The Man For Maggie. Frances Housden
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 body glowed pink, blooming from the aftereffects of a hot shower and brisk rubdown with a thick towel. Her comb slid off the long, creamy slice of marble below the huge mirror and into her palm. Holding the comb firmly enough to mark her skin, she slicked her wet hair back without once looking at her reflection. Her father’s dark green silk robe hung on the back of the door and she slipped into it, hiding her nakedness.
A hint of Frank’s favorite cologne still lingered in the soft folds after all these months, the fragrance teasing at her memory as she wrapped the robe’s generous width around her. Doubling it over at the front, she crossed her arms tightly against her breasts, trying to remember the last time her father had held her—and failing.
So long…so long ago since the dreams began and the hugs had stopped. Puberty at least. But then, maybe all fathers began distancing themselves from their daughters at that age, and everything else was in her imagination. The way the dreams were, according to Frank Kovacs. Her father had had a way of saying things, like an edict from on high, and Maggie had known not to argue when he used a certain tone of voice.
Stubborn, arrogant man.
If only he’d believed in her.
Maggie’s lips quivered and she pushed the thoughts away before they undid all the good the shower had achieved. Just give her one dreamless night and she’d be okay. Thoughts of Max Strachan were banned as well. Thoughts like the ones that had made her stumble out of the shower, grab the towel and attempt to erase the graphic visions with rough friction.
The water had been hot, so hot—not as soft as the tank water at home, but with more pressure—and she’d luxuriated in the difference, letting the needle-sharp jets tingle against her skin, tilting her head back to let the water pour over the tightness in her throat, then split into three streams as it coursed around her breasts. She could put up with the smell of chlorine just for the way the spray sent her blood zinging through every particle of her skin till she felt as hot inside as out.
Then she’d glanced down while she’d soaped her breasts.
And seen Max’s hands.
His broad palms cupped her breasts from the sides and his fingers created patterns of tanned and pale skin across the full mounds. Max used the contained strength she’d felt earlier to conjure the silkiest of caresses from pure, latent power. His touch, gentle yet hot as fire, seared through to her soul as the water careened over the growth of dark hair, plastering it to taut, lean sinew and bone until it spilled off his wrists. Here was a vision that could shatter her fragile control, and as her nipples tightened into sharp points and stabbed into his palms, she squeezed her eyes shut and still couldn’t blank it out.
Damn, she was losing it.
Maggie hitched the belt of the robe around her waist and tightened it. Pulling hard on the ends until she could hardly breathe, she formed a bow with short jerky movements of her hands. Who was having the last laugh now? She could hear her father’s voice echo in her mind.
“Too