Criminal Promises (7 page)

“All right,
Mags.”

“Don’t lose your grip.”
She moved closer, positioning the lid over the box, leaving him
room to drop in the snake and jerk his hand free.

“Not an option.” Its mouth
hung open above the fists of his sweat-slicked hands. Soulless eyes
met his. “Okay. On three.”

“Like one, two, three then
drop or drop on three.”

He breathed deep and
swallowed. “Drop on three.”

“Got it.” Maggie held the
lid in both hands, legs braced apart and completely ready. “Move
fast.”

“Right.” No big deal.
People moved faster than pissed off, venomous snakes every day. He
held her gaze and nodded.

“One…” Adrenaline zinged
through his system. “Two…” He was a goner if their timing was off.
“Three.”

BD dropped the snake. Its body plopped into
the base of the tub. Maggie slammed the lid down. He pressed his
foot on the lid to make sure it stayed shut.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right
back.” She ran from the room, leaving him alone with the snake and
no clue what she was doing.

Adrenaline surged, expanded his veins until
the heated blood itched his skin. He took advantage of her absence
and indulged in a furious torso scratch to banish the pervasive
itch. It helped a little.

She returned with a bungee cord and hooked
the ends of it to each handle of the tote to make sure the lid
stayed secure.

“Copperheads hang out in
packs,” he said, proud of how calm he sounded. “I’ll call Animal
Control. Let them know there may be more of these things
around.”

“Right.” Maggie stepped
over to him, wrapped her hands around his neck, pulled him down,
and kissed him long and sweet. “Thank you.”

When she pulled back, he wound an arm around
her waist and pulled her tight against him. He’d be sorry later.
Bending down, he devoured her mouth. Releasing all the adrenaline
and energy zipping through his blood was impossible, but the outlet
of her honey-flavored mouth was a beginning.

She trembled. He deepened the kiss, sweeping
his tongue along hers. Sliding his hands down her curves, past the
sexy indention of her waist and over her hips he pulled her closer.
A rumble rose up in his chest. He ached to pull her to the king bed
with the fluffy duvet and pillows.

She pushed her hand against him and pulled
her head back.

Reluctantly, he let her go and cleared his
throat. The first kiss had been impulse fueled by the desire to
know her taste. The last one had been greed sentencing him to want
more. More than he could have.

He was here to work, gain insights into her
husband and their life together. Even facing his worst childhood
memory hadn’t been as awful as kissing Maggie.

Maggie had watched Harte
carry in boxes and dodged Grace as long as possible. She’d asked
him to make the move
official
after Jared had come home asking questions about
her new bed buddy. Though she’d explained to Jared he was not
allowed to say such things, she hadn’t been able to explain why
Harte was around.

Having him move his things in made the
arrangement seem less temporary. Less clandestine. She promised
herself it only mattered for image’s sake with the neighbors. He
would be leaving. It didn’t matter that his kisses thrilled her and
kept her awake at night. She was not, as Grace suggested,
interested in more.

A relationship would force open the door
she’d firmly locked. Moving on with her daily life was one thing.
But with a man? No. No matter how sexy he may be, or how his voice
made her skin tingle as if he’d whispered a favorite endearment
against her ear. A promise of forever was too fragile, so she’d
stick to things she could control. Her heart would be counted on
that list.

“I’m going to make some
drinks.” Maggie pushed off the floor and tossed a burp cloth to
Grace. “Can you watch Emma and keep Jared out of
trouble?”

“Sure.”

In the kitchen, away from Grace’s probing
eyes, she stood at the sink and tried to focus on something other
than Harte. Something other than the feel of his touch, his
commanding lips, the flare of heat still coursing through her from
days earlier.

She stared into the backyard with dark clouds
off in the distance. The threatening rain would be vengeful when it
hit, and would do little to cool the record temperatures engulfing
Dallas. She'd have to check the flashlight batteries. Storms always
knocked out her power.

The bushes that had gotten out of control
over the last year would explode after a solid soaking. Pity. She
hated those bushes and their rigid box cut.

“Hmm.” The bushes were one
more thing she’d let Mike dictate.

Maggie slumped against the counter. Mike had
been a good man. A great man she’d loved. She just didn’t love who
she’d become with him. Her feelings had been set aside for the sake
of keeping the peace and her escape had been the dreamy world of
romance novels while she coped with reality.

Going along with him, like on so many other
things, had been so easy she’d never noticed it bothering her or
how often she’d kept her opposing opinion to herself. She’d been so
wrapped up in pleasing him she’d lost herself, and if she allowed
Grace to psychoanalyze her, she suspected her sister would say she
was still lost.

Harte reminded her of Mike because of his
differences and made her wonder if fiction heroes were based partly
on reality. Maybe some men thrived on the emotional connections and
truly valued their life partners.

Staring at the bushes, those boring ass
bushes with nothing special about them, she shook her head. She’d
shoved the loss, the pain, the coldness of being alone down, took
care of her children and told herself she was happy. She controlled
every aspect of her life, minus her own emotions and happiness. The
bushes, the neighborhood drama, Harte’s presence… They all had her
wondering. Doubting.

“I hate you,” she
addressed the bushes.

Mike had claimed their
constancy reminded him of her. She now saw their lack of color and
originality as a mirror of her relationship with him. “It’s my
fault. I never told him.”

Gripping the counter edge, she tilted her
head and pictured the yard as she’d wanted it. With a lattice and
climbing roses of varying colors and personality. Thorns. She’d had
too much perfection, structure and predictability. She wanted
something a little wild. Hard to tame.

Maggie rolled her shoulders
back and called into the living room. “Grace, I’m going
outside.”

Determined to live life her way, she went to
the garage and grabbed a pair of hedge clippers. She hit the button
to raise the garage door and tapped her foot. Waiting. Those bushes
were coming out.

