Chapter 2
Maverick
A cautionary tale of diplomacy.
In other words, faking a goddamn smile for hours on end.
If I had another cup of coffee, there would be no way of stopping the reality of my personality from escaping the debonair facade.
Oh, who was I kidding? Today I bore the look of an author who’d been stuck inside his house facing one deadline after another.
Not exactly disheveled considering my blazer came directly from Italy, but close enough to keep my female fans enamored.
“Are we finished yet?” I asked while managing to preserve the jovial expression even as three women took turns taking pictures with my cardboard self on the other side of the thick velvet rope.
“Look at that line, Mav. Come on. Meeting your fans isn’t the worst thing in the world. I remember your first signing when two people showed up, including my mother. The question I have is do you remember those lean and mean days?”
“Short lived, I seem to recall.”
“This is part of the job,” he continued, his smile bigger than mine. Of course, his entire objective was to make me appear to be something I wasn’t: a handsome bachelor eager to find his forever lady.
According to him, that’s what sold books. I hadn’t known it was such a meat market. I also wasn’t in the market for a relationship.
Carter Blackstone was my agent, a man so highly respected in the industry I continued to be reminded I was one lucky man.
He was also the bearer of invisible whips and chains, items needed to drag me to a book signing.
My place was behind my laptop, not schmoozing with readers.
At least that’s what I continued to tell myself.
“Then you do it.” I tossed the coffee, reaching into my pocket for a mint.
Maybe he’d forgotten about how much money I’d added to his bank account over the last few years.
He moved in front of me, the glare on his face favoring admonishment.
“You know what? I would love to. I’d absolutely love to be in your position for one week of my life.
One week of living in that lavish home nestled in the most pristine beach location in Miami.
One week of wind flowing through my hair as I speed down A-1-A in my Lamborghini.
One week of waltzing into any five-star restaurant without a reservation and still managing to snag the best seat in the house.
And oh, yeah. One week of having one woman on my arm after another.
Seven full nights of blissful, hard fucking. Woe is you.”
I glared at him. “I don’t speed down A-1-A. I don’t go out to eat very often and I certainly don’t have a woman a night.”
The chime indicated that the break was over.
We glared at each other for another full minute. Ours was often a hate-hate relationship, but he’d made me millions.
“Sit your ass down in the chair and sign the fucking books.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Sit your ass down and sign the fucking books, please or I’ll find a way to tank your new release.”
I popped the mint, chuckling as I did. “No, you won’t and do you want to know why? Because you like money as much as everyone else.”
“Bastard.”
“You bet I am.”
I slid into the seat just as the magical rope was pulled aside.
As people rushed the table, I took a deep breath.
Just another hour or so and I could head out.
While I was thrilled at the early success of my latest release, including grabbing a number one spot on the New York Times bestseller’s list, my idea of celebrating wasn’t being pinned behind a table signing books until my hand cramped.
You bet I adored my readers, but this was the fifth bookstore I’d been sequestered to in three days.
However, I sat back with the same smile planted on my face and grabbed my Mont Blanc pen, raring to go.
Losing track of time when presented with two hundred people standing in front of you was an easy feat, enough that when I glanced at my watch the next time, almost two hours had passed.
With my head down, as another book was slid in front of me, I was surprised to see at least three dozen annotations throughout it. Only it wasn’t He Will Come, but my first publication written years before. That caught my attention.
For a few seconds I was taken back in time to the reason I’d quit the FBI and started writing fiction novels in the first place.
Gone Before Dawn had been a breakout success, the thriller putting me on the map of bestsellers.
The six hundred pages had also been a love-hate relationship, forcing me to face my predatory demons.
Not that I’d shucked them off permanently. They still came back from time to time, biting my ass in the middle of the night. Although with less frequency than before. There wasn’t a member of law enforcement who didn’t have that one case that never left.
When I lifted my head, call me chauvinistic, but I expected to see a man standing in front of me. The reason for my expectation was simple. For the first few books of my career, I’d yet to fully comprehend adding any romance to my books, which had sold thousands of additional copies.
Not that I’d ever give Carter credit, but he’d been right.
The stunning woman peering down at me took my breath away.
I’d experienced my share of beautiful women in my life, although lately passion had taken a backburner to deadlines and promotion. However, someone as stunning as the woman standing in front of me was impossible for any man to ignore.
Curly ebony hair framing a heart-shaped face, thick lashes skimming across her cheeks, eyes the color of the Aegean Sea just before sunset, and soft, voluptuous lips that drew and kept my attention.
“Mr. Callahan. I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you.” Even her voice kept my rapt attention. There was a sultry, deep huskiness to it, the tone allowing my creative mind to drift away from reality to several dark and filthy places.
I was at a momentary loss for words, something no one would ever accuse me of, and she seemed to sense I was having difficulty deciphering a perfect answer without making a fool of myself.
“It’s a thrill to be able to meet you.” Her slight smile was knowing, the offer bridging the silence to keep my misguided playboy reputation intact.
“And you are?” I noticed she held out her hand, rarely if ever done by readers. As soon as I accepted the gesture, an actual chemical spark occurred.
There was a moment shared between us I should be able to describe given my creative abilities, but not a single word entered my mind. Why was I having such difficulty around a stranger?
“Alexia.” She dragged the tip of her tongue across the plumpness of her bottom lip. “Would you mind signing this for me?”
“A beautiful name and I don’t mind at all.
What made you choose Gone Before Dawn?” As I scribbled out her name and short passage of endearment, I expected her to offer a flowery answer, but she remained silent.
