15 Minutes: Maizie Albright Star Detective

by Larissa Reinhart

  Nash's hands stretched toward my waist.

  I dug my boots into the slippery deck, pulling against Sarah's tug.

  The knife flashed before my face and pushed against my throat. "What are you doing?" snarled Sarah. Below us, the boat stuttered again, scraping against the channel debris. "The helm. Go. Before my keel catches."

  The knife point pierced my skin.

  The hells, I thought, this is it. This is where I get my throat cut. Just like in Season 2, Episode 4: "The Road Not Taken." Julia had tracked her runaway sister to skid row and a junkie had pulled a knife. But thanks to Julia's father's friend, an ex-Israeli commando, she surprised the junkie with her Krav Maga skills.

  "It's going to take more than a knife to get your point across," I recited, using scene blocking muscle memory. I twisted my shoulder back and my hand shot between us. I grabbed Sarah's knife wrist. Trying for a left hook, I slammed my fist against her cheek. Unfortunately, my muscle memory remembered stage combat and not actual Krav Maga. The landed punch was more of a slap.

  "God Almighty." Below me, Nash steadied me with one hand and shimmied my jeans past my hips. A hand plunged between my thighs.

  I grabbed for Sarah's right shoulder.

  Sarah ducked away from my shoulder clutch and jabbed her knee into my exposed groin.

  My hand flew off her wrist. I doubled over, trapping Nash's hand between my thighs.

  An echoey screech marked the slow grind of branches grating the ship's hull. The boat shuddered again.

  I fell into Nash's lap, tangling his arm beneath me.

  Sarah grabbed the cushioned bench as A Little Nauti lurched. Gasping, she glanced from our buffoonery to the looming tree. Cut and run was written all over her face. Or maybe stab and run.

  I crawled forward, feeling the smooth edge of plastic and the rough graze of his hand glide across my skin past my rolled waistband. I continued to crawl, scrambling over Nash's legs toward Sarah. Grabbing an ankle, I yanked.

  She slid off the bench, kicking her Sperry's and slashing with the knife.

  Behind us, a crack burst the air, whizzed past our heads, and red streaked the sky.

  While Sarah glanced up, I hurtled forward. Heaving myself against Sarah's right shoulder, I wedged her arm against the cockpit bench, trapping her knife hand away from my body.

  "Sarah, this is done," I said, gripping her wrist. "And you know it. Just give up already."

  "No," she cried out, pummeling my side with her left fist. "I had a plan."

  "God, you're lucky Jerry made me take that chick boxing class." I held my breath as she socked me with a light kidney punch. Holding her wrist with my right, I cracked my left elbow against her hand. The knife clattered to the floor. "Nash. Help."

  "On it." He crawled toward us and reached for the blade. "I'll take over."

  "Not with your shot up foot," I grunted.

  Beneath me, Sarah writhed and pummeled my back. I slapped, scratched, and kicked like I was on a Real Housewives reunion episode. Rearing back, I readied to rebreak her nose with my forehead.

  Sarah shot up, kicking her feet at my head, and clambered on the bench.

  Avoiding the plaid Sperrys, I fell back and thudded against Nash.

  Scrambling from the bench, Sarah grabbed the rail and jumped into the stern. She spun the wheel, but the sprawling root system had snatched her sailboat and the tide shoved us against the giant tree.

  The engine whined, then bellowed. We pitched sideways. A sickening crack ended Sarah's high seas escape. She spun and jumped over the low transom gate, splashing into the murky water below.

  I reached above Nash to grab the bench. Hands tightened around my waist and pulled me back to the deck.

  "Let her go," Nash whispered in my ear.

  "What?" I slipped my hand off the seat to turn and face Nash. "We can't let her go."

  "She's headed into a swamp. How far do you think she'll get?"

  "What if she comes back to attack us?"

  "She doesn't have any weapons. This boat is good as sunk. What would be the point?"

  "But—” My lip trembled. "I fought so hard. I can’t let her go now."

  "I know you did, kid." Nash scooted to rest his back against the bench, then slipped his arm around my shoulder. "The Coast Guard will see the flare. They'll be here any minute."

  "Why is it taking so long? Shouldn't they have been looking for Ed’s boat?"

