by Lauren Layne
“Well, what would you have done, Luca?” Anth asked, his tone surly. “She has potentially vital information to my case. I can’t treat her differently just because—”
“Because why?” Luc prompted.
“Because she’s hot,” Lopez said, coming all the way into the room to join the Morettis at the window.
Anthony’s hand fisted at Lopez’s casual comment. “Have some respect, Officer; she’s a witness.”
Lopez and Luc exchanged a glance and Anthony realized he’d walked into a classic trap.
“She’s not actually a witness,” Luc said casually.
“Well, she’s an informant,” Anthony said, grasping at straws.
“I apologize for admiring the informant,” Lopez said. “I was out of line.”
Anthony scowled at the other man, looking for just the smallest amount of cheek or insolence to reprimand, but Officer Lopez’s face was all respectful deference.
Luc’s expression, on the other hand, was knowing, and Anthony decided to cut right through the bullshit and get it all out on the table.
“Why do I get the feeling that you two second graders have gotten it into your head that I have an attachment to Ms. Walker?” Anth asked.
“Why would we think that? You don’t have an attachment to anybody.”
Luc’s words were said in a jesting, younger-brother tone, but they caused a pang of…something. But instead of giving into the forbidden emotion, Anthony clung to an easier one:
Resentment.
Resentment that Luc could be cavalier about romantic relationships when he’d met his perfect match in an ambitious career woman who understood a cop’s long hours.
Plus, Luc was an officer, who, for reasons Anthony didn’t understand, seemed to be perfectly content staying at that rank for the time being. By the time Anthony was Luc’s age, he was already a sergeant, but Luc had always been blissfully unburdened by titles. Blissfully unburdened by the crushing legacy of following in Tony Moretti’s footsteps…
And then there was Vannah. That beautiful tragedy of a woman had taught Anthony one very important lesson:
He could be a cop…
…or a boyfriend.
Or was the operative word.
He couldn’t be both.
And he sure as hell couldn’t be a husband. Some cops, perhaps, were cut out for the double life. His father had made it work. Luc was making it work. His brother Marco had actually put the relationship first, moving to godforsaken Los Angeles for the sake of his girlfriend.
But guys like Anth and Vincent…they had the sort of single-minded dedication that didn’t allow them luxuries like relationships.
Not that Luc and Marc weren’t dedicated to the force. They’d die for the PD. Literally.
But…
Anthony’s wandering mind snapped to attention at the realization that there was movement in the interrogation room. Maggie had handed over her notes to his two detectives and was shaking their hands, a friendly smile in place even though her face looked tired…nervous.
Nervous because he’d made a complete mess of things, because for reasons that made no sense, Maggie Walker made him act like a complete moron.
Luc was moving toward the door, Lopez on his heels, and Anthony frowned. “Where are you going?”
His younger brother’s tone was suspiciously patient. “I’m going to check on Maggie. See how she’s holding up.”
“She’s holding up fine,” Anth said. “For God’s sake, you guys act like I cuffed her and read her her rights. I just asked her some questions. And yes, I put her in the interrogation room, but she chose not to do it in her own apartment—”
“Why’d you have Browning and Poyner ask the questions?” Luc interrupted.
Anthony paused, annoyed at being interrupted, even more annoyed at the speculative look on his brother’s face. “They’re the leads on the case.”
“And you’re the boss. You found the ‘informant.’ You know the informant. And you know this case every bit as well as they do. Perhaps better. Why didn’t you ask the questions?”
“It’s not protocol,” Anth responded.
He could have sworn the look on his brother’s face was akin to disgust, but then Luc had turned away, shaking his head and heading out the door. “Lopez, whadya say we give Mags a ride to wherever she needs to go?”
It was on the tip of Anthony’s tongue to remind Luc that that wasn’t his job.
And that as an on-duty officer, he couldn’t just be driving off to Park Slope to give a waitress a ride home.
But he stopped himself before he could issue the order.
Anth told himself it was because it wasn’t his place; he may outrank Luc, but he wasn’t his brother’s captain. Luc and Lopez were in a different precinct. He didn’t issue their orders.
But when his eyes caught on the weary features of Maggie Walker as his detectives led her from the room, he knew his reasons had nothing to do with the chain of command, and everything to do with the fact that Maggie Walker looked like she needed a friend.
Something that Anth could never be for her.
He didn’t even know how. But he wanted to be there. Wanted to be the one she called—turned to.
And that bothered him more that he’d ever admit to his brother.
Or himself.
Chapter Six
Saturdays were usually Maggie’s day off, but every now and then she filled in for a co-worker. The extra shift meant extra cash.
And every time, she regretted it.
Saturdays at the Darby Diner always meant a weird combination of lost tourists, tired locals, and the hungover twenty-somethings who rolled in still smelling like vodka and stale cologne.
Maggie pulled one plate from the warming lamp even as she returned another. “Carlos, can I get fresh hash browns on this one?”
A dark, round face with a slight sheen from the heat of the fryer appeared with narrowed eyes. “Who didn’t like my potatoes?”
