by Lauren Layne
“Probably.”
He held her gaze. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again. If I come by too often, the guys outside will start to get suspicious. They know you’re a family friend, so I’ve gotten away with it thus far—”
She held up a palm to stop him. “You don’t have to spell it out for me. I’m fine, really. No expectations, remember?”
He nodded but looked worried by her easy acquiescence, and even as angry as she was at him, she softened, just slightly, because she understood. They’d gotten themselves into a terrible mess.
“I’m fine, Anth. I really am. I’m not going to crumble because you’re gone. I’m not going to wait by the phone, I’m not going to watch the clock, I’m not even going to think about you when you’re not around, I promise. I’m not putting any demands on you.”
I’m not Vannah.
He watched her for another long second and took a deep breath before repeating, “I should go.”
Her heart twisted. But after the rather fabulous speech she’d just made, she couldn’t very well beg him not to go.
“Okay.”
He reached for his coat on the back of the chair, glanced across the room at Duchess, almost as though he meant to say good-bye to the dog, then shook his head and reached for the door handle. Jerked it open.
The door slammed shut as quickly as it had opened, but he stayed inside the coziness of her apartment.
Hadn’t moved.
“Do you like movies?”
“What?” she asked.
“Movies. Do you want to go to one?”
Her jaw dropped. He’d rendered her good and truly speechless.
“With me,” he clarified. “Today. A matinee before you have to head to work.”
“I’d like that,” she managed finally.
“Good.” He returned his jacket to its spot on the back of the chair.
“But first, I get to read your story.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
You ate all the popcorn. All of it.”
Maggie sighed happily. “I know I did. But I have no regrets, Captain. None. Also, Milk Duds? I thought those were more urban legend than actual candy.”
“Watch your mouth, Walker. Duds are classic.”
Maggie heard herself give a girlish giggle that sounded nothing like her usual laugh—it was younger…freer. “Duds. Very cool of you, old man.”
“Admittedly I am feeling old right about now,” Anthony muttered, taking a surreptitious glance at the people around them.
Maggie spread her arms out to the side. “Welcome to Williamsburg.”
It was trendy, hipster Brooklyn at its best, and the two of them didn’t exactly fit in, but it had the best movie selection of anything even remotely near her apartment.
“Where the average age is like, what, twenty-two?” he asked grumpily.
She shrugged. “Pretty much. And it’s Saturday afternoon, what do you expect?”
“Exactly, it’s Saturday afternoon. I’m positive that group over there is inebriated already.”
She rolled her eyes. “Easy, Grandpa. They’re just laughing. And I’m sure your scowl will keep everybody in check.”
“I’m not scowling.”
She flicked his bicep. Hard. Yummy. “You’re always scowling.”
“It’s just my face.”
She smiled. “Well lucky for you, I happen to like it just the way it is.”
He glanced at her, surprise registering before he resumed his usual passive, well, scowl.
“The response you’re looking for is ‘thank you,’” she said, exasperated. “Really, complimenting you is a bit like talking to a black hole. I have no idea what’s going on inside.”
She meant the words jokingly, but he was silent for several moments, his expression thoughtful as they walked out of the theater and toward a nearby restaurant where they’d agreed to grab a quick bite before the start of her shift.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
His hand brushed hers then, so tentatively that she thought it was an accident. Then his pinky touched hers, lingering this time. Not an accident, but still he didn’t reach for her hand. Didn’t take hers in his and link their fingers.
It made her smile.
This man who was so in control of his life—in control of others’ lives—this man who was controlling and demanding and possessive in bed, didn’t know how to initiate the basic handhold.
Maggie’s smile widened. Well, lucky for him she wrote young adult romance; she knew all about the importance of a handhold and how to initiate a proper one.
She brushed her pinky back, encouraging. Then she slid the rest of her fingers along his, giving him a chance to chicken out.
Once they were palm to palm, the world around them seemed to disappear, for one lovely moment.
And then his fingers entwined with hers, and the world snapped back into place, but it was a better place.
It was a place where Anthony Moretti held her hand.
“So what’s next for your book?” he asked.
“Um, finish it?”
He squeezed her hand. “I mean after that.”
Maggie blew out a breath. “Well…editing.”
“You mean like spell-check?”
She smiled. “No, I mean like editing. Going back through and adding scenes and deleting scenes and just making it…better.”
“Okay, so you make it better. And then you sell it?”
“You make it sound simple. But yes. Basically. I’d like to get a literary agent. Someone to shop it to the publishing houses,” she explained before he could ask.
“If it does well, do you think you’ll quit Darby—”
“I can’t think like that,” she interrupted before he could finish the sentence.
“Fair enough,” he said easily. “But what about in your dreams? What do you dream about?”
Maggie glanced at him in surprise. It was a lovely, whimsical thing to say. Completely out of character.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was just another facet of his character. One he kept hidden.
“In my dreams?” she said, happy to play along. “In my dreams, I get to write all day. No bright orange Darby uniform. No uniform of any kind, other than what feels comfy at that particular moment. No carrying trays or pouring coffee, or—”
“Or dumping food/beverage in people’s laps?”
