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He grabbed my shoulder. “Blaire, she seems like a great woman, and I see interest in your eyes, and in hers. Take a few moments to check it out.”
“The last thing I need right now is a needy woman in my life, Vaughn.”
He leaned back and laughed. “Needy? That woman is anything but needy. She’s hysterical and could probably keep you on your toes. I get it; neither of us ever wanted to be in a serious relationship, but look at me now. I’m a dad and soon to be a husband, and I couldn’t be happier.”
“That’s great for you Trev, it really is, but I have never been interested in settling down, not then—not now.”
“Okay, but you don’t know what you’re missing,” he said as he started to walk backward. “Give me a shout after you get Maggie home, and I’ll fill you in on the day.”
I mock saluted him, and he did an about-face and was gone. I searched around the room and poked my head out into the hall. A cop was standing farther down the hallway, and I approached him. “Is there someplace I can get a cup of coffee?”
He laughed. “You still want some after that debacle?”
“More than ever,” I replied. He pointed me in the direction, and I found a new pot just about finished brewing. I leaned back against the wall, skimming my eyes over the bulletin board above the water cooler as I waited. More rules and regulations covered the cork surface, but these focused on cleaning up after yourself. You would think that these adults wouldn’t need those continual reminders. I guess I was lucky for the training I’d received twenty years ago. My drill sergeant had nailed into me that I was responsible for myself, and no one was going to clean up after me. I could not tell you how often I had heard him screaming in my ear, “What did you do this morning, boot, get up and inject yourself with some stupidity?” I learned in quick action that if I didn’t do it for myself, I would just make everyone else look bad, especially myself. I had taken that to heart.
The coffee machine finally stopped dripping, and I sighed as I reached for it. I poured the dark brew into the waiting Styrofoam cup that I had ready with a little powdered creamer in it. I stirred it with the wooden coffee stirrer and then lifted it to my nose, inhaling the scent and sighing internally—finally.
I knew better than to take a drink yet and risk scalding my tongue, mouth, or throat. I finally had my fix in my hand; I could give it another moment or two before I enjoyed it. I heard Maggie’s voice around the corner and peeked out of the little kitchenette area to see her walking toward me. No sooner did she reach me before she snatched the coffee cup from my hand.
“God bless you, soldier. I was dying for this!” She winked and disappeared around another corner with the detective she’d been trailing.
“Well, shit,” I muttered and spun around to make myself another cup. I was tempted to hide in the bathroom so I could drink this cup in peace, and if one more person approached me, I might have. Luckily, I managed to get that first sip in, and I wanted to scream in joy. I meandered slowly back to the conference room, checking things out as I went.
I paused when I saw Maggie on the other side of the room, bent over a desk, looking at something. Her slacks tight over her buttocks, and something kicked below my belt. Damn—
I tore my eyes from the sight, cleared my throat, and then noticed another cop staring at her from his desk. I should have gone back to the conference room, should have minded my own business, but I didn’t. I strolled right over to Maggie like I owned the fucking place—or in the least—worked there. Instead of just stopping beside her, I placed my hand on her lower back as I nailed the cop with a look that I was pretty sure was a dare.
I wasn’t sure what I was daring him to do, but in my gut, I felt like I had the right to protect her, and that was what I was doing. Now, what I needed to figure out is if someone else should be protecting her from me.
Her back tensed, and her head snapped to the side. When she saw me, she gave me a tight-lipped smile and turned her attention back to the computer in front of her.
I locked on to the computer image they were staring at as she spoke. “His nose needs to be a little wider in the bridge, and his eyebrows were a bit more chaotic.”
“Chaotic?” I laughed.
“Yeah.” She stood to face me. “They were kind of like all over the place.” She wiggled her fingers over her eyes. “Not neatly groomed, and his pores were a little larger than normal, even for a man.”
“You noticed his pores? How long did you stare at the guy?”
She shrugged. “About two, maybe three seconds.”
“And you noticed how large his pores were?” I asked her doubtfully.
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward into my face. “You might have forgotten this, Gregory Blaire, but I have a photographic memory. I am incredible at remembering details, especially from years ago. Little details—” she held her hand up, pinching her fingers together—“like how you are not a magnum.”
I glared at her. “We already told you that was a joke.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded and turned back to the computer. “Yeah, that’s more like it. But the bag under his right eye was a little more pronounced.”
As the detective adjusted the image, I realized that she was right. I hadn’t seen the guy’s face, because of his mask, but I had seen his eyes, and his right one did have a larger puffy area below it.
She was also right about her photographic memory and me forgetting about it. I hadn’t thought of that in a long time, and now that I remembered it, I winced internally. She probably remembered a whole lot more than I did about our time together. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to remember; I had just replaced many of those memories with other things—some not so great either.
I remained quiet as she worked with the detective on the sketch to get it just right. While they worked, I studied her every move. She was a confident, in-charge woman, who was so damn gorgeous that I couldn’t understand why she was single.
She had mentioned that she’d been married before, for a few years, I think she said. What kind of a douchebag would have let a woman like her go? I winced as that question rattled around in my mind. I was that kind of douchebag. I’d walked away from this one, and if I were going to admit it, it was because I was very selfish—or had been. Was I still selfish? Maybe.
Was it time to change that? Was Trevor right? Was it time to settle down and enjoy life, stop living for the thrill? I wasn’t so sure, but I did know that right this moment, if someone ordered menotto see Maggie again, I would have bristled at that—maybe even have wanted to defy the order.
