Collect the Pieces (Lost Kings MC #25)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Margot

Thoroughly rattled by the two detectives, I watch their unmarked black sedan drive away before going inside.

“You think they’d have better things to do,” I grumble as I close the door behind me.

Two big hands clamp down over my hips, spin me around and yank me backward.

Jigsaw swallows my startled yelp with a kiss.

“What are you doing?” I ask between greedy slides of our lips.

He stares down at me with reverence in his eyes. “You handled that like a queen.”

Embarrassment heats my skin. I press my hands against his chest, pushing myself back. “You heard everything?”

I hated pretending I didn’t know whose motorcycle they were talking about. I hate that he heard me claim I don’t know anything about his club.

Worse, I’m embarrassed that I bragged about how careful and clever I am with my kills. Having two detectives drop by to ask me questions today feels like a Karmic nudge not to get too cocky.

But Jigsaw doesn’t say “I told you so” or lecture me about the risks I’ve taken.

No, he’s staring down at me with nothing but affection and admiration in his expression.

His hands, still firm on my hips, give me a gentle squeeze. “I caught the highlights of the conversation. You were perfect.”

“Perfect? I thought I was going to puke.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Do you think they suspect me? Why did they have so many questions?” I cast a glance around the house, still worried they’re somehow listening nearby or bugged the place.

“Not saying that I’m an expert.” A hint of a smirk twists his lips. “But if anything, I think they’re suspicious of your client.”

He thought so too? “I’d confess and go to prison before I’d let her get in trouble,” I warn him, in case he thinks I’m the kind of person who would let an innocent person pay for my crimes.

His expression doesn’t change. “It sounds like they wanted to confirm he had a drug problem and when they couldn’t find her right away, they needed to talk to some people so they could check it off their list.” He throws a quick glance toward the front door. “Sounds like you could’ve been one of the last few people in the area to see her.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” I blow out a relieved breath. My heart slows and the panic wrapped around my lungs slowly unravels. “How can you be so level-headed and calm?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You sounded calm. Kept things polite and professional. The right amount of interested and mildly annoyed.”

“Great, so I guess I’ve nailed the recipe for talking to the cops.”

“Yup.” He grins at me.

“Why are you so…strangely happy about that?”

“It’s a useful skill to have.” He glances down at me and his smile fades. “Real talk? Ol’ ladies get hassled by the cops from time to time just for being involved with a member of an MC.”

How unfair. “Yes, I got that from their ‘warning’ to me outside. Why, though?”

He tilts his head and gives me a let’s be serious stare. “To get dirt on the club. Doesn’t really happen around here. We try to maintain a good relationship with law enforcement in our territory. But they’ve approached some of our ol’ ladies when we’ve been on the road and stuff.” He shrugs as if it’s a minor inconvenience. “You handled yourself well, that’s all.”

I poke his chest. “I told you I’m good at keeping secrets. My dad was always friendly with the old Wolf Knights’ president, so I didn’t care for them talking about them that way, either.”

He lifts his chin and slowly nods as if he’s had some great revelation.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. I wondered how Teller and your dad crossed paths.”

I blink, not understanding the connection.

“Upstate’s had an alliance with the Wolf Knights for years. They came to Teller when they decided to leave Slater County.”

“Oh.” The bell at the back door rings, halting our conversation. “It’s probably the flower delivery.” I pat his chest. “I have to get that.”

“Okay.” He sweeps his arm in front of him, as if asking me to lead the way.

“I deal with them all the time,” I say over my shoulder. “You don’t have to follow me.”

“I don’t like that you’re here all by yourself.”

“I’m usually not,” I grumble, reaching for the door and twisting the knob as the bell rings again.

The man on the other side has a large wreath of white roses in one hand and the easel display stand in the other. “Morning, Margot.” He flashes a quick, friendly smile, then his gaze shifts over my shoulder and his lips flatten. “Uh, the Lewis arrangement.” He nods to the wreath.

I can only imagine Jigsaw standing behind me scowling at Carl.

“Hi, Carl. Come on in.” I open the screen door for him, and he turns sideways to enter.

“Morning,” he says to Jigsaw.

Jigsaw dips his chin but doesn’t respond.

I shoot him a glare, then follow Carl to the parlor. He sets the arrangement near the podium. I’ll probably have to move it later but for now, it works. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He slaps his hands together, dusting off his palms. “The daughter called and made several changes. I hope we got it right.”

I sigh. She should’ve called me and I would’ve handled it. “It’s lovely. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

He flicks his gaze to Jigsaw again, hovering behind me like my personal bouncer.

“I’ve got one more,” Carl says. “I’ll be right back.”

I wait until Carl’s footsteps pound over the back porch, then turn to Jigsaw. “Must you hover behind me glaring at everyone?”

“You didn’t introduce me.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

His expression remains steady and possessive. “I want you to.”

My heart jumps. “You do?”

“Fuck yeah I do.” His voice is low but firm.

Warmth fills my chest. “You want me to introduce you as my boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Jigsaw or Jensen?”

His lips quirk. “I’m not crazy about people outside the MC world calling me by my road name.” He brushes his fingers against my shoulder. “Except you.”

Carl’s footsteps clatter over the back porch again. I straighten as he reappears with the second arrangement, carefully maneuvering through the door. “Same place?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” Still giddy over Jigsaw’s request but needing to do my job, I follow Carl, directing him where to place the arrangement.

When he’s finished, he dusts off his hands and hands me a small electronic signature pad to confirm I received the arrangements. While I’m scrawling my name across the screen, Carl’s body shifts.

“Are you new to Cedarwood?” he asks Jigsaw.

“No.” I hand the stylus and pad back to Carl. “Forgive my rudeness, Carl, this is my boyfriend, Jensen.”