The air drifting between us was suddenly stale, the only scent traces of vanilla and jasmine, the fragrance warm and subtly seductive.
“The way you captured the essence of the killer, the darkness ebbing and flowing inside his blackened soul called to me. Your descriptions were powerful and raw, a touch graphic while allowing the reader to take a journey into madness. Somehow, you managed to slide into the killer’s mind as if for briefly two sides of the same coin. If only for a little while.”
Everything about her description seemed personal, as if she’d lived in the moment. Compliments of this nature, the sense that through my words on the page the readers had lived the danger suffered by the heroine provided a reason to continue with my art.
A little-known secret. The compliment meant more than the seven-figure checks dropped into my bank account.
However, the wistfulness in her eyes kept my attention.
Maybe it had been a long time since I’d served in the capacity of law enforcement, but my instincts and training were the depicted on every page in every book.
The lovely woman was hiding something. The look in her eyes appeared as if she was a thousand miles away, reliving a moment. From the book or something else?
“I’m very glad I could provide you with thrilling entertainment.”
My not so decent attempt at making a joke broke the dark and intense spell. She laughed, the sound sweeter than any music tapped into on my satellite radio. “Very much so. While I know your book was a work of fiction, it was based on a true crime. Wasn’t it?”
Her challenge was delicious. “Now, what would make you say that?”
Was I finally catching onto the art of flirtation? I doubted my poker-playing buddies would do anything but chastise my method. However, Alexia was enjoying the banter and that was all that mattered.
“Because I’m an excellent judge of character even within the written word. Plus, you state you’re former a FBI agent in your bio. I can only imagine the stories you have to tell.”
She’d caught me there and I laughed. “I’m not certain if you’re referring to the fictional hero or the man behind the computer screen.”
While I was rewarded with another smile, her eyes were continuously searching mine. A light flush hit her cheeks and my cock stirred.
“Definitely a little of both.”
I stood, the book still in my hand, enjoying every second of basking in her beauty. Since when had I become a lecherous man at my own signing? When I leaned forward, her inhale was quick and far too provocative. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re correct.”
“I thought so. You were the FBI agent who solved the Python Killer case.”
The monster had gained the notoriety based on how he’d tried to eliminate his victims. The case that would forever rattle me.
“In my days serving justice, I was lucky enough to solve several crimes.”
The faraway look appeared again. “Not one so heinous.”
Red flags based on the years I’d worked in the field with the FBI popped up, but I refrained from barraging her with questions as if starting an interrogation. “Perhaps you’re right. Here you go.” Handing her the book, I was already being given the evil eye from the people in line behind Alexia.
She cradled it against her chest. “One last question. The killer. Have you ever thought about the possibility that you convicted the wrong man? I mean if you had, then an innocent man has been languishing in prison for years, soon to be executed.”
Hold on. Was she talking about the Python Killer?
While I no longer had regular contact with anyone I used to work with, surely my poker-playing buddies would have shared the news with me.
Yes, I’d sequestered myself inside my house for weeks, sometimes months at a time, trying to keep my mojo going.
However, with two judges, a DEA agent, and a prosecuting attorney as my best friends, if what Alexia was suggesting was true, I was shocked I’d yet to receive a phone call.
Granted, I’d bagged off two recent poker games based on my deadlines, but a phone worked just as well.
Momentarily stunned, I realized whatever expression I wore had shifted her mindset, allowing her to laugh.
“Within the pages of your book, of course. I could imagine how differently the book would have turned out had you not chosen the person you did.”
“You mean the guilty party or the hero?”
“Maybe both. As with every story, whether real, untold or seen through the eyes of a fantastic author, a single shift in truths, clues, or nuances could alter the outcome of a criminal case. A novel. Real life. Anyway, thank you for all your incredible stories. They keep me sane.”
All FBI agents went through extensive education, including psychological training through the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The focus wasn’t simply about learning skills to catch killers, but also about recognizing characteristics of those who were either lying or in distress.
She wasn’t a killer nor was she lying.
Yet her distress was wrapped solidly in a solid sheet of impenetrable armor. The electric current from before lingered, a pull to the woman that was both unexpected and exciting. Not once in my author career had I invited a reader out for coffee or a drink, but I wasn’t ready for her to walk away.
So I broke out of my comfort zone. “Alexia, you have a fascinating take on the profession.”
“Which one?”
Half laughing, I rubbed my fingers across the two-day stubble on my face, left since I’d been late getting out of the house.
“Maybe both. This shindig should be over in about fifteen minutes. Would you like to grab a cup of coffee so we can discuss further? There’s a cool little shop down the street.
They have some of the best brews in town. ”
Her eyes lit up, shimmers of luminous gold dancing around her irises. “You mean Moxie’s?”
“You know it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I spend way too much time and money in there. The coffee is fabulous and I would love to.”
“Excellent. Just hang around.”
“I will.”
I was thankful for being able to sit behind a table since as soon as I planted my ass in the chair, my cock stiffened.
Fifteen minutes turned into an hour. By the time the store employee snapped the rope in place, I was exhausted and needed something much stronger than coffee.
Immediately, I scanned the oversized room that had held the signing.
“You want to grab a beer?” Carter asked. “We can go over the new contract and save a step.”
I was ready to let him know I had other plans until I realized Alexia had disappeared. Why did I have a feeling our paths would cross again?
Jesus. I was disappointed as hell.
“Sure, Carter. Sounds good.”
And why did I have a terrible sense that when we did, more than just sparks would fly?