Little White Lies (17 page)

Maggie’s bottom, warm from snuggly sitting on Nick’s lap, went to Fourth of July firecracker hot in about sixty seconds. Her struggles to get away would have been ineffective had she been sober, but drunk they were laughable, and Nick was definitely laughing. She acted like he was blistering her, when in reality he was being pretty gentle. His little Maggie could be quite an actress when she’d had a few drinks.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry—really sorry. Please stop, Nick, you’re killing me,” she wailed as she scrubbed her runny nose on her sleeve again.

“I’ll let you up, but you better keep your word. No more lying, and I want to hear the truth from now on. You hear me?”

“Yes, Nick, I hear you fine. Can I have some more wine?”

“No,” he told her firmly, a smack his exclamation point. “No more wine until you behave and keep your promise, and no more tricks.”

Nick pulled Maggie up and sat her firmly on his lap despite her wiggling and moaning.

“Now spill it, sweets,” he told her.

“I will, I will, but Nick you don’t understand. I really need a big glass of wine if I’m going to… I will tell you everything, Girl Scout’s Honor,” she told him folding up her fingers in what he was sure was the wrong formation.

“If I remember right, you got kicked out of the Girl Scout troop at St. Peter’s for putting food coloring in the Holy Water. Nice try though.”

Nick moved to flip her to his lap as Maggie grabbed his hands and looked into his eyes. “Nick, please, I don’t think I can do it without a little… hiccup… help. Maybe not even then, but I’ll try.”

Weighing his options took only a minute. On one hand, Maggie had more than enough to drink. On the other, there was obviously something very serious she had to tell him, and apparently she needed liquid courage to do it. Moving Maggie off his lap, he swore as he headed into the kitchen.

In short order, Nick returned with two full glasses of wine, both of which Maggie tried to take. That damned raised eyebrow stopped her, and she took only hers with a pout.

Sinking back against the cushions, Maggie leisurely sipped her wine. Outwardly, she appeared sleepy and content, and Nick watched her until his patience ran out. Reaching over, he slid his hand up her nightgown and gave her a quick pinch on her hot butt.

“Ow,” she squealed, her bottom lip out as she finally set her empty glass on the table.

“Okay, darlin’, spill your guts,” he ordered.

Later he was to reflect on his poor choice of words. After Maggie had tearfully told him everything he’d been waiting to hear and more, she leaned over the couch and puked on his shoes. Too bad she wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

Chapter Thirteen

Nick couldn’t seem to stop grinning. She loved him. Maggie had told him many things last night, but by far that was the most important. She loved him. Although, telling a man some of the things she’d told him last night and then passing out was just cruel and unusual punishment as far as he was concerned. He was in pain by the time she’d explained that she was sick of having to change her panties every time he was around because they were always damp. His suggestion that she just forgo them altogether hadn’t been well received, so he offered to buy her as many pairs as she would let him. He loved that he made her wet and told her so. Even with her face flushed from the wine, she managed to blush.

At times she had been difficult to understand, but with the emotional roller coaster she appeared to be on, he’d done his best. He still didn’t understand the part about how sorry she was that she’d tried to give him away to one of her girlfriends, but he figured it really didn’t matter. She loved him; that was the important thing.

When he brought up marriage, she didn’t seem opposed. He was a great kisser she’d informed him between hiccups, and she felt safe and protected in his arms. She liked that he was strong and dependable, and she might be able to get used to his bossiness if she got lots and lots of what they had done the other night.
That
would not be a problem, Nick thought, still trying to get the silly grin off his face before his next client arrived. Finally she had gotten around to what she referred to as “the
spanking thing”. She wasn’t really fond of it, she told him, and thought it would be a very good plan if he just gave it up. She suggested maybe he should “see someone”
about his unfortunate habit, even going so far as to suggest getting hypnotized as a way to quit.