“Well, only if they deserve it.”
They exchanged a smile as he held open the restaurant door for her. It was crowded, so they found a spot at the bar, both opting for a beer and cheeseburger.
“What about you?” she asked, taking a sip of her beer and turning to face him. “What are your dreams?”
“Police commissioner,” he said without hesitation.
“Well, I know that,” she said teasingly. “But get specific. What does it feel like?”
He took a sip of his own beer, considering. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
She shrugged. “You want it so badly. So I figure it must have the same sort of pull on you that being a published author does for me. I was just hoping to understand. As much as you can understand someone else’s passion, that is.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know how to explain.”
Maggie patted his hand. “That’s because you’re a guy. I’ll help. What about it lights you on fire? Is it the prestige? The control? All the good you can do?”
Another sip of beer before he spoke slowly. Hesitantly. “It’s a goal achieved. That satisfaction of wanting something, reaching for it…and getting it. And, yes, it’s about the good I can do. It’s a political position, sure, but you also have the ability to shape a massive law enforcement organization that is at the heart of this city.”
“The heart of this city, huh? You sound kind of like Batman.”
“Great. That’s just what we cops like to hear. That we sound like vigilantes.”
Their burgers arrived, looking every bit as juic
y and decadent as Maggie had hoped for. She swirled her fry in their homemade ketchup. “Okay, so you’re police commissioner in your future, dream life. What else?”
He paused in his chewing, brow furrowed. Swallowed, then washed down with a sip of beer. “What do you mean, what else?”
“Well…” She wiped burger juice off her chin. “Your dad was police commissioner but he must have had hobbies.”
“Sure,” Anth said hesitantly. “He liked to fish, on the rare times that he could get away. And he loved sports. Still does.”
“And he was a father. And husband,” she added, dunking three fries at once and biting them neatly with her front teeth.
Anthony had gone very still beside her, and as she swallowed the deliciously greasy potatoes, she realized what her statement must have sounded like.
She set her burger down. “Anth, I didn’t mean…I wasn’t hinting.”
He was looking down at his plate, looking troubled. “I did want those things. Once.”
“But then…Vannah?”
He set his burger aside, reached for his beer. “Yeah. That was the ultimate reminder of just how opposing my goals might be.”
“But they weren’t for your father,” she said before she could stop herself.
“True. But my mother was also in the police business, so to speak. She was a dispatcher. It’s how they met.”
“That didn’t mean she was hardwired to accept a husband who wasn’t around, whose job was life-threatening every day,” Maggie argued.
“No,” he agreed. “But she went in eyes wide open. She’d spent years watching the realities of law enforcement before she agreed to marry my dad. It’s something…you can’t understand unless you’ve been there.”
“Ah,” she said. Got it. Loud and clear. I’ll never understand because I’m a waitress and an author.
He touched her hand lightly. “Hey.”
She glanced at him. Wary.
His eyes were intense. “I’ve had a really nice time today. And last night. And I just…I need you to know that even though I don’t want more, if I did…”
She put her hand over his mouth then. “Do not finish that sentence, Captain.”
He frowned and pulled her hand away. “Why not?”
She leaned forward, gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.
“Because you’re already very, very close to breaking my heart.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Smiley had gone and done it this time.
His latest hit was a state senator’s house.
As the eleventh time he’d eluded police, it would have made the news regardless, but the high-profile victim ensured that the story moved beyond New York.
Smiley had turned the NYPD into a national laughingstock.
“Where the hell is this guy?”
This from Jozlin, Ray Mandela’s boss, who’d called a meeting to discuss “the problem.”
“We don’t know, sir,” Ray said quietly.
“Obviously,” Jozlin snapped.
He was a tall man. Taller even than Anthony himself, which was rare, and rail thin, with dark hair and a matching goatee that didn’t show even the faintest hint of gray despite the fact that Anthony knew him to be close to fifty.
He glanced around at the room, frustration coming off him in waves. Anth didn’t blame him. The guy reported directly to the police commissioner, and it was rare that they bothered themselves with crimes and issues as small as non-violent home invasion.
But then, it wasn’t every day that a frazzled state senator gave an impromptu, irritable assessment of the NYPD as a bunch of “incompetent figureheads.”
Jozlin fixed his sharp blue gaze on Anthony. “Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been working on this case the longest. You’re seriously going to tell me that your people have no clue where to find this guy? He strikes the same neighborhood every damn time, for God’s sake.”
Anthony refused to flinch. “I’ve got all my resources on it, sir.”
“I should hope so. What about family? This guy didn’t come out of thin air. Someone’s got to know where he is. A mother, a girlfriend…”
“No current girlfriend that we know of. We’ve had eyes on the ex-wife since day one.”
Maggie.
It was hard to imagine that the woman whose soft voice and softer skin, which felt like heaven, had once been married to the man who was shaping up to be Anthony’s very own private hell.
“Right. Ms. Walker,” Jozlin said, looking down at his file. “But we’ve already tried that route, right? And she failed to bring him in.”
