Chapter Sixteen
S
everal seconds ticked by before Maggie realized she wasn't in her own bed. She stared at the ceiling, attributing her crappy sleep and even crankier mood to the previous night. Like eating pizza, stress before bed guaranteed an upset stomach.
Last night Maggie had done something she hadn't done in a long time. She got down on her knees and prayed for Heather and Sonya. But it didn't make the knot inside her go away.
Several hard knocks on the front door had Maggie scrambling out of bed and hurrying downstairs. Anyone else would have wondered who so rudely pounded on the door. Not Maggie. Shannon told Alice and Wendy her whereabouts and she wasn't surprised to see them standing there.
“We would have used our keys, but we didn't want to scare you.” Alice pushed past Maggie. “We know what a light sleeper you are. By the way, nice shiner.”
Maggie knew she was in trouble.
“We weren't sure you'd be alone,” added Wendy, looking around the loft. “And we won't lecture you on taking on yet another pimp. Shannon told us she already let you have it.”
That was too easy. “Thanks, and he left a few minutes ago.” Maggie smiled at their open-mouthed expressions. “Kidding. I'm making coffee. Want some?”
“What, you going to soil that pristine kitchen?” Alice chortled.
“Yup,” Maggie glanced over her shoulder, “I'm even going to cook in it.”
Wendy whistled. “Wish I had my video camera. I could have YouTubed it. The cherry-popping of Shannon's kitchen.”
Maggie groaned. Cooking in there would no longer be fun.
She made three frothy cappuccinos and set two on the counter in front of her girlfriends. While she scooped milky foam onto her finger and licked it clean, she couldn't help but wonder about her friends' sly grins. “What made you think I wouldn't be alone?”
“Mr. Beck,” Alice cooed.
“Hunky Mr. Beck,” Wendy corrected.
“Hmm, yup, that'd be him,” her friend added with a heavy southern drawl. “He left several messages on your machine. On three occasions he called twenty minutes apart. The man has stamina. Makes a girl wonder what else the man's got,” she said, laying on the thick accent.
Maggie ignored Alice's comment and realized the motive behind her friends' generous lecture-free moods. She'd been trying real hard not to think about “Mr. Beck.” And from what Shannon told her, she'd made the right choice in deciding
not
to tell them what the man had. Besides needing to be in the right frame of mind for her parents, Maggie had discovered Beck had his own secrets. The kind a sane woman would stay away from. And these two women, God bless them, would never leave it alone.
“Why is he all
hot
and bothered to reach you?” asked Alice, a wicked grin on her lips.
“Why are you two listening to my messages?” countered Maggie.
“I didn't,” Alice answered defensively, “at least not after Shannon put the machine on record only. He must have called ten times.”
Wendy held up six fingers behind Alice's back and rolled her eyes.
“Probably has to do with the investigation,” she offered. “Either way, I don't want to talk to him.” Alice opened her mouth to argue. “I mean it,” Maggie added, leaving no room for discussion.
“Fine,” grumbled Alice, “but just in case.” Opening her Prada satchel, she pulled out a box of condoms and slid them to Maggie.
Maggie eyed the variety pack, then her friends. “Funny.” She shoved them back toward Alice. “I won't be needing those.”
Beck was a lapse of judgment she wasn't going to repeat and a distraction she didn't have time for.
“Do you think it's smart to be alone in Shannon's apartment?” Wendy asked.
“When has our Maggie been smart?” added Alice.
“This place is a fortress,” Maggie reminded them.
“Still stupid,” Wendy said, “especially since Mr. Hottie is so anxious to find you. Let me call him and tell him where you are. Then we'll know someone is with you.”
“What makes you think he wants to babysit me?”
“Take the condoms.” Wendy smiled, shoving the box back in her direction, reminding Maggie of Beck asking whether she had more condoms and what might have happened if she had.
“All right, enough ladies. I need to get ready.”
