by Lauren Layne
Elena and Maria exchanged a glance…a sort of unspoken mother/daughter communication that Maggie was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been able to crack even if her own mother hadn’t disappeared into the night before Maggie even reached puberty.
“What?” she said warily.
Elena leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking every bit a beautiful, confident woman who knew what she wanted…and more alarming, who got what she wanted.
It was Maria who spoke up, her facial expression all the more effective for its subtlety. “Maggie, sweetie, we’re probably overstepping our bounds here…”
“Definitely overstepping,” Elena said unapologetically.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Maria asked, dropping her tone just slightly to avoid eavesdroppers.
Maggie’s eyes went wide as she realized the real reason that these two women had gone out of their way to come to the diner.
A setup.
“Um.” It was all Maggie could manage.
Maria reached forward to pat her hand. “What I mean, is there a special man in your life?”
“Yeah, Mom, I think she probably knows that’s what you meant,” Elena said with a little wink at Maggie.
“No. And no,” Maggie said. “Not seeing anyone. No special man.”
Maria sucked in her cheeks, looking thoughtful. “Would you like there to be a special someone?”
“Oh. Well. Sure. Someday. I mean, everyone wants…I don’t know,” she said finally.
“I get it,” Elena said, taking a sip of her iced tea. “I’ve never been married…or divorced. But I’ve dated some real pigs. It’s hard to want to put yourself out there again.”
Her mother gave her a look. “When have you ever put yourself out there?”
Elena ignored her mom. “Look, Maggie, we like you. A lot. And with the exception of Luc who somehow managed to snag Ava, the rest of them have horrible taste in women…”
“Only because they need a little help in seeing what’s right in front of them,” Maria said. “Say, a pretty waitress with a nice smile…”
Maggie blew out a long breath, wondering how the heck she was going to dodge this situation. “I’m flattered. So flattered. And I adore you two…your whole family is amazing, but…”
“But…?” Maria prompted when she didn’t continue. “You don’t like my boys?”
Uh-oh.
Luckily, Elena jumped to her rescue.
“Easy, mama bear,” Elena soothed. “You have to admit, they’re all a bit overdosed on testosterone and a little lacking in romantic charm. Can you blame Maggie for wanting someone a little more refined?”
“It’s not that,” Maggie broke in, even as her brain begged her to be quiet. “I actually like the…testosterone.”
She winced at Elena’s smirk, but it was true. She always wanted to like a nice guy with pretty manners, maybe a soft sense of humor, but when it came to who caught her eye…who she thought about on restless nights, well…
Then Maggie made it worse because she kept talking. Rambling, actually. “It’s just, I don’t think Anthony and I could ever work. He’s so, um, rigid, and I can’t seem to look at him without dumping coffee in his lap, and he’s so—”
She broke off when she realized,
(a) she was babbling
(b) Maria and Elena were both looking at her in amusement and confusion.
“Who said anything about Anthony?” Elena said, sitting back in her chair with a puzzled expression.
“We thought you might be a good fit for Vincent, honey,” Maria said. “He’s always so standoffish, but we’ve noticed that he talks to you. Even smiles at you from time to time.”
“In other words, he likes you,” Elena said. “Trust me that is a rare phenomenon indeed.”
Oh. Oh.
They weren’t trying to set her up with the captain.
Of course not.
As if their precious captain would go for a waitress.
And Vincent was…nice.
She liked Vin. He wasn’t as friendly as Luc, but there was something about him that was steady. Reliable. Honest.
Vincent Moretti was a good man.
She should absolutely be interested, especially if he was interested.
And yet…
She bit her lip.
“Mags,” Elena chided. “Do you have a thing for Anth?”
“No!”
“Good.”
Both Maggie and Elena glanced at Maria in surprise, and the older woman shrugged. “It’s not that my Anthony isn’t a good man. It’s just that he’s not…he’s not suitor material. Not yet, anyway.”
Suitor. Maggie nearly smiled. “What do you mean?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
Elena let out a sigh. “Mom’s right. Anthony’s a good guy. The best. But he’s um…cautious.”
Maria nodded in agreement, looking a little sad.
“Has he always been that way?” Maggie asked, even as she ordered herself not to act so interested.
“Yes, somewhat,” Maria hedged. “But it’s gotten much worse since that horrible experience with that poor girl who died…”
Don’t ask. Don’t pry…
Someone had died?
“Vannah,” Elena said with a touch of snark. “Who was—”
“Elena.” Maria’s tone was soft but rife with meaning. Don’t go there.
To Maggie’s surprise, Elena listened to her mother and didn’t finish her sentence.
“So that’s a no on Vincent then?” Elena asked, changing the subject.
Maggie opened her mouth, wanting to say no…that she couldn’t possibly date one brother while dreaming about another.
But then she remembered the way Anthony hardly spoke to her…the way he hadn’t even come to see her when she’d stopped by the precinct at his request.
“That’s a maybe,” she said with a small smile.