It was on the tip of Anthony’s tongue to say that Maggie hadn’t failed at anything. Eddie had been following her.
But then he’d seen Anthony with her and run scared.
It was a hard truth that Anthony had come to swallow in the past couple days. If he hadn’t gotten involved with Maggie, Eddie wouldn’t have known just how close she was to the NYPD.
And the man would likely be behind bars by now.
Maggie was Eddie’s Achilles’ heel, but Anthony’s inability to keep his dick in his pants had also made Maggie Eddie’s weapon.
The guy let them know with every one of those damn smiley-face stickers that he was one step ahead of them, and his connection to Maggie was yet another way he could antagonize them.
“What do we think he’s after? It’s obviously not about big money. The senator’s wife collects art, and Smiley didn’t touch any of it. He ignored a half dozen pieces out in plain sight and made off with an older generation iPad, cash, and some Goddamn foie gras. It doesn’t make sense.”
Anthony cleared his throat and nodded his chin at the file in Jozlin’s hand. “They think he’s an egomaniac, sir. That he’s stealing because he can. Maggie—Ms. Walker—has also indicated that he has a bit of an entitlement complex. Thinks he should have what other people have without working for it.”
Jozlin slapped the folder on the table with a loud whack. “Still doesn’t explain where he’s staying. The guy isn’t doing all of this so he can sleep on the streets. Let’s dig deeper in his connections. Talk to his sister’s babysitter’s cousin, or the friend of a friend of his plumber. Check cameras in fancy hotels, see who’s ordering extravagant room service—”
Anthony opened his mouth to protest that they were already doing that—had been doing it from the second Maggie gave them a list of every known relative, friend, and acquaintance, from the moment that…
Mandela shot him a shut it look before turning back to Jozlin. “Yes, sir. We’re on it.”
“Good,” the taller man muttered. “Now what the hell to do about Senator Horton? I don’t suppose he’s issued a public apology yet for insulting us on the record?”
“Smiley stole the man’s briefs, sir. And his wife’s negligee. I don’t suspect we’ll be getting an apology anytime soon,” Anthony said.
“This fucking fucker,” Jozlin said, falling into his chair. “And we’re sure it’s Eddie Hansen we’re looking for? We’re not chasing the wrong guy?”
“The police sketch from the first and only witness matches photos of Mr. Hansen exactly. And even if the witness’s eye account was off, we can also confirm that nobody has seen or heard from Eddie Hansen since the Smiley hits began. Everything fits.”
“Allegedly,” Jozlin said, steeling his hands over his trim stomach. “Allegedly nobody’s heard from him. Because someone’s got to be lying. And it’s got to be one of the people Ms. Walker contacted,” he mused. “Because obviously he knew where to find her.”
Anthony nodded, hating the way Jozlin kept referring to Ms. Walker with the slightest sneer.
His superior’s next words pissed him off even further. “How do we know it’s not this Maggie that’s in contact with him?”
“It’s not,” Anthony corrected quickly. Too quickly, because Mandela gave him a suspicious, considering look.
“What I mean is,” Anthony
said, calming his tone, “Ms. Walker’s the one that connected us to Eddie Hansen in the first place. She also agreed to cooperate with the sting and to have officers watch her house, and when she saw him outside the diner, she called us immediately.”
Jozlin’s fingers tapped against each other. “Could she be conflicted? Wanting to do the right thing but subconsciously protecting him?”
“No—”
Mandela cut off Anthony’s outraged rant. “We’ll look into it, sir, although by all accounts, Ms. Walker’s been playing it straight with us.”
“Fine,” Jozlin muttered. “And what about the note that Hansen left for her at that bungled sting? Did we look into the guy?”
There was a silence in the room.
Mandela finally spoke. “We don’t know who he is.”
Jozlin sat up straighter. “What do you mean you don’t know? Who did Ms. Walker say it was?”
“She didn’t. Just said that she didn’t have a boyfriend, didn’t know who Smiley might have seen her with. Said it could have been anyone from one of her co-workers who occasionally walks her to the subway station some nights or her cousin she recently grabbed dinner with.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking her ex-husband doesn’t care about her cousin,” Jozlin said. “It’s got to be a guy who Smiley thinks is interested in her. Find him. If Hansen’s still hung up on her, we can use his jealousy. Draw him out that way.”
Anthony felt his blood run cold.
The worst part of it was, Jozlin was absolutely right. If he spoke up, identified himself as “the him” in Maggie Walker’s life, there was a chance—
“I believe it’s one of the Moretti brothers, sir.”
Anthony jolted, his attention turning toward Ray Mandela who gave him an apologetic look.
Jozlin looked thoughtful. “How’s that?”
Mandela cleared his throat. “The Moretti family frequents the diner where Ms. Walker works. She’s a family friend. And she actually saw the police sketch in the first place when Captain Moretti had it at the diner. And Luca Moretti is a frequent patron as well. So’s the other one. The homicide detective. If Hansen’s been watching her, he’s undoubtedly seen her with any one of them at the diner.”
