A vision of his mother bearing down on him flashed and his breath caught.
Maggie’s eyebrows arched, wrinkling the skin on her forehead. “Whoa, cowboy. It was a joke.”
“What?”
“Playing the muscle. It was a joke. This crowd is ornery, but I checked their credentials and talked to all of them going in. They’ll be civil.”
“It’s…” What? How would he explain this? The big bad football star scared of the media? “No,” he said. “It’s not them.”
Damned Marlene. Her fists might not pummel him anymore, but she still rattled him. “It’s…” He waved it off. “Nothing.”
“Okay.” She glanced at the door. “Do you need a second? Is your statement ready?”
He slipped from the car and snagged his jacket from the back, sliding it on and adjusting the cuffs, all under Maggie’s watchful eye. At six foot four he had a good six inches on her and peered down, taking in her deep brown eyes and the tiny crease between her brows he itched to smooth away. Which brought his mind to her curling into him and tucking her head under his chin. These thoughts. Not good. It might have been the eighty-degree day, but the heat storming between them couldn’t be denied.
“My PR guru is MIA. I’m on my own. How do I look?”
Gaze glued to his, a small smile played on her lips. “I think you know how you look. You’ll have them eating out of your hands. But are you sure you want to wing this?”
“I’m a big boy,” he said. And, man, that sounded like a seriously bad come-on. One that shattered the amazing energy between them. He should have kept his damned mouth shut.
He winced. “Did that sound as bad as I thought?”
She lifted her hand and—please let her touch me—poked his chest. Not exactly the touch he was hoping for, but…
“Relax. Big boy. It wasn’t as if you’d commented on the size of your feet.”
He barked out a laugh. God, that felt good. Twice today, Maggie had made him laugh. And it wasn’t the sarcastic, resigned one he’d perfected.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being the only person to make me laugh in days.”
“Eh. I do what I can. We need to get in there before someone spots you. What are your thoughts about your statement?”
He shut the car door and hit the lock. “Trying something new.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m gonna be myself. Just answer the damned questions and try not to totally blow it.”
* * *
Jayson Tucker. Smooth, charming, handsome. He sat front and center at a folding table, complete with the Triple B borrowed tablecloth Grif insisted on. Grif, always worrying about the details.
Jayson—seemingly unfazed by the microphone and crowd—fielded rapid-fire questions while Maggie stood to his right conjuring images of him doing naughty things to her. Oh, these thoughts. So not good when she was supposed to be protecting him. But, hello? She had needs.
And 20/20 vision.
Forget the lust and do your job.
She scanned the room, sweeping back and forth a few times. So far, everyone had behaved.
“Tuck.” An older man held up a pen. “What about anger management? Are you checking yourself in?”
Anger management. For throwing one punch. If every person she encountered throwing a punch was shipped off to anger management, there’d be one heck of a shortage on counselors. Mr. Jacoby would be a full-time resident.
“Guys,” Jay said. “I’m not minimizing what happened. No one should ever behave the way I did. Let’s keep it in perspective. It was one incident. I’m not perfect. I get mad.”
By now, thirty minutes in, Maggie would have lost all patience. Her mind would be blown, and yet, he answered every question, no matter how insulting or personal, in a calm, direct manner. Another vision of him—naked this time—flashed and she peeled her gaze away. All that charm. Too damned distracting.
“No anger management, then?”
“Next question,” Grif said from his spot on the side wall near the door.
A platinum blonde with too much makeup waved a notepad. “Rumor has it Dallas is interested. Have they made an offer?”
“I can’t discuss that. Sorry.”
“Have there been any offers?”
Jay laughed. “Believe me, when a decision has been made about my future, you’ll be the first to know. Next question.”
A slew of questions sent the noise level skyrocketing and Jayson pointed to a man in the back. “Joe, let’s hear it.”
“Thank you,” the reporter said. “Have you heard from Eric Webb? Is he pressing charges?”
“I haven’t heard from him. On any matters.”
The entrance door came open and a woman with stringy dark hair entered. She wore jeans, leather boots, and a blue sweater topped off with a baggy jacket.
Jacket.
On an unusually warm day.
Jayson answered another question that Maggie had missed, but he must have nailed it because the room broke out in laughter. The man was good.
She scanned the crowd again, bringing her attention back to the woman at the door. Every female in the room was either a reporter or a camera operator. The reporters were dressed for television in suits or dresses or some form of business attire. The camera operators dressed more casually, their appearance similar to the woman at the door. Only she was missing one thing.
A camera.
Maggie tilted her head. Someone’s assistant, perhaps.
If so, why would she still be at the door and not finding her coworkers?
Time to check her out.
Maggie pushed off the wall and strode toward the woman, her movements direct, but not aggressive. The woman, without a doubt, spotted her and shifted left, refusing to make eye contact.
Uncomfortable.
Another reporter called out a question. Something about how many more years Jayson hoped to play. Once again, the sound of his voice registered, but Maggie didn’t catch the words. Her focus was on the woman, who saw Maggie bearing down. She took two steps before Maggie caught up and casually herded her toward the wall, away from the crowd.
