Find Me Maggie (The Misadventures of Maggie Mae)

by Beth Yarnall

  “Maggie Mae Castro, you’re under arrest.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. A million times shit!

  Chapter Eight

  Miguel and I were taken to the Sacramento FBI office, shoved in a room and handcuffed to a bench. This wasn’t the first time I’d been arrested, but it was the first time I’d ever been arrested by a federal agency. My reward for trying to save my idiot brother. I couldn’t wait to see Super Agent’s face when he came to bail me out. Only there would be no bailing me out this time. I’d gone too far.

  Would he visit me in prison? The conjugal visits would be freakin’ amazing.

  A federal prisoner and a federal agent. That would look really awesome on our wedding invitations. I wondered if they made bride-and-groom cake toppers with the groom in an ill-fitting suit and the bride in an orange jumpsuit. Maybe the wedding planner could work orange into the overall theme.

  Oh, who was I kidding? He’d drop me like the career-ender I was. And rightly so.

  “What’s it like?”

  Miguel’s quiet question drew me out of my tortured musings. “What?”

  “Having a kid?”

  “Jesus.” He’d caught me off guard with that question. I never talked about this. Never. “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, but what’s it like?”

  “How in the hell should I know? I didn’t stick around past the hurting-like-hell part. Why are we talking about this now?”

  “Do you think I’ll be a good father? You know…if I ever get out of jail.”

  “I hope… No, I think you’ll do the best you can. At least you’d better.”

  “I’ll try. It’s going to suck not being there for the birth. For Alice.”

  “At least you’ll be involved however you can. You will, won’t you?” At his nod I let out a tense breath. I’d been half afraid Miguel would run from fatherhood just like our dad had. We didn’t have the best parental role models. “I’ll tell you this… It hurt twice as much doing it alone. Going through everything, making decisions…all of it alone. I didn’t want that for Alice. I didn’t want your child’s mother to go through what I went through.”

  I lowered my head, trying to hide the sudden tears at the backs of my eyes. “And I didn’t want your child growing up with half of what he should have like we did.”

  “Do you ever think about her?”

  “Can we stop talking about this shit now? This room is likely wired.”

  “You’re probably right.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “Thanks.”

  “What for?”

  “For finding me. If you hadn’t…”

  “I told you to shut the fuck up. Don’t you ever listen?”

  He chuckled. “I love you too.”

  “Fuck off.” Then after a moment, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance to tell him face to face… “I love you too.”

  He grinned at me and he looked so much like our father at our age the tears started pricking my eyes again. What the hell was wrong with me today?

  The door opened and in walked Super Agent with a couple of the suits who’d burst through our hotel room door. Man, he looked good. And pissed. Reeeaaally pissed.

  “Uncuff her,” he told one of the agents, hauling a chair over to sit on backwards. “You want to tell me why you didn’t follow the plan?” Uh, yeah. Totally pissed. Man, he was hot when angry, all puffed up and stern-faced. Da-yum.

  I rubbed at my sore wrists. “There were complications.”

  He glanced over at Miguel then back at me. “I can only imagine.”

  “What plan?” Miguel asked.

  “You stole a car,” Super Agent said, completely ignoring Miguel.

  “Sergei put a tracker on the rental and there was no time to procure a new rental. So I improvised.”

  Miguel piped up again. “What plan? What the hell is going on here?”

  “You were supposed to get him and get to the rendezvous point. What happened?”

  “I told you, there was no time. Sergei was on to your plan so I made a new one.”

  Super Agent made some kind of hand signal. The other agents freed Miguel from the bench and started to haul him out of the room.

  Miguel fixed me with a mistrustful glare, turning to look over his shoulder as they pulled him out the door. “What the hell is going on here, Maggie?”

  I only hoped when Miguel heard the full extent of what I’d done for him, he’d forgive me and go along with whatever the FBI wanted. Unfortunately my brother was the kind of guy who would somehow manage to find a way to screw up winning the lottery.

  Chapter Nine

  When we were finally alone, Super Agent reached out and traced a finger along my jaw. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I wish your guys hadn’t busted down the door when they did. What kind of high-school dropouts is the FBI hiring these days?”

  “They thought there might be trouble. They heard yelling.”

  “That was me giving my idiot brother the lecture he deserved. One of your guys whacked Miguel with a club. Was that totally necessary?”

  “I heard he resisted arrest.”

  “And I heard my boyfriend promise me I wouldn’t end up in handcuffs when all this shook out.” I held up my hands to show him the marks from the cuffs. “I also heard him say no one would get hurt.” I wasn’t quite over seeing Miguel get struck by that agent. I could beat the crap out of my brother, but I’d kill anyone who tried to lay a finger on him.

  “I’m sorry about that. Since you didn’t follow the plan, the agents sent to get you weren’t up to speed on who everyone was.”

  “There were only two of us! We’re twins. It’s not that hard to fucking figure out.”

  He looked like he was trying to suppress a laugh. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

  “You put a tracker on me, didn’t you?” I’d wondered how his FBI guys had found us, and a tracker was the only explanation I could come up with. I should’ve been mad at his nodded confirmation, but I was more curious about how he’d managed it. “How? I ditched everything.”