And stop thinking about Beck.
“Are you kicking us out?” Alice asked, feigning insult.
“Unfortunately.” Maggie sighed and picked up Alice's purse and the condoms and handed them to her. “And ladies, I shouldn't have to impress upon you the importance of secrecy. So any help I can get from you guys would be appreciated. Please pass by the club, see if the girls need anything. I'll call, but they tend to get tightlipped if they think it'll worry me. I can needle it out of them when I'm there, but over the phone . . . well, I know what pests you two can be.”
“Is she insulting us?” Wendy asked Alice.
“Nah, she means that in a loving way. Dontcha Mags?”
“Yes,” Maggie said in a drawn out, evil purr. “Look, I'm counting on your discretion.”
“Goes without saying. Maggie,” Alice dropped her smile, “please, no more pimps.”
They exchanged hugs and her friends left, only to have Alice reopen the door and toss the condoms inside. Picking up the box with groan, Maggie went up to shower.
Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in conservative tan slacks and a lavender blouse, waiting for her parents. Their flight was due to arrive at noon, her mother insisting Maggie not pick them up. Sure, if word got out about her father's trip to Sin City, he wouldn't want to be photographed with his wayward daughter who was supposedly living abroad. The reverend hadn't really lied; to him Vegas was another world.
When the harsh raspy buzzer finally rang, she jumped. Several seconds dragged by before she found her courage and opened the door.
“Why isn't your phone on?” Beck all but shouted.
In her mind she knew he wouldn't hurt her, but still, caught off guard, she unwisely stepped back, giving the man ample space to enter. “Hi to you too.”
He walked in. “Hi.”
She should be upset at his finding her. Regardless, her heart thumped at seeing him. “Do I need to ask how you found me? Or how you got past security?”
“Well, if Ms. Joyce was at your place, logic dictated you were here. You do remember there's a killer on the loose?”
She left the door open, hinting. “Did you think I needed reminding?”
He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Why would you dump the police protection?”
She sighed, knowing he wasn't going to go away unless she told him. So she explained the situation with her parents and the importance of keeping them far away from the press.
“Maggie,” he said after patiently listening, “I told you I was going to help with that.”
“I couldn't take the chance. Look, I needed to put distance between Maggie Anderson and Maggie Hopewell.”
“You shouldn't have done this alone. That was stupid.”
“That's the second time today someone has called me stupid.”
“I
didn't
call you stupid.” He glanced around the open living room then whistled as he gazed up at the high ceiling. “What did this place cost? One, one and a half mil?”
Maggie gave a very undignified snort. “Did you come by to discuss real estate or to insult me?”
Ignoring her question, he sauntered over to the glass doors. Opening one, he smiled at the view. The loft was on the twentieth floor and, although several miles from the strip, the Wynn could be seen in the distance. “Great patio, and as long as the police don't reveal that both victims were killed by the same man and both worked for you, and the captain has assured me they won't, then the press won't come sniffing near the club.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why are you ignoring my calls?”
“Thank you for doing that. I can't begin to . . .” Maggie glanced at her watch, the muscles in her neck coiling. “Look, I don't have time to talk.”
Closing the patio door, he turned. The sun played with the colors in his hair, lightening the dark strands to hazelnut. Those jeans, that far too form-fitting gray T-shirt and his sly grin, would make any woman drool. If he hadn't spoken, she'd be imaging him naked.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Back to reality.
“My parents will be here any minute.” She pointed a finger at him. “How would I explain you?”
“If you'd taken my calls, I might not be here. Now, turn your cell back on.”
He'd called her several times. Tempted to answer, she'd shut it off. “Uh huh, okay. Call me and I promise to pick up.” Maggie peeked into the hall. Empty.
He slumped down onto the oversized couch and winced. “This is the most uncomfortable sofa I've ever sat on.”
“My parents are coming,” she said gritting her teeth.
“So?”
“So?” she all but screeched.