Carl’s jaw drops but he recovers quickly, sticking his hand out. “Nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shake hands, Carl staring at Jigsaw and nodding. Should I be insulted? Does he think I’m that undateable or something?

“Well, that should be everything. If you have any issues, just call.” Carl hesitates for a beat then mutters a quick goodbye.

“Bro didn’t hide his disappointment well,” Jigsaw says, watching him go.

“What? Be serious.” My gaze skips from the door to Jigsaw’s face. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes.” He shifts the full weight of his attention to me, stepping closer, crowding against the wall. Not touching, yet. But close enough to notice how much space he takes up and how protected I feel in his orbit.

At the back door, several other voices converge. Whatever’s happening between us has to wait. I press my hands against Jigsaw’s chest. “I…I have to get back to work.”

He shifts his body to the side, allowing just enough space to slip through.

My dad’s voice rises above the others, knocking all the fuzzy feelings right out of me. My nervous gaze darts around the room. Chairs—almost done. Flowers—still need to be moved. Supplies—still need to be brought up from the basement. I haven’t accomplished much this morning. “Damn. Dad’s back already,” I mutter.

“I’ll finish lining up those chairs.” Jigsaw clasps his hand over my shoulder. The heat and possessiveness in his eyes have been dialed back to a slow simmer. “What else can I help you do to get ready? Between those cops wasting your time and me not being able to keep my hands off you, you’re running behind.”

I slide my hand down his chest. “I’ll never complain about having your hands on me.”

“Good.” He lifts his chin. “Tell me. What else?”

“Ah, the chairs. One more row, there.” I drag my finger through the air, indicating a space near the podium. “And then I have to run downstairs for some bulbs. I need to change out the ones over there.”

He nods once. “I saw a ladder in the closet back there. Okay to use that one?”

“Yup.”

“Got it.”

I hurry into the hallway and meet my father at the back door. “Flowers are here.” Duh, he just ran into Carl. Why am I so flustered, acting like a teenager who got caught making out in the driveway after curfew?

“Good.” He lifts his gaze, staring down the long hallway.

“I’m still working through my list,” I say before he starts firing off questions. “Two detectives stopped by earlier. Talking to them set me back a little.”

“Detectives, why?”

I shrug. “I guess Laurel Larsen’s husband died? They wanted to know if we’d spoken to her recently. I have their cards.”

His forehead wrinkles. “It’ll have to be later. Sorry you had to deal with that.”

“It’s fine.” I drop my gaze and pluck at an invisible piece of lint on my blazer. “Jigsaw’s helping me prepare the viewing room.”

“That’s…” He pauses for so long, I drag my gaze up to his face. “Very nice of him,” he finishes.

“Coming through,” Paul shouts.

My father and I side-step away from the door. Paul bustles in, balancing platters of snacks in his arms and heads straight for the kitchen.

Footsteps thud along the floor behind me. It can only be Jigsaw and my heart flutters in anticipation.

A smile lifts my father’s face. “Morning. Margot says you’ve been helping out. Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” Jigsaw stops behind me, so close his warmth spreads over my back. “I didn’t want to leave Margot alone when there were so many people coming in and out.”

His tone carries an edge of judgment. And here I’d been worried he was going to mention he spent the night—not that Dad couldn’t figure that out on his own. Instead, he’s implying, what? I need a babysitter to do my own job?

Anger heats my blood. I grit my teeth and force a smile.

“Yes,” my father says smoothly. “We’re a bit short-handed this morning.”

“I need to run downstairs,” I say.

Dad nods once. “Meet me in the office when you’re done.”

I take a right, heading down the hallway. It’s not until I pause at the basement door that I realize Jigsaw’s right behind me.

“Are you my shadow now?” I ask, pushing the door open and hurrying down the stairs.

“What?” He pounds down the stairs behind me.

I stop at the bottom and glance up. He left the door open.

Shaking my head, I turn the corner. “You realize I’ve done this job for a while, right? I don’t need you telling my dad you stuck around to babysit me.”

He scowls. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t want to leave me alone ,” I mimic in a deep voice that sounds nothing like Jigsaw’s.

“Because you said you’d have vendors coming in and out.” His voice rises with frustration. “I wasn’t implying you’re not capable.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t trust people. You , of all people, should understand why .”

I have been alone with more than one vendor who made me uncomfortable, but I’d rather bite off my tongue than admit it right now.

“You know I’m right,” he insists.

I glare at him, my stubbornness digging in. “I know no such thing.”

He jerks his chin. “Come on, get your bulbs.”

I let out a huff of annoyance and spin around, heading for a large metal supply cabinet.

Jigsaw doesn’t move or say a word.

I grab a small stepladder and drag it closer to the shelves.

“ Demons give me strength ,” he mutters behind me. “Why are you being so difficult?” He grabs the stepladder, pushing it aside. “Put that away. I’m standing right here.” He runs his gaze over the shelves. “Which ones?”

I point to the second highest shelf. “The first two white boxes.”

He stretches, his shirt lifting slightly, and easily reaches what I need. “You weren’t reaching this with that itty bitty stepladder.”

A scream of frustration bubbles in my throat—because again, he’s right, I’d still have to be on my tiptoes. “Don’t be smug, Stretch.”

He chuckles, tucks the bulbs against his side, and heads for the stairs.

I slam the cabinet doors shut and hurry to catch him. “I can carry my own bulbs.”

“Too late.”

A growl of frustration bursts out of me.

Jigsaw stops at the bottom of the steps and turns to face me. “You need to get it through your head, if we’re together, I protect you. If you can’t deal with that, tell me now.”

Pain constricts around my throat. “That sounds like an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum ?” He draws out the word as if tasting its absurdity from every angle possible.