“Table nineteen. The lady said they weren’t evenly cooked,” Maggie said, looking at the ticket for her pancakes, trying to remember who they were for. Usually she kept the details all in her head, writing things down more for habit than necessity, but her head wasn’t in the game today.
“I’ll show her evenly cooked,” the fry chef said with an irritated glance in the direction of table nineteen. “I’ll evenly cook her.”
“Please?” Maggie said, giving Carlos her best smile.
Her friend must have heard something in her tone, because his dark eyes flicked back to her. “Someone give you trouble, carina? You want Carlos to take care of them?”
She winked. “How about Carlos just takes care of those hash browns?”
He blew her a kiss. “Anything for you.”
Maggie deposited the pancakes in front of the sweet elderly man sitting at the counter, refilled his coffee, and delivered a fresh batch of perfectly golden hash browns to table nineteen, only to be informed that the patron was no longer hungry.
She got a seven-cent tip for her troubles.
“A nickel and two pennies,” Maggie said into a glass of orange juice during a rare lull in the rush. “Why even bother?”
Her fellow waitress Kim came up beside her to inspect the haul. “Could be worse,” she said. “Yesterday I got a condom.”
Maggie’s orange juice halted halfway to her mouth. “Please tell me it wasn’t used.”
“No,” the flashy blonde said. “But I’ve gotten one of them before too.”
“Gross,” Maggie muttered.
Kim winked. “That’s nothing. Stick with me, kid, you’ll learn things about this business that will literally make your skin crawl.”
“Oh stop,” Maggie told her friend, setting her glass aside and scanning the diner to make sure none of her patrons were looking distressed. “You’re all of, what, three years older than me? Quit acting like an oh-so-wise mama bear.”
“But I am an oh-so-wise mama bear. I have
two kids and a dozen stretch marks to prove it. And you may match me in age, but experience…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Maggie said, patting her friend on the cheek. “You’ve been waiting tables since you were sixteen. I remember.”
“And a good thing too,” Kim said, running a hand over her fluffy platinum blond bangs. “Twenty years’ experience is exactly what’s preventing me from ‘accidentally’ spilling coffee over the jerk at table two that keeps calling me Baby Slam.”
“Baby Slam? That’s a thing now?”
“Dunno,” Kim said. “But whether or not Urban Dictionary deems it legit, I’m still about to dump coffee all over him.”
Maggie groaned. “Don’t even talk to me about spilling coffee.”
“Oh right,” Kim said, leaning back against the counter and putting her hands in her apron pockets. “The captain.”
Maggie winced. “Can we not talk about him?”
“You brought him up.”
Maggie gave her friend a suspicious look. “What’s that tone? There’s something in that tone I don’t like one bit.”
Her friend merely smiled, her slightly crooked front teeth only adding to her allure. Kim Bowers had the hair of a Baywatch extra, the body of a Playboy bunny, the mouth of a trucker, and the type of fierce loyalty and friendship that Maggie wasn’t at all sure that she’d earned, but was more than willing to accept.
“I heard about the sandwich incident the other day,” Kim said sympathetically. “The man really makes you nervous, huh?”
Maggie poured more orange juice from the machine even though she didn’t want it. “He doesn’t make me nervous. He’s just…”
She broke off, not really knowing how to continue. She hadn’t told anyone about why she’d dumped Captain Moretti’s sandwich on him that day.
One of the benefits of getting a fresh start, with a new job in a new town, was the new friends. And the perk of the new friends was that they didn’t know your ex-husband. Didn’t know what abysmal taste you had in men, or know that you’d spent the better part of your twenties letting said men tear you down.
“He’s so cocky,” Maggie said, tapping her nails on her cup. “He’s—”
“Gorgeous, domineering, and sexy as hell?”
Yes. “Not what I was going to say. I don’t get how a guy from such a wonderful family can end up such a jerk.”
Kim wiggled her winged eyebrows. “Why don’t you go find out?”
“Huh?”
Kim jerked her chin over Maggie’s shoulder. “Table seven.”
Maggie spun around, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing him.
It wasn’t Anthony Moretti at table seven. It was, however, his mother and sister.
“Too bad,” Kim mused. “Today’s berry cobbler would have looked really good all over his uniform.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“You want me to take the Moretti ladies?” Kim asked.
“Nah, I got it,” Maggie said, already moving toward them. These Morettis, she liked. These Morettis didn’t keep her up at night.
Maria and Elena Moretti saw her coming, their faces lighting up with broad smiles. Maggie smiled back.
“You’re looking pretty today, Maggie,” the older Moretti woman said, standing to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Maggie accepted the hug and had to remind herself not to linger too long, not to cling too desperately.
What would it be like to have a mother like this? One who was warm and soft and smelled like almond and sugar?
“You are looking pretty,” Elena said, holding out her arms and wiggling her fingers for her chance at a hug.
Maggie laughed and complied. “If by ‘pretty’ you mean tired.”
“I don’t, but I don’t blame you one second for being exhausted. Luca told us what happened. How Anth dragged you by your hair like a caveman into the interrogation room—”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Maggie said with a little smile as both women sat back down in their chairs. “It was more like—”
“More like my son forgot that you weren’t one of his crack-whore-off-the-street informants?” Maria supplied.