“Good girl,” Elena said happily. “I know Vincent’s a little rough around the edges, but believe it or not, he’s the least emotionally damaged of the bunch. And since it’s obvious he’s never going to make a move on Jill—”
“Jill, as in his partner?” Maggie asked curiously. She’d only met Jill a handful of times when she tagged along with the Morettis, but she had the impression of a bright, bubbly blonde who was the polar opposite of quiet, serious Vincent.
“Yup,” Elena confirmed, her voice all happy-gossip. “For the longest time, we all thought…Mags? Maggie, are you okay?”
No.
No, Maggie wasn’t okay.
Her entire world was tilting.
Maggie heard Elena’s voice from a mile away and was distantly aware of Maria touching her arm softly.
Someone cried out, and she felt Kim’s arm go around her waist as her friend lowered her into the chair Elena had just vacated, while Maria pushed a water glass into her hand.
“Maggie, talk to me,” Kim said, crouching down in front of her and taking both hands. “You look ready to faint. Aren’t you supposed to put your face between your knees or something? Or maybe—”
“I’m fine,” Maggie said, finally tearing her eyes away from the window.
He was gone. Or maybe he had never been there at all. Or maybe…
It was Maria Moretti’s no-nonsense, motherly voice that finally got through as she cupped Maggie’s face in her hands and stared down at her face with a gentle but stern gaze. “Maggie. Talk.”
Maggie licked her lips and blinked away the sudden sting of tears.
And then she talked.
“I’m pretty sure I just saw my ex-husband watching me through the window.”
Chapter Seven
On the Moretti Scale of Tempers, Anthony fell somewhere in the middle.
Elena, Vincent, and their father were the hotheads.
Luc, Marc, and their mother were more the peacemakers.
Anth was in between. He may not be as mellow as Marc, who could probably coax a skittish horse onto a sinking Titanic,
but neither was he as prone to bursts of fury as Vincent when a killer got off easy, or as fiery as Elena when she lost a case.
But at this moment, as he stood outside in the rain in the alley waiting for a stubborn, foolhardy waitress to finish up her shift, he was mad. Good and mad.
And by the time Maggie Walker finally slipped out the back door of the diner, he’d moved beyond mad.
He was well on his way to pissed.
“Ms. Walker.”
She jumped so suddenly that she dropped the container of whatever she was carrying. The sight of meat loaf and mashed potatoes splattered all over the pavement in front of her wasn’t enough to take the edge off Anthony’s anger.
But the expression of bewildered dismay as she looked down at the now inedible food was.
“Well, there goes dinner.”
The quietly uttered statement was made all the more impactful from the lack of moping in it. She was just stating the sad fact as though it was her lot in life…to have strange men sneaking up on her and to have her dinner turned upside down in a dark alley.
And for that matter, it was nearly two a.m. She hadn’t had dinner yet?
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she cut him with an irritated look. “Surely you’ve worked a double in your day, Captain. Did you always find time to eat?”
He bit the inside of his cheek as he moved closer to her, ignoring the fact that it had started to rain harder. “Actually, it doesn’t really matter how many hours captains work. We don’t get paid overtime.”
Now why had he gone and said that? What was wrong with him?
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. What about before your illustrious captain title? Did you get overtime then?”
“Yes,” he said quietly, watching in annoyance as she knelt to pick up the food. “God, Maggie, you can’t eat that now.”
She glanced up, startled, perhaps by the use of her first name, before annoyance resettled on her pretty features. “I’m not that hard up, Captain. I was just going to clean it up and put it in the Dumpster so Carlos doesn’t step in my mess when he leaves.”
“Who’s Carlos?” He knelt beside her, taking the two ends of the plastic takeout container from her and using it to scoop the still warm leftovers onto one side.
“My fry chef,” she replied, letting him clean up. “Well, not my fry chef. But he’s my friend. He worked a double as well, so he’ll be leaving soon.”
“You should have waited for him to walk you.” He walked the couple steps to the Dumpster and tossed the leftovers over the edge, careful not to let anything splatter onto his rain jacket.
“Well, what do you know, this just might mark our first meeting when I managed not to spill on you,” she said with a bright smile that was totally out of place, given the increasing rain, her lack of a jacket, and the fact that her dinner was now food for the rats.
And for some reason, that too-bright grin was exactly the impetus he needed to remember his anger.
“You saw your ex-husband.”
Her smile vanished and she turned as though to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him.
Her hazel eyes were a mossy green in the dim light near the back door of the restaurant, but there was nothing soft in them as she glared up at him. “That’s why you’re here? Because I thought I saw my ex-husband?”
“No, I’m here because you thought you saw your ex-husband, who you know full well is the prime suspect in a string of high-profile burglary cases, and you didn’t fucking call me.”
She didn’t even flinch at his outrage. “You’re acting like I withheld information. I did call the cops! Right away.”
“Yeah. My little brother.”
“Who also goes by Officer Moretti,” she spat back. “He’s a cop, just like you.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t Luc’s case.”
“Who was I supposed to call?” she asked incredulously. “You?”