Now.

Opening the gate, she marched across the yard
and started whacking away at the closest bush. Each branch she
chopped off filled her with pleasure and satisfaction. Freedom and
independence she’d long forgotten soaked into her with renewed
dreams and opinions. She was more than a mom and homemaker.

“Mags, what are you
doing?”

She looked over her
shoulder. Harte stood just inside the iron gate. Craig leaned
against the truck behind him waiting to move the workout equipment
and more boxes in the garage. “If you can’t see the obvious, then
you can’t be a very good detective.”

“Looks like you’re cutting
the bushes.”

“You get a gold star for
observation skills.”

Craig smothered a laugh behind twitching
lips.

“Why now?” Harte glanced
briefly back at his partner before turning his attention back to
her. “What did they do to you?”

“Existed.” She hacked
another branch. And then three more. Harte silently went back to
help Craig unload the truck.

Did all men think bushes needed to be plain,
boring green? Did they all have a problem with a woman having a
mind of her own? With her wanting a little color in her yard? So
what if wisteria and rose bushes had to be trimmed back more often.
They were pretty. They smelled nice.

Using her foot to push a branch to the
ground, she leaned forward and put the cutters at the base.
Squeezing the handles together so hard every muscle in her arms
screamed their protest, she worked at cutting the damn thing
off.

Crack!

It broke with a snap. Her foot slipped off
the branch. She lost her balance and fell into the bushes.

The freshly cut limbs sliced at her arms. The
newest cut one jabbed into her knee, ripping her new slacks, and
scraping off a thick layer of skin.

“Shoot.”

She threw the cutters to the ground and
stormed into the house. Marching through the living room she headed
for her room to clean her knee and change.

“Maggie, is—”

“Not now, Grace.” Ignoring
her sister currently pacing the floor with Emma, she stepped into
the dimly lit hall. A movement to her right had her turning as a
tall, slender woman wearing sunglasses stepped out of the office at
the other end of the hall.

The woman stopped and
grinned. “Enjoy Detective Harte while you can.” With the cryptic
message, she headed for the front door.

Chills skittered along Maggie’s neck. She’d
heard that voice. Seen that woman. Following, she tried to figure
out where. And what she was doing in the house.

By the time Maggie reached
the end of the hall and turned the corner, the woman was outside
and half way across the lawn. Maggie looked toward Grace. “Who was
that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Jared
or one of the guys let her in while I was changing Emma.” Grace
cradled Emma in one arm and ran her finger along Emma’s gums. “Is
it too early for her to be teething?”

“Not really.” Unable to
worry about her daughter’s possible tooth at the moment, she turned
back to the open door. The woman was heading across the street a
few houses down.

Shadows of dread weighed Maggie down as she
stepped out on the porch. The woman got into a car and slowly
pulled away from the curb, slid her glasses up onto her head and
looked right at Maggie. Her cold stare was an invisible dagger to
the heart.

She'd felt the chill of that stare.

Son of a…

Shivers swarmed. Maggie. She pivoted and ran
toward the garage. Toward Harte.

BD sat some weights on the rack they’d just
finished putting back together as Maggie stepped into the garage
with fire in her eyes and a limping step. Her perfectly pleated,
tan slacks were torn and bloody around the knee, her arms were
scratched up and her hair had fallen out her braid.

Instantly he moved toward
her. “What happened?”

“Jared, inside with
Grace.” The line of her jaw hardened beneath the stress of sounding
calm for her son.

“But, Mom—”

“Now.” The command
stretched between clenched teeth and glared at BD.

“Jare.” He laid his hand
on the boy’s shoulder. Rage radiated around Maggie, but she somehow
retained a cool façade of control. His gut clenched, but he
maintained a level voice for Jared. “We won’t finish without
you.”

Maggie closed the door
behind her son and glared. “Answers. Now.”

Craig mumbled something about the truck and
vanished.

She knew something, but BD
wasn’t saying anything without more information. “Excuse
me.”

“There is no excuse for
you.” She grabbed a twenty-pound weight and plopped it on the rack
with a clang like it weighed nothing. “I want answers about Adalia
Wood.”

Shit.
What did she know? “She went to prison a year
ago.”

Maggie picked up another weight and sat it on
the rack. He resisted the urge to step back from her.

“What is she doing in my
home?”

The gun nestled at his back
grew heavy. She couldn’t know Adalia had targeted her, that Mike’s
murderer was out, which complicated the need to keep his
investigation secret. It was a complication they didn't need. “How
can you be sure it was Adalia?”

“I remember the face of
the woman responsible for my husband’s death. Why, the day you move
in, does she come into my home? Is she behind the murder in the
park? The raccoon? The iPod? Is she why you’re really
here?”

“Craig!” His blood
chilled. She was too close to putting it all together, but worse
was Adalia's willingness to make her taunts so blatant. “I need
details, Maggie.”

“Adalia Wood, who crashed
into my husband’s car after killing several people, just walked out
my front door and drove away.”

“Craig!” He yelled again
and edged Maggie toward the kitchen door. “What kind of
car?”

“Late-model, four-door
Honda Accord. Dark blue.” She crossed her arms and recapped what
had happened. “She’s gone.”

Craig came into the garage
with the hedge clippers in hand. “Yeah?”

“Adalia was here.” Knowing
his partner would catch up to them after calling for a patrol of
the area, he relayed the necessary intel Craig needed to issue an
all points bulletin.

Craig headed into the kitchen with his phone
already to his ear. He would run interference with Grace and Jared
to minimize the disturbance of any evidence. BD moved to the wall
with the garage door button to lower the door. Adalia may still be
in the area, and he wasn’t about to make it easy for her to get in
a second time.