Nick had burst out laughing and pulled her into his arms, kissing her adorable face. Very carefully he explained to her that he fully intended to be the head of his family, and that maybe
she
could try staying out of trouble if she really wasn’t fond of spankings. Maggie had sighed and rested her head against his chest. For some reason, she didn’t think there was much hope for
that
plan, she’d told him sadly.

It wasn’t long before the wine got the best of her. Nick cleaned her up and carried her up to bed, tucking her in gently. He’d done what he could with the carpet, but if a professional cleaner couldn’t get the stain out, it would have to be replaced. When he was sure Maggie was going to be all right alone, he tossed his sneakers in the trash, locked up the house, and drove home barefoot and smiling all the way. He was still grinning like a fool when Monica buzzed him to let him know his next appointment was here.

* * *

Maggie wasn’t having such a good day. She awoke when the alarm went off at seven to a jackhammer in her head, and it had gone downhill from there. Coffee didn’t help, and there was no way anything solid was getting past her lips. Feeling weak and shaky, she avoided as much conversation as she could; even the sound of her own voice was annoying. She tried to remember what had happened last night but wasn’t having much luck. Bits and pieces maybe, but large gaps were missing. She groaned when she saw the wine stain on the carpet and vaguely remembered puking on Nick. Poor man, she thought, cringing in embarrassment.

So far she’d been lucky enough to avoid Mason all morning, but Rory had called her cell three times. She knew he was just trying to prove a point, but she couldn’t take it, not today. The fourth time it rang around one o’clock, she fumbled it out of her pocket, pissed to the max. Her hands were shaking as she tried to open the damn thing, and before she knew it, she lost her grip and it flew out of her hands and into freshly poured concrete. Maggie made a mad dive to catch it and failed, losing her balance in the process. The only thing that saved her from falling face first into the same mess was Mason’s hand grabbing the waist of her jeans at the very last second. For a moment she hung there, suspended in mid-air, before he slid his other arm around the front of her waist and set her back on her feet.

“That your cell?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes,” she hissed between her teeth. Unbelievably, the damn thing was half buried now and still ringing.

“Do you want to use mine?” he asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out.

“No thank you,” she informed him, picking up her hard hat and pushing her hair back from her face.

The phone went blessedly silent for a moment, but before she could draw a breath of relief it began ringing again.

“Are you sure?” Mason asked. “Whoever it is seems pretty persistent.”

“He is, and he can just kiss my ass,” Maggie growled. Her head hurt, her stomach hurt, and right this minute she felt like marching into that concrete and jumping up and down on the damn thing.

“Nick?”

“Rory,” Maggie replied.

“Ah, Detective O’Malley. What’s he up to these days?”

“Driving me crazy,” she replied in frustration. “Look, Mason, maybe I’d better use your phone if you don’t mind.” The very last thing she needed today was Rory breathing down her neck. Rory didn’t make idle threats.

Mason handed over his phone, and Maggie quickly dialed the station.

“He was here a minute ago,” the Desk Sergeant informed her, “but he just went flying out the door. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Can I take a message?”

“No thanks,” she answered. “It’s probably too late anyway.”

Maggie handed the phone back with obviously shaking hands.

“Mason, do you have a gun?” she asked, swaying slightly, her stomach roiling.

To say Mason was shocked would be putting it mildly, but he answered truthfully.

“Yes, I have several, but not on me. Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure that Rory is on his way here, and after he talks to you, you’re going to want to kill me,” she told him weakly.

Mason put his arm around her trembling body and led her gently towards the field office.

“No guns. Too messy,” he informed her smiling. “Besides I don’t think my brother would be too happy with me if I shot you.”

“Think of it as a mercy killing,” she told him, sighing with relief as he steered her into the cool office and seated her on the couch. “I’m half dead already,” she continued as she pulled off her boots to lie down.

Mason could see that despite her smart mouth, she really wasn’t feeling well. Going into the rest room he returned with a cool, wet cloth and laid it across her eyes.