“Hello,” Maggie said. “Are you looking for someone?”
“I…” Eye shift. “Um…” Another shift. “Yes.”
Whoever this woman was, she tripped every one of Maggie’s tension meters. “Which station are you with?”
She peered over Maggie’s shoulder. To Jayson.
Maggie shifted right, blocking the woman’s view. “Stay with me here. What station are you with?”
The woman’s lips pinched and she angled left—now she wanted to be a PITA?—where she gazed at Jay with an odd mix of desire and…
Don’t know.
The woman met Maggie’s gaze again and Maggie homed in on sea-green eyes that glowed. A hard, vicious glow that came with crackheads and junkies bent on causing trouble.
Whoa.
Maggie moved sideways so she could keep her eye on the room, the odd woman, and Jayson. She held her arm out, gesturing to the door the woman had entered through. “Let’s move outside and talk.”
The woman’s gaze shifted to Jayson, still doing his thing with the reporters, then back to Maggie.
“I can’t,” she said. “I have to watch him.”
Him.
She bobbed her head, then slid sideways, moving closer to the crowd. The last damned thing Maggie wanted.
Get her out. Too many options existed for what this woman might be doing here. Until Maggie ascertained whether this was a television station employee, an innocent—albeit creepy—fan, or a psycho stalker, Maggie couldn’t chance it. Better to clear her and risk the wrath of a news network than have a situation.
“Please step outside,” Maggie said. “Everyone in this room has had a credential check. I’ll need to do that with you and I don’t want to interrupt the press conference.”
Come on. Get outside.
* *
*
Again the woman’s eyes shifted. This time to the crowd. Then to Jayson. And Grif. Who was on the move, walking toward them. Inevitable, considering his vantage point and his view of the room.
When the woman’s shoulders flew back, Maggie put her hand up, halting Grif mid-stride. His presence put their visitor on edge, made her squirrelly.
Maggie didn’t like it.
The woman reminded her of a guy she’d arrested six months ago. He’d been passing through and squatted in an empty house just outside of town. One of the neighbors spotted him and called it in. Maggie figured he was a homeless guy looking for shelter on a stormy night and when she questioned him, his ping-ponging gaze indicated his nerves coming apart. His panic didn’t come until she’d gotten the first cuff on him. That’s when the fun started and he went batshit crazy, taking a swing at her and connecting with her right eye. Before he could run, she’d trained her service weapon on him and brought about a change in his attitude. Imagine that.
The pain of her battered eye hadn’t been so bad. The humiliation? Way worse. Days of swelling and bruising served as a constant reminder.
Enough so that Maggie, refusing to accept vulnerability, started Krav Maga lessons with Reid.
Lessons that might pay off if this woman turned crazy on her.
Maggie jerked her head toward the door. “Outside.”
Seeming to comply, the woman took a few steps, then whirled back, raising her right hand.
Knife!
At the sight of the six-inch kitchen knife, Maggie’s mind exploded. Weapon, hands, feet. Instinct urged her to rip her weapon from the holster. Too close. By the time she got the gun out, her suspect could plunge the knife into her.
“Mags!” Grif said, his hushed voice smothered by Jayson’s answer to a question.
Jayson must have unleashed his charm again, sending the room into a burst of laughter. Maggie kept her back to the room and her eyes on the knife pointed at her. She snapped her right hand out and locked her fingers around the woman’s hand, squeezing the knuckles and thumb. With her free hand, Maggie caught the wrist at the pivot point, bending the woman’s hand back. The attacker’s face twisted.
Maggie applied more pressure and the woman loosened her grip on the knife.
“Drop it.”
Nothing. Dammit. More pressure. She bent the hand farther back, pressing it to an angle that shouldn’t even be possible without snapping it. Their eyes locked, the challenge evident in those creepy, glowing eyes.
She might be high.
What a nightmare.
“Come on, guys,” Jayson said. “I can’t believe you haven’t asked about my endorsements yet. Let’s do it and get it done.”
Good man.
The reporters shouted questions while Jayson did his thing, keeping all eyes on him. All they needed was the attention of one reporter on Maggie. That would lead to another and another and soon they’d all forget about superstar Jayson and tromp on over to the crazy woman holding a knife on the sheriff.
As Maggie’s brother, Way, would say, Jesus Hotel Christ.
Add that to Jayson’s recent media frenzy and this episode might put Steele Ridge on every evening news segment on the East Coast.
Maggie didn’t have the staff for the attention that would bring.
She pushed harder, increasing the pressure until the woman’s hand should have popped right off.
Give the girl credit for toughness. Finally, she blinked. Scrunched her nose and bowed back, releasing her grip enough for Maggie to let go. The knife clattered to the floor while Jayson upped his game, saying something that resulted in another eruption of laughter.
Maggie spun the woman around, kicked the knife out the door, and shoved her into the streaming sunlight.
“Hands against the wall. Now.”
The woman put her hands up, placed them against the side of the building and Maggie stepped up behind her to pat her down. “Do you have anything in your pockets that can hurt me? Needles?”
The woman didn’t answer. Excellent. Leave it to Maggie to arrest a mute.