  "When we don't appear in the sound, they'll send a cutter up river." He leaned against me and kissed the side of my head. “You did good. We should patch you up. How's that arm?"

  I ignored the stinging cut on my arm and the bruises I could feel forming on my back. "How can you say I did good? You've got a bullet hole through your foot and Sarah Waverly got away."

  "We're alive and she's alive but soon to be captured. If you hadn't found me, I'd be dead. Even though I was pretty sore about that pepper spray."

  A cool breeze dusted my bare thighs. The Simon Millers were still rolled halfway down my hips. Thank God for bikini waxes. I lifted my butt and quickly scooted the jeans up my hips.

  "Now that's a real shame," said Nash. "Seeing your sugar shaker was the highlight of this whole ordeal. I've never seen a bare-assed girl fight. That's one for the bucket list."

  O.M.G. Sarah Waverly hadn't killed me, but I would still die of humiliation.

  "Rip them off, Nash," he cried in a high falsetto and snort laughed.

  "Shut up."

  "What was that about the knife getting a point across?"

  "I was using Julia Pinkerton self-defense. Saying the line helps me remember."

  "Maizie, you're a real pistol."

  I sniffed. "I am?"

  "Sure enough." The hand on my shoulder slipped to my waist. Tipping his head back, he rested his cheek against my hair and sighed. "You'll be all right."

  What did that mean? You'll do all right as an investigator? Or you'll be all right without me? I gave up thinking and turned to face him. "Nash."

  "Yes, ma'am?" A lazy smile slid from scar to dimple, but the sky blue eyes appeared weary. And still red from the pepper spray.

  Heat licked my cheeks. Here I was, still the selfish, spoiled brat worried about my future career while this man had been pepper sprayed, shot, and his business almost destroyed by my hand. "Never mind."

  "Don't hold back on me now." His hand grazed my cheek. Tucking a tendril of hair behind my ear, he winked. "I hear the rumbling of a motor boat. That'll be the cavalry. If you've got something on your chest, better spill it. In a minute, we'll be tied up with the police."

  The sexiest wink ever.

  I no longer thought about my career, but I certainly wasn't going to spill the thoughts speeding through my head after that wink. "How's your foot? Do you want me to cut off the tape and redress it? There's probably a first aid kit below deck. Maybe you need something for the pain? I'm sure Ed kept—”

  Nash's finger pressed against my lips.

  "I'll let EMS handle getting the tape off. You were a little rough with that fish knife last time." Another wink and the finger traced my bottom lip. "I can think of other things that'd help keep my mind off my foot."

  I sighed.

  His fingers stole to the back of my neck and his palm slid to cup my head. "Did I ever tell you that I like green thongs?"

  "No." I pressed against his side. "Too bad my thong is teal."

  He sighed.

  Waves sloshed against the hull. A bright light swept across the river and halted on our boat.

  Backlit, his face was thrown in shadow, but I could still see his lips purse. "When you broke into that cabin, I'd never been so glad or so furious to see anyone in my life."

  "You mostly seemed furious." My hand had crept behind his neck. I laid the other flat on his chest, happy to feel the rapid-fire thumping of the heart beneath.

  His fingers tangled in my hair. "You don't listen to me."

  "I do listen, I just don't always do what you say."r />
  "You're inexperienced. I know better. Dammit, Maizie, you were almost killed today."

  "So were you." My breath caught in my throat as his hand skimmed beneath my destroyed Saint Laurent and found the bottom edge of my bra.

  His fingers dug into my scalp and guided my head toward his. "Doesn't count."

  "Counted enough for me."

  "Hush."

  Our foreheads touched. He held my gaze, then flicked a glance past me. Drawing back, he stared over my shoulder.

  "Nash." I gathered his t-shirt into my hand and tried to yank his attention back. But the roar of a powerboat engine grew and the boat rocked, bumping us against the oak's jutting tree roots and low hanging branches. The engine slowed. I held tight as A Little Nauti bobbed in the sloshing waves.

  "Dammit." Nash's hands flew off my body.

  "What?" I reluctantly peeled my fingers from his t-shirt and glanced over my shoulder.

  A spotlight zoomed on our deck huddle. Turning fully, I raised my hand to my eyes and squinted past the light. Our would-be rescuers didn't wear Coast Guard or Chatham County Sheriff uniforms. They wore jeans and t-shirts and looked a lot like Al's camera team. Except for the man in classic Breton stripes, chinos, and sailor cap.

