you’re not the only cop Maggie knows. If it’ll help, I’ll shout the next round. The guys needed some downtime to relax and work some of the frustration out of their systems, so I gave them tonight off.”

      Max stood up and, as he did so, caught sight of a scarf under his feet. He reached down and picked up the scrap of silk, patterned like a leopard in black, tan and gold. “This yours?” he asked.

      “No, it’s Maggie’s.” Jo held out her hand. “I’ll take it.”

      Max rolled the long strip of silk around his fingers and released Maggie’s scent. It filled his head like a haunting refrain he couldn’t shake. “Would she have gone back up north tonight?”

      “No. She wouldn’t drink and drive, and I know she walked here from the apartment Frank had in the Viaduct Quay tower. She’ll probably stay the night there.”

      “In that case I’ll hang on to it.” Max pushed the ball of silk into his pocket. “From what you told me, chances are I’ll see her before you do.”

      In fact, he would bet on it.

      Chapter 2

      Maggie’s СКАЧАТЬ