He grinned. “Tell them I'm your boyfriend.”
Maggie choked. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Why? How much more intimate do you think we can get?”
Heat flooded her cheeks remembering just how
intimate
they'd been. That wasn't the image she wanted in her head when confronting her abstinence-preaching father. “My mother would freak if she thought I kept the man in my life from her.” Maggie crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Are you leaving now?”
“I thought you didn't talk to your parents?” Tilting his head, he undraped his arms from the couch and stood. With a slow, easy gait, he came toward her. She liked him better in a suit. In a suit, he was public enemy number one. In a suit, she could overlook that body. Now he was a man no woman in her right mind could or would overlook.
Maggie took several deep swallows, hoping to moisten the inside of her dry mouth. “It's my father I don't talk to.”
Hearing a noise in the hall, she jerked her head back and waited. Nothing. Her relief was short lived. When she turned, Beck was in front of her.
“Maggie,” he said, gone the playful southern hunk.
The foreboding in his eyes sent chills down her arms. “What's wrong?” She hated the panic in her voice, hated being vulnerable, showing fear, especially to him.
“Damn, I didn't want to scare you. I want you to know I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.” He drew her in so fiercely she didn't have time to guess at what he meant.
His kiss, possessive and consuming, voided all thought. In its place, a sense of urgency, his or hers. She couldn't tell. Maybe her parents had triggered memories of her childhood, of a girl incapable of pleasing her Daddy. But in Beck's arms, she was someone special. She let herself indulge in everything about him, his tongue as it tasted her mouth, the warmth of his palms against her cheeks. Releasing her head, he pulled her hard against his body, his arousal such a turn on.
With a firm but gentle grip, he tipped her chin and gave her neck the same urgent attention he'd paid to her mouth. “Maggie.” Her name came out in a breathy groan. Dizzy and lightheaded, she let her head fall into his hand.
“Maggie?”
It took a few frazzled seconds to realize the second voice hadn't belonged to Beck.
Maggie clenched her eyes shut and grudgingly stepped away. This was her fault. Giving Beck his fair share of the blame, she glared at him, then turned to face the music.
Her mother waited in the doorway. With a sharp gasp, she dropped her purse and rushed toward her daughter. Her father, glaring at Beck, stayed behind.
“What happened?” She tilted Maggie's face for closer inspection.
She'd already considered her story and prayed Beck would play along. “Car accident. I'm fine.” She embraced her mother and inhaled the comforting scent of lavender, the solace she missed. “Really,” she added.
“How did your face get bruised? Weren't you wearing your seatbelt?” her father asked, yet again forgetting she wasn't a child.
Reluctantly, she let her mother go. “Of course. But we'd been shopping and the packages didn't feel like wearing seatbelts.”
“We?” he said, steely gray eyes still glued on Beck.
She knew he waited for an introduction, but deliberately postponed it.
Let him wonder
. “My girlfriend was driving.”
“Not much of a friend,” her father replied, finally taking the time to acknowledge his daughter, “if she involves you in a car accident.”
“Trying to pick my friends again?”
“Do I need to?”
“Heavens,” her mother exclaimed, “starting already. James, we've just arrived. Our daughter has a guest.”
Maggie regarded her mother quizzically. When had she grown a spine? Her mom would never scold the almighty Reverend Hopewell, and in front of a stranger no less.
“I can see she has a guest, sweetheart. I apologize for my rudeness Mr. . . . ?”
Sweetheart? All right, who were these people?
“Beck, sir, Christian Beck, and no need to apologize.”
Her father shook Beck's hand. “We seem to have interrupted something.” He creased his brows at Maggie.
“Not at all, sir. It's an honor to meet you.”
She had to give him kudos. For once she didn't mind that he laid on the southern charm. “These are my parents, James and Allison Hopewell.” If not for the scowl on her father's face, she would have been certain aliens had taken over her parent's bodies.