  Giulio. Jumping, waving, and shouting, "Ahoy, my beautiful mateys."

  I swiveled back to Nash. His look was unreadable, his features grim. Thrusting his hands beneath my bottom, he shoved me to my feet.

  I stumbled to standing, then turned to face him.

  "Nash."

  One eyebrow lifted and he flicked a hand toward the boat. "Your fans await."

  thirty-two

  #ByeFelicia #PaulNewmanEyes

  I waited two days. Not so much waited, because waiting implies sitting around. I spent two days going over police statements and getting tetanus shots. Sometimes with Nash, but mostly alone. Together, we were as awkward as eleven-year-olds at a school dance. He called me Miss Albright. I stuck with Mr. Nash. No slick glances filled with passionate regret. No brushing of fingertips as we passed in the hall. No "see you when this mess is done and we can get back to work." Nothing.

  Not. A. Thing.

  Lamar brought me donuts. Carol Lynn made me hushpuppies, fritters, and homemade fried pickles. Remi gave me her Happy Meal toy. Then took it back. Tiffany and Rhonda delivered a "Shuck it" t-shirt along with hugs and incriminating photos from their all-night party in Savannah. Daddy drove me back and forth to the police station. And Giulio offered me sex.

  Which I turned down.

  But by the third day, my job hunting time had run out. I was ready to beg, borrow, or steal.

  Mostly beg.

  I had to give Judge Ellis some evidence I was working or risk his wrath. I heard through the grapevine (Giulio) that Jolene Sweeney's TMZ leak about my failed investigative attempt had yet to be cleared up while Sarah Waverly's crimes were still under investigation.

  Sarah had been caught in the swamp, soaked to the bone and hanging from a tree after getting bit by a turtle.

  I secretly hoped she got some weird turtle disease. Unless it got her out of her prison sentence.

  For my "begging for a W-4" scene, I wore Valentino. A red, crepe sheath that hid my extra curves and hit me mid-thigh. With little Dolce & Gabbana slides that I slipped on after dismounting from Lucky.

  Glancing up at the Dixie Kreme building, I took a deep, refreshing breath of donut air and marched up the stairs to the Nash Security Solutions office. I paused at the door, decided to skip the knock, and strode through. From the recliner, Lamar opened one eye and smiled, then opened both eyes and gave the Valentino a once over.

  "Is he in?" I said.

  “Oh, he's in, all right."

  "Is he dressed?"

  "I believe so." Lamar noticed my hesitation. "Just go on in. If you wait, you might miss your chance."

  I blew out my breath, grabbed the old-timey knob, and yanked the door wide. Then halted my go-get-her stride and almost dropped my bag.

  Felt like old times.

  Nash was indeed dressed, in another huggy t-shirt and jeans, with his Aircast boot propped on his desk. The other foot hid beneath his desk, evidenced by the bouncing of his chair and the sound of his heel hammering the wood floor in a staccato sure to annoy his guests.

  The hammering stopped. "Miss Albright. I wasn't expecting you."

  I took a small step back, glanced again at the two women seated in his office, and straightened my shoulders. Jolene and Vicki. Yay.

  "I won't be a minute," I said. "You see, I need—”

  "A new wardrobe?" said Vicki, barely looking up from her phone. "Really, Maizie. Valentino at ten in the morning? In Black Pine?"

  Jolene smirked. "Does Valentino make orange jumpsuits?"

  "Mostly red and white, I think," I said, then got her point.

  "Don't worry about claustrophobia in jail, Maizie," she said. "There'll be bars on your room. Unless you get solitary."

  "Shut it down, Jolene," barked Nash.

  Ignoring Jolene and her incriminating statements hinting at the phone booth escapade, I sidled next to the desk and leaned toward Nash for a whisper. "Excuse me, Mr. Nash, but if I could see you for a tiny, quick second? Out in the other office? If we could talk, I'll totally get out of the way."

  "I'm not going anywhere." Nash pointed at his foot. "Get on with it."

  "Of course." I avoided his gaze by reaching into my Tod's tote for the W-4 form I had downloaded and the time sheet I had prepared. I dropped the papers on his desk and slid them before him. "It's about the work I've done for you."