“Mother,” Elena said in mock horror. “Crack whore? My delicate ears.”
“You don’t raise four cops and stay married to another for most of your life and not pick up a few things,” the Moretti matron said, primly fluttering a paper napkin to her lap as though it were fine linen.
“Anyway. We apologize on Anth’s behalf,” Elena said.
Anth. It was a strange sort of nickname, but she supposed it made sense considering Tony was already taken by his father.
“He was just doing his job,” Maggie said with more magnanimity than she actually felt.
She wasn’t so much mad that the man had expected her to answer questions. If it really was Eddie committing these crimes, she was more than happy to help.
It was that he hadn’t even bothered to show up.
Not even to say hello, and certainly not to say thanks.
“So what brings you ladies out this way?” Maggie asked, pulling her little notebook out of her apron to keep her hands busy. It was important to remember that she was their waitress, not a friend or family member joining them for a ladies’ lunch.
“A little shopping,” Maria said. “Tony’s birthday is next week, so it’s about the only time of the year I can leave the house without him asking a million questions about what I’m doing, where I’m going, and so forth.”
“Ah,” Maggie said knowingly. “And did we find the perfect gift?”
Maria waved her hand. “Please. I found it months ago. Ordered it online.”
Maggie tapped her nose. “Brilliant. So the birthday was merely the excuse for a shopping expedition.”
Elena gestured to the half dozen bags at her feet. “Can we help the fact that there were fabulous stores all over the place? It was terrible. Just terrible.”
“You poor things,” Maggie cooed, playing along.
“Wanna see my new shoes?” Elena’s blue eyes twinkled up at her.
Both Luc and Elena had their mother’s blue eyes, while the rest of the kids had their father’s dark brown gaze. Although Anthony’s eyes were just slightly lighter than Vincent’s, almost a sultry gold color…
Don’t go there.
“I’d love to see your new shoes,” Maggie said, knowing that she should probably make the rounds at her other tables, but also not wanting to turn down this rare gift of female friendship.
She’d missed this. She had Kim of course, but she and Kim commiserated mostly about work. It was nice to enjoy female company without the added spice of you’ll never guess what table four just did.
And with Gabby in Colorado, and the rest of her “friends” having taken Eddie’s side during the divorce, well…
Let’s just say Maggie was happy to gobble up every bit of kindness the Moretti women threw her way.
Elena proudly displayed a high-heeled patent leather stiletto that Maggie cooed over, even as she acknowledged that even if the gorgeous designer shoes had been in her price range, she’d never have a place to wear them.
Elena was an attorney; both her income and her work wardrobe were better suited to stilettos than Maggie’s dingy diner income.
“I’ll check back on you ladies in a couple minutes,” Maggie said after confirming that, yes, Elena’s shoes were bound to land her a promotion and, no, Maggie really couldn’t consider borrowing them. Although the offer was tempting. Especially since she and Elena were the same shoe size.
After clearing two of her tables, getting yelled at by a third about a “skimpy portion of sausage,” Maggie finally returned to the Moretti women with iced tea for Elena and water for Maria.
“What can I get for you ladies?”
“Are we too early for lunch?”
Maggie checked her watch—a cheap, plastic affair she’d picked up for herself at the drugstore.
She tried hard not to look at the
dainty gold band on Elena’s wrist with delicate diamonds encircling the face. She’d always been a sucker for watches. Eddie had bought her one for their first anniversary; she’d been over the moon until she’d learned he’d won it at a poker game, and that its original intended recipient had been the loser’s sixteen-year-old daughter.
“The kitchen will switch over in a couple minutes, if you don’t mind waiting?”
“Not at all.” Maria glanced around. “I’ll take the turkey sandwich please…the special. With salad.”
“I’ll have a club,” Elena said, handing Maggie her menu. “Hold the salad, extra fries.”
Maggie smiled. Her kind of woman.
She started to back away to put their order in when Maria reached out and touched her hand. “Maggie…”
Maggie met the older woman’s eyes.
Maria smiled softly as she searched her face. “You know, if you ever need someone to talk to…”
Maggie’s gaze shifted between the two women, and everything clicked into place. “You guys came into the diner on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Well, of course,” Elena said. “Because we were hungry.”
Maggie gave the woman a steady look and Elena pursed her lips. “Okay, and maybe we wanted to check up on you. It can’t have been easy learning…”
Maria made a quick clucking noise, and Elena glanced around before lowering her voice. “It can’t have been easy learning that your ex-husband is suspected of…you know.”
Maggie swallowed. “Eddie hasn’t been a part of my life for nearly two years.”
Maria touched her hand again. “But you loved him once. Didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Maggie said automatically, even though she wasn’t at all sure it was true.
Had she loved Eddie?
Or had she been so desperate to escape her father’s and brother’s constant neediness that she’d walked right into an even worse situation?
“Well, regardless of what kind of tool your ex was, we just came to tell you that Anthony’s an ass,” Elena said.
“Elena,” her mother murmured softly.
“He put her in the interrogation room, Mom.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Maggie said. “Really. And it’s over now, so no harm done.”