  “Your lipstick. You’re never without it.”

  “Well, damn. A girl likes to think she’s a little bit mysterious.”

  “Trust me. You’re a constant riddle with an ever-changing solution. What did you get from Miguel?”

  “It’s like I suspected. Sergei took the money.”

  “And you were going to tell me this when…?”

  “When I knew for sure. Miguel managed to get the offshore bank account number. As far as I can tell, Sergei doesn’t know he has it.”

  Super Agent pulled out his cell phone. “Castro has the info we need. A bank account. Yeah. Really? Okay. Thanks.” He punched the End button on the call. “Miguel’s copping to the stolen car. He’s saying it was all his idea.”

  “My brother’s an idiot who got in bed with the Russian mob. Not quite the mastermind behind our little escape job.” I jabbed my thumb to my chest. “That would be me.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that. If Miguel gives us the info we need, he could get total immunity. You would not. So I wouldn’t repeat what you just told me.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t help but be surprised that Miguel would take responsibility. Maybe he really was changing. “Got it.”

  Super Agent leaned back in his chair a little, studying me. I could tell he was working up to something…something he didn’t really want to ask, but the FBI Special Agent in him wouldn’t let it go. “You were right to tell Miguel the room was wired.”

  “You heard our whole conversation.” Shit. Shit. A quadrillion times shit! What was with my lousy luck lately?

  He put up a hand. “It’s up to you to fill in the blanks when and if you feel like it.”

  I bent over and scrubbed my hands over my face. There were those damn tears again. He wanted to know about something I didn’t dare breathe a word of for fear of the repercussions
. “I assume the microphone is still on.”

  “It’s off, but like I said, it’s up to you when, how and if you want to talk about it.”

  “I know you. You’ll just try to dig up the info on your own.”

  “No, Maggie, I won’t. Not on this. I just wanted you to know I heard the conversation. That’s all.”

  “I can’t talk about it. Ever. There’s too much at stake. If it was just me… I can’t. Please try to understand.”

  “I do.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  I stared at him, not quite able to believe it was that simple. Where I came from there was always an agenda, always a knife pressed into your back. But I could see deep in his eyes that it was that simple for him. He was giving me his word, and I knew from experience that the man never went back on it.

  And maybe that’s why after all I’d gone through to keep the secret, I was finally ready to tell it—to him.

  “I had a baby that I put up for adoption,” I blurted out.

  Super Agent’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t expected my declaration.

  “Sergei’s baby.”

  It didn’t feel good to finally get it out. It wasn’t a relief. It was the second most terrifying thing I’d ever done in my life. I hadn’t talked to anyone about it. Ever. And now that I’d uncorked it, I couldn’t stop the flow of words. They gushed out of me faster than I could think about what to say or how to phrase it.

  I told him about my friend, Bea, and holding her as she died. I told him about the sheer panic of clutching a positive pregnancy test in my hand after I had finally, finally broken free from Sergei and how if he’d found out, he’d never have let me go. I told him about the steps I’d had to take—a fake ID, moving out of state, finding adoptive parents, giving birth alone—just to give my child a better life than anything I could’ve ever managed to provide.

  Then there were the things I didn’t have words for, like the constant ache of missing my baby. And how sometimes it would rise up inside of me when I wasn’t paying attention and grip me like a fist, stealing my breath.

  He must’ve heard something in my voice or saw something in my face because he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me and gripped my face in his hands. And that was when I told him about the pictures that arrived every year on her birthday and how I kept them in an envelope in the hidden compartment of my dresser. And how I was terrified everyday that Sergei would somehow find out and what he might do.

  I hadn’t wanted that life for myself and I sure as hell hadn’t wanted it for a child. Every year that passed brought a kind of hesitant relief. I didn’t dare fully relax until her eighteenth birthday, and even then I knew I’d never really be free until either Sergei or I was dead.

  “Maggie,” Super Agent whispered, his breath making my cheeks cold. And that was when I realized I was crying. “I’ve got you.”

  I shook my head, wondering why he’d even want me. I was a catastrophe on top of a disaster. Even when I tried to do the right thing I always managed to fuck it up. And then he kissed me and every question I had was answered, every doubt soothed away. He loved me. But it wasn’t any kind of love I’d ever felt before. It was better and stronger than anything I ever could’ve imagined.

  He eased out of the kiss and smoothed back the strands of hair that stuck to my cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I captured his hand in mine and tilted my head into the caress. “What’s going to happen to Sergei?”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “If you only knew what I had to do to get out. Cutting my arm off would’ve been less painful. Going back there…to that life…even for a few hours to save Miguel…” I shook my head. “Never again.”

  “Good.” He twisted a ropey length of my hair around his finger. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

  “But he’s going to jail, right?” I really needed that assurance.

  He released the strand and gave me a very direct stare that dared me not to lie to him. “Did he threaten you?”