“I shall be forever indebted to you, sir,” she moaned softly.

“Honey, are you ill? Do you need to go to the doctor’s or urgent care? What do you think it is?”

“Hangover.”

“Oh, well then give me my cloth back. You obviously brought this on yourself,” Mason told her somewhat judgmentally.

“Nick gave me my last drink,” she informed him smugly.

“I see.” That changes things, Mason thought.

“Right before I threw up on him,” Maggie continued.

Mason laughed.

“Then I guess you both got what you deserved. Why the hell would he allow you to drink to that point?” he asked, genuinely confused. “He should have put a stop to it long before then.”

“I’m pretty sure I was drunk before he got there,” she said truthfully, “although I can’t be positive. Everything that happened last night is pretty much a blur.”

Mason wondered what Nick had been thinking. Maggie’s color was coming back slowly, and he got her a glass of ginger ale from the fridge.

“Here, sit up and sip a little of this,” he ordered, sliding his arm behind her for support.

Gratefully she complied.

“Thanks,” she sighed, lying back down.

“Better?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Maggie, why do you think Rory is on his way here?” he asked squatting beside the couch.

“I don’t think. I know,” she replied sadly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he gently inquired.

“No, I don’t think so. I have a horrible headache, and besides, if I know Rory, it would be like stealing his thunder. He’s pretty pissed at me, and maybe he’ll blow off some steam telling you and cut me a little slack, although I can’t be sure. Rory angry is a sight to behold, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to skip that part,” she told him yawning.

Mason saw the sadness in her eyes and wasn’t sure how to respond. He could tell this was serious whatever it was, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

“Why don’t you try to take a little nap,” he told her. “I’ll take Rory in the back and we’ll get this straightened out.”

“Mason?” Maggie called softly, before he could turn away. A tear slipped down her cheek. “Wake me up when you’re ready to fire me.”

* * *

Maggie woke to Nick gently shaking her.

“Come on, honey, wake up,” he told her softly. “I’m here to take you home.”

“What time is it?” she asked him with a yawn as she sat up gingerly. Her stomach had stopped revolting, and the headache seemed a little better.

“Three o’clock,” he replied. He knelt, slid on her boots, and helped her up with an arm around her waist.

“Why are you here?” Maggie inquired as she stood swaying slightly for a moment before she got her balance.

“Mason called. Said he thought you could use a… friend about now.”

“Are you my friend, Nick?” she asked softly looking into his eyes.

“I’m whatever you need me to be, darlin’,” he sighed. “But we’ll talk about that a little later. For now, we need to get you home.” Nick kept his arm around her and guided her towards the door.

“I can drive myself,” she informed him a little coolly, not liking the tone of his voice. Was that pity she heard?

“You could,” he agreed as he got her down the stairs and smoothly across the yard. “But you’re not going to, so let’s save ourselves the embarrassment of me carrying you to the truck.

You might want to conserve your energy for more important matters.”

“Did you talk to Mason? I mean other than him asking you to take me home?”

Nick nodded as he helped her into the vehicle. Before he could shut the door she grabbed his arm.

“Rory?”

“Yes.”

Maggie swallowed with difficulty. Her headache was back with a vengeance, and she dropped her head into her hand.

The rest of the trip home was made in silence. Maggie desperately wanted to ask Nick if she was fired but didn’t really want the answer. After helping her in the house, Nick directed her to go upstairs and told her that he would be up in a few minutes. She went without an argument, which said a lot about her frame of mind. There was no way she would be able to find another job that gave her the income this one did, and to think she’d brought it all on herself was just unbearable.

Nick came upstairs carrying several small packages and set them on the dresser. Going into the bathroom, he shut the door. Maggie could hear him running water, and the opening and closing of cabinets, but she couldn’t work up enough interest to care what he was doing in there.

When he returned to the bedroom, she was in exactly the same position on the bed, sitting upright but just barely, looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. He handed her two pills with a glass of water.