Grif appeared in the doorway, his jaw tight, but otherwise looking Grif smooth. “People are noticing. What do you need?”
“Shut that door and keep everyone inside.”
“I warned him,” the woman finally said.
“What?” This from Grif.
“Grif,” Maggie said. “Inside. Please. If those reporters come out here, we’ve got a bigger problem.”
Her cousin never did like being ordered around, but he, of all people, understood the situation. He turned away, shutting the door behind him.
The woman rested her head against the wall. “He should have just gone away. Left Eric alone.”
Maggie Mirandized the woman while carefully patting her down, checking the pockets of her coat and jeans, searching for any more possible weapons she’d yank from under that jacket. Damn. She’d known that seemed off.
She finished her pat down, finding nothing exciting or threatening. The sole discovery was thirty-three cents from the right pocket of the coat. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
“I’m still arresting you. Eventually, you’ll have to give me your name.”
“I want a lawyer. I get a phone call.”
“You sure do. When I get you processed, you can make your call.”
“I warned him,” she said again. “He’s so fucking selfish. He should have just gone away.”
Oh, boy.
Maggie handcuffed the woman and led her to the cruiser. Jayson Tucker was in residence less than three days and they already had bedlam on Main Street and a deranged fan.
Amazing the havoc one hot football player could create. And something told her this was just the beginning.
5
After the shit-show press conference, Jayson, Maggie, and Grif huddled up in Grif’s office to get everyone updated on the woman who’d pulled the knife. Grif sat at his desk with Jayson in one of the guest chairs. Maggie had yet to sit. She’d marched in and gone straight to the window, where she continued to check traffic on Main Street by peeping through the lowered blinds. More than likely making sure the news vans didn’t blockade her town again.
And this was supposed to be a quiet stay. Jay should have known better.
He shifted in his seat to face Maggie. “Where is this nutcase now?”
“On her way to the county lockup. She’ll be arraigned tomorrow.”
“Do we know who she is?”
Maggie didn’t bother checking her notepad. Nor did she peel her gaze from the window. “Ariel Bowman. Twenty-four years old. Lives in Brooklyn. Do you know her?”
“No.”
Finally, she gave up on the window and looked at him. “She certainly knows you.”
Not unusual considering he couldn’t take a dump without media coverage.
She peered through the blinds again, watching for a few seconds before bringing her attention back. “The street is clear. Not a news van in sight. You must have satisfied them.”
“For today, at least,” Grif added.
Maggie abandoned the window and stood behind the empty guest chair, resting both hands on the back, her long fingers curving over the cushion. Her neatly trimmed and unpainted nails grabbed his attention. Most of the women in his orbit kept weekly manicure appointments. His last girlfriend went for a fill, whatever the hell that was, every ten days. Without fail. Somehow, he didn’t think Maggie messed with fills.
She drummed her fingers against the cushion. “I’d like to connect with your security people. I believe she’s the woman you told me about yesterday.”
“The one who wanted to carve me up?”
“Yes. Your run-of-the-mill hater could have put a knife through you. Or me.”
Touché. If she’d wanted to prove he’d become too casual about wackos, she’d succeeded. Jay ran his hands over his face. Jesus. He’d almost gotten her hurt. Or worse. He dropped his
hands, let them rest on his legs. “Maggie, I’m sorry. I didn’t—” He stopped talking. Anything he said right now wouldn’t matter.
“Unless you put the knife in her hand, it’s not your fault. The problem is, I don’t know how many like her are running around our town.” She turned to Grif. “You know we don’t have the staff for this.”
That, Jay could fix. Money he had. “I’ll hire people. I don’t want anyone getting hurt. I’ll move out of Tupelo Hill and rent a place on my own. Or better yet, go back to New York.”
Grif shook his head. “Not happening. New York will be ten times worse. Down here, not everyone knows you. Up there you’ll be hounded day and night.”
“I can’t put your mom in danger. I won’t have that.”
“Of course not. I’d never put my mother in harm’s way. The safest place is Tupelo Hill. With all the training equipment and ammunition Reid keeps there, the entire property is a fortress. To be safe, you’ll hire extra security people. If Reid wants to bring in his own people, you’ll cover the cost.” He looked back at Maggie. “Can we get temporary help from the state police?”
“Sure, but it’s not in my budget.”
“I’ll cover it,” Jay said.
Maggie narrowed her eyes as she considered it. “I’ll see what we can do and get you cost estimates.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, isn’t that my dream come true?” She let out a long sigh that sent his mind places she probably hadn’t intended. At least not at the moment. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking these thoughts when he’d caused this mess?
“All right,” she said, “we’re good for now and I need to get back.”
She strode to the door, not bothering with a glance their way.
Maggie was pissed. At him? Or the situation? His presence caused a major disruption in her town and had almost gotten her attacked.
Once she was out the door, Grif picked up a folder. “I had two more calls today.”
Grif wanted to talk football. Now? When Jay had groveling to do? He pushed out of his chair. “Hang on.”
A conversation with Maggie needed to be had. To…what? Plead his case? Good luck there. This thing was a hot-ass mess.
Craving Heat Page 5