  Sergei didn’t have to threaten me. I had more than one reminder on my body of how he’d destroyed my life and what he’d taken from me. Besides his tattoo on my chest, I had an intricate lace of flowered vines across my abdomen that not only spelled out the word “precious” in Greek—if you knew to look for it—it covered the stretch marks from my pregnancy. That tattoo ensured I’d never forget what being with Sergei had cost me.

  I shook my head. “Please tell me he’s going away.”

  “If convicted, he could get lengthy jail time and a steep fine.”

  “How lengthy?”

  “Depends on the charges he gets convicted for and the judge. The bigger and broader the swindle the longer the jail term. Judges don’t like to see little old ladies bilked out of their life savings.”

  “What about mob bosses?”

  “You mean Kostya?” I nodded. “Unless Miguel can give us something on him, he’ll probably walk away from this.”

  And that would be worse for Sergei than any prison term. My feelings for Sergei were a jumbled mess, but one thing I knew for sure—I didn’t wish for anything Kostya would visit upon him.

  “What’s going to happen to Miguel? You mentioned immunity. Please tell me that means he’s not going to prison.”

  “The U.S. Attorney’s office is very anxious to hear what Miguel has to say. Miguel’s lawyer should have no problem working out a deal that will likely mean no jail time.”

  “You’re so sexy when you use words like ‘deal’ and ‘no jail time’.”

  “What about words like ‘you’re free to go’?”

  “Ooh, damn. That’s so hot. If this room wasn’t such a fishbowl I’d totally mount you like a polo pony.”

  Laughing his deep, rich chuckle, he stood and held his hand out to me. “Then let’s get out of here and make up for lost time.”

  I put my hand in his and pressed up against him. Fisting the front of his shirt, I hauled him in close. “By the way, Super Agent, I’m not done with you yet either. Not by a long shot.”

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Beth Yarnall writes mysteries, romantic suspense and the occasional hilarious blog post. A storyteller since her playground days, Beth remembers her friends asking her to make up stories of how the person “died” in the slumber-party game Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, so it’s little wonder she prefers writing stories in which people meet unfortunate ends. In middle school, she discovered romance novels, which inspired her to write a spoof of soap operas for the school’s newspaper. She hasn't stopped writing since.

  For a number of years, Beth made her living as a hairstylist and makeup artist and at one time owned a salon. Somehow, hairstylists and salons always seem to find their way into her stories. Beth lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and their rescue dog where she is hard at work on her next novel. For more information about Beth and her novels please visit her website: www.bethyarnall.com.

  You can also visit with Beth on Facebook—www.facebook.com/BethYarnallAuthor and Twitter—www.twitter.com/BethYarnall

  Look for these titles by Beth Yarnall

  Now Available:

  The Misadventures of Maggie Mae

  Wake Up Maggie

  You’re Mine, Maggie

  Making up, making out, and tracking a murderer…

  Wake Up Maggie

  © 2014 Beth Yarnall

  A Maggie Mae Misadventure

  Rearranging your cheating boyfriend’s family jewels isn’t a crime—unless your boyfriend is an Arizona state senator. And he happens to have a bullet in his chest.

  Caught at the scene of the crime, Maggie Mae Castro is the only suspect, and the only one who saw the senator’s real killer—the skank ho he was cheating on her with.

  FBI Special Agent Clive Poole has been shadowing the senator’s every move for nearly a year. He’s wanted
Maggie from afar and knows she didn’t kill the senator, but with temptation close enough to touch, it’s now his job to protect her from danger.

  Maggie finds herself falling for a man who knows everything about her, from her juvie record to her shoe size. But when they learn the senator was not what he seemed, and Maggie becomes the target of not one, but two killers bent on hiding their secrets, keeping Maggie safe is going to be even more difficult for Clive than sticking to his “hands off” policy.

  Warning: Contains sex talk that might lead to something other than sex; a stubborn, sex-denied woman on the edge; a super-protective Super Agent; a pissed-off con who got conned; and a baby-talking baby mama. We’re talking about Maggie Mae Castro here—you never know what’s going to go down.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Wake Up Maggie:

  We were finally getting somewhere, but it sure wasn’t any place I’d ever wanted to visit. Super Agent spun me a web of deceit, double agents and doubling down. Gambling, that is. Apparently, Chuck Puckett had his fingers in more pies than a professional pie-eater. I sat and listened, all the while trying to reconcile what Super Agent was telling me with the Chuck Puckett I knew. His tale just didn’t jibe…if you overlooked the Asian cowgirl thing.

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy? Tall, blond, talked like Madonna? Wouldn’t eat anything that grew underground or walked on two legs?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re the super agent here; why would you need my help? It seems to me you’ve got almost everything figured out. Oh, except who really killed Chuck Puckett. It would be ever so nice if you could riddle that one out.”

  “Did he ever give you anything to hold for him?” he asked.

  “You mean like a bag of money or the passwords to his offshore bank accounts? No.”

  “What about presents?”

  “Just the obligatory Valentine’s, birthday kind.” Chuck Puckett bought me things all the time. Sometimes little things, sometimes big things, but nothing that sent up any flares for me.