The bafflement in her voice nagged at him, even though it shouldn’t have. “Yes, me! It’s my case!”
She spread her hands out to the side as though to indicate there was no problem. “Obviously all the minions beneath you gave you the update. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”
“You should have called me,” he repeated, taking a step closer.
She rolled her eyes and cupped her hands over her elbows, as though trying to physically prevent herself from shivering.
Anthony swore softly and shrugged off his jacket, draping it around her shoulders, being careful not to touch her.
She glanced up at him, her eyes big and shocked. Jesus, what did she think of him? He wasn’t a total animal.
“You’ll ruin your uniform,” she said, glancing down at his shirt, which was already getting damp.
“It’ll dry,” he said roughly. “It’s not like it’s Armani.”
Damn it, he thought, watching as she seemed to cuddle into his jacket. Damn it to hell, because Anthony wanted nothing more than to tug her to him.
To drop his mouth to hers and taste her.
Damn this woman.
Chapter Eight
Cuddling in Anthony Moretti’s coat was the best thing that had happened to her all week.
It didn’t matter what brand it was, or whether it was designer, because it smelled…amazing.
It was a cliché, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help turning her head just the slightest bit to inhale the scent of man. It had been so long—too long.
And even before things had turned really awful between her and Eddie, he’d mostly smelled like beer and Doritos.
Captain Moretti’s coat smelled like rain and soap.
But the stab of longing dissipated the second her eyes returned to his and saw the harsh edge of irritation as well as the fact that he was staring at her mouth. Hard.
He shook his head, and she wondered if she imagined the flare of heat in his eyes. Especially since his next words emerged as an all-out bark.
“You’re sure it was Eddie Hansen you saw yesterday?”
Maggie lifted her chin. “I’m sure it’s all in the report. I told Luc what happened, and then when he called detectives Browning and Poyner, I told them as well.”
Anthony swore and ran a hand through his hair, the gesture having virtually no effect because it was cut so short. Probably to avoid such nuisances as styling it.
If she knew anything about this man it was that he didn’t like nuisances and that he definitely had put her into that category. It was written all over the hard line of his jaw, the flat, unsmiling mouth and unreadable eyes.
“I read the damn report,” he said. “What I don’t understand is why you called my brother instead of me.”
“You’re sounding like a broken record, Captain Moretti.”
“And you’re dodging the question, Ms. Walker.”
Maggie licked her lips nervously and flicked a glance at the back door of the diner, wondering where the heck Carlos was. She could use a distraction right about now before she started sniffing this man’s jacket again.
“Ms. Walker—” he prompted.
Okay. Enough was enough.
“You want to know why I didn’t call you?” She took a step forward and jabbed a finger at his chest.
He didn’t take a step back, but his eyes did widen slightly in surprise, and she felt a little thrill at having an advantage with this man—for once.
“I didn’t call you because you’re an unfeeling jerk,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest again.
The diva gesture was oddly satisfying.
And yet, the man didn’t show any reaction—not so much as a blink.
“A jerk,” he said finally, after they both let the silence stretch on.
Maggie licked her lips, already regretting her choice of words. “I called Luc, because he’s…nice.”
“And I’m not?”
“I don’t know you well,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “
but that day at the station when you asked me to come down to answer questions…you weren’t even there.”
“I was there.” His voice was gruff.
“I don’t mean watching me through a one-way mirror, Captain.”
He glanced down at his feet, his chin dipping down to his chest, and the gesture was so boyishly appealing that she started to soften.
Then he looked up. “I’m just doing my job, Ms. Walker. I don’t have time to hold the hand of every potential informant or witness.”
All encroaching warm thoughts she’d had evaporated.
She shrugged out of his coat and shoved it at him, not caring that her uniform was getting soaked and was probably clinging a little too snugly. It had been sunny and unseasonably warm when she’d left home yesterday, and she hadn’t planned on leaving the diner at two in the morning…
“You want me to tell you that I’ll call you next time I see Eddie?” she asked. “Well I won’t. One, because Eddie Hansen is the biggest coward I’ve had the displeasure of knowing. If he knows I saw him, he’ll be long gone by now. And two…two, I won’t be calling you, because I don’t owe you anything.”
She spun on her heel, a gesture less sexy than it could have been thanks to the black utilitarian shoes she wore while working, but as with before, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back around before she could storm off.
Except this time, his grip was a bit firmer, his tug a bit harder, and she came up abruptly against his chest, the coat she’d rejected sandwiched between them.
“You’ll call me,” he said, his eyes simmering with temper.
“I won’t,” she said again, stubbornly. “So you can drop the caveman routine.”
“I could charge you with obstruction of justice—”
“Oh, stuff it,” she said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t call the cops; I just said I wasn’t going to call you personally. Because there’s nothing personal about you. You’re overbearing and grumpy and—”
“I’m not Luc. I get it,” he snapped. “But he’s taken, so get over the crush.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have absolutely no interest in Luc. But while we’re speaking of me and your brothers, did you know that when your mom and sister were in the Darby Diner yesterday they were trying to set me up?”