  "We were just talking about that," said Vicki.

  A leaden ball of anxiety lodged in the pit of my gut. Turning to face the women, I leaned a hip against the desk for moral and physical support. "Oh?"

  "Black Pine Group has dropped the sale of Nash Security Solutions." Vicki clicked off her phone and cut her eyes toward Jolene.

  "I'm sorry about your uncle," I said. "I liked Ed."

  Jolene narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure you did."

  "Rein it in, Jolene," said Nash.

  "I've offered to buy out Jolene's half of the company." Vicki brushed invisible lint off her Donna Karan linen skirt. "But only if we could film you working."

  Shizzles.

  "But I don't want you working with Nash.” Jolene arched a brow. "Not to be ugly, but I don't like you. At all. In fact, I pretty much hate your guts."

  Double Shizzles.

  "Don't be spiteful," said Vicki. "You don't have to like Maizie. This is business. There's no room for liking in business. What are you worried about? That she'll sleep with him?"

  "Vicki," I gasped.

  "Really, Maizie." Vicki rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a prude. It'd be better for ratings if you did. Or at least acted like it."

  Jolene set her lips to pout and folded her arms over her jersey wrap dress.

  "I don't know why y'all are here. It's like this has nothing to do with me.” Nash’s voice rose. "Even if it's my own damn business you're talking about."

  "Half yours," said Jolene.

  "The working half." He pushed back in his chair and the cast thudded to the floor with a bang.

  I winced.

  Nash slammed his fist on the desk. "Dammit, Jolene, I'll hire whoever the hell I want. And I'll sleep with whoever the hell I want."

  My eyes flew to the open office door.

  Outside, Lamar had lowered the recliner's footrest and had turned in the chair to watch us. He winked at me.

  Mortified, I switched my gaze to the ceiling.

  "That being said, Miss Vicki," continued Nash. "I do not have relations with my assistants. And I will not have your silly show compromising my investigations. I'm currently exploring other financial backers to buy out Jolene's half."

  No relations with assistants. My eyes dropped from the ceiling to the floor.

  "You can't get another backer without my permission," said Jolene.

  "I've got prints
of David Waverly and you in a green bikini that'd say otherwise."

  Now it was Jolene's turn to match the Valentino red. "That's flippin' blackmail, Wyatt."

  "You're bluffing," said Vicki, who had no issues with blackmail. She reached into her Dior bag, pulled out a credit card, and set it on the desk. "No camera on you or your clients. We mosaic out all products and addresses. Just a few cameos of Maizie doing whatever as filler. The rest we'll film with the cast.”

  My fate signed, sealed, and delivered. I had survived a beat-down and near-shooting by a calculating killer, yet still cowered in Vicki’s shadow. Hadn’t I had my “wax-on-wax-off” moment?

  "No way.” I pushed off my desk lean. "Nash's right. This business is about privacy and security.”

  Vicki’s eyebrows rose a half centimeter.

  “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Vicki, but you can’t interfere anymore. You could have endangered the lives of Al and his crew. Not to mention gotten them involved in a murder one case.”

  Not quite on the same level as the prom queen speech from Mean Girls. But I wasn’t crying or using a rising intonation to reveal my cowardice. Yay me.

  “If you’re worried about how you endangered the crew, there is a simpler solution,” said Vicki. “I’ll even give you a bonus. One that would get Mr. Nash out of hock. Think about it. You could be part-owner instead of a mere assistant.”

  She glanced at the Black card sitting on the desk. Our eyes followed. “Maizie Albright” had been inscribed on the bottom left.

  My fingers itched to stroke that fifteen-digit code.

  “We didn’t discuss this,” said Jolene.

  “Why would I have discussed this with you?” Vicki turned to me. “You could play detective when you’re not on the show. I’d schedule breaks, real breaks, so not to interfere with the investigation business. We wouldn’t film Mr. Nash or his…” She smirked. “Exploits.”

  I could feel Nash studying me.

  Instead of Nash, I stared at the card.

  Just to have the ability to buy out Jolene. That’d be sweet.

  Not to mention writing my own W-4.

  We could hire someone else to do the billing.

  To afford a vehicle with four wheels! Maybe get my blue Jag back.

  Don’t even think about the shopping, I told myself. But I did. Couldn’t help it.