Chapter 4
Alexia
Insanely gorgeous.
The two words shouldn’t be brought together even as a backdrop to the conversation we were about to engage in.
Blood, violence, and the thought of unbridled sex shouldn’t be considered in the same breath, but the moment I’d walked toward Maverick’s signing table, my first thought had been the book jacket hadn’t done him justice.
My second thought was how the light dusting of milk chocolate brown hair on his chiseled jaw had created a distinguished appearance with the five o’clock shadow.
My third thought had centered on indulging in a languid look at his broad shoulders outfitted in a well-worn jacket that suited his persona as the mysterious author.
From there, my thoughts had degraded to his rosy lips, full of vibrancy and perfectly kissable even as he’d offered a pronounced scowl. I’d been just another reader begging for him to sign a book.
Every young woman fantasized about the perfect man, sinful desires fueled by movie or rock stars.
Men created for the purpose of being able to taste forbidden fruit in the comfort and privacy of their own home.
Books romanticized the idea of bad boys, dangerous to a fault, their ruggedness heightening an unattainable yearning.
I found it fascinating that until recently, his stories had contained very little romance. Finally, there’d been a love interest in the book before this recent release, which had provided the perfect opportunity for his surging female fan base.
Maverick Callahan was the perfect hero. Handsome and rugged while being a little wrinkled around the edges.
Was he my idea of a perfect hero? Yes, but for an entirely different reason that would remain a private affair.
Maybe even from the man himself. Why I’d so readily divulged my former identity was beyond me.
He was no longer on the force. If the real killer was on the hunt, what could Maverick do to end the resurgent nightmare?
I’d skipped past action stars and mafia Dons as my fantasy men of choice, no matter how perfectly depicted on the written page or on the big screen.
Why? Because every image daring to float into my mind had been overshadowed by visions of Maverick’s chiseled face, strong arms that had held me close.
Keeping me safe.
“You’re serious,” Maverick said. I don’t know if I expected disbelief or admonishment, but I received neither. Just a dark, foreboding, and protective stance that screamed of power and his own brand of justice hiding just below the surface. Highly attractive.
“Yes.” I’d thought about how to tell him and what to say for days, but I was still uncertain. What could I say in hopes he would believe me? The entire thought was ridiculous. How many people had worked on the case?
He’d always been larger than life with the glossy dossier of his profile. An adventurer. A rogue. A man determined to fight for justice while ignoring confining rules if necessary. In real life he was all those things and more. I found myself breathless around him, fuzzy of mind and aching of body.
Reading his books had given a sense of the man and what he would be willing to do to protect a victim. And to hunt down a sadistic killer.
Some would say my thoughts were twisted, but the discovery of what made him tick boosted his sexual appeal.
Even though I’d managed to shove aside my thoughts, they hadn’t drifted back into my mind, they’d smashed into my consciousness.
Sitting across from him now was surreal.
Not because I was an avid fan, although after reading four of his thrillers I was, but because of how his dogged diligence had been the reason my life had been spared.
Coffee hadn’t been strong enough for either of us after my revelation.
In silence, we’d headed to a corner bar, settling into a booth near the back. Away from customers who could possibly overhear our conversation. Away from the real world, one with claws.
There was no reason to hide, yet I’d been a cautionary tale of survival, people treating me as if what I’d endured all those years ago had been a contagious disease.
With Maverick’s scotch in his strong fingers, and a glass full of cabernet in front of me, the silence that had fallen between us was nearly as deafening as those endured in the Everglades.
Sights. Sounds. Emotions.
While certain details had faded both from time and after the nearly psychotic break I’d had months after I’d been rescued, a few details had been permanently etched in my brain.
Including the stench of death.
I’d tried so hard to block out as many details as possible that I’d forgotten about how handsome he was.
To a sixteen-year-old girl, he’d seemed larger than life, more protective than anyone had been in my life.
The man sitting in front of me was the same, yet completely different.
Not just because he was older, but the look in his whiskey-tinted eyes was more soulful.
Or perhaps the flecks of moss green and dots of gold added to the allure of danger and domination surrounding him.
Then again, it was possible I was seeing mental scars from his many years of working in the FBI.
What struck me more than the changes was how handsome he was, even more so now. I’d remembered him as rugged even then, but there was an air of authority now that was different, the flecks of silver at his temples adding to his seductive allure.
With a strong jaw and carved features, he was what most women would call drop dead gorgeous, yet was a little shaggy around the edges. I don’t know what I’d expected, but he didn’t have the look of a multimillion-dollar bestselling author. As if I knew what they were supposed to look like.
But in faded blue jeans, the knees already frayed, a form-fitting tee shirt highlighting every sculpted muscle in his chest and abdomen, and the light suit jacket he’d tossed over the attire, he was more Miami Vice than buttoned-up author.
“Maria,” Maverick said with a quiet reverence, still formulating a response. He was in disbelief.
“I haven’t used Maria since the trial.”
There was still no look of admonishment in his eyes for hiding my identity nor was there pity, although I could detect empathy in his tone. The same rugged yet comforting one he’d used on the morning he’d found me. I would never forget his voice, his touch, or his gentleness.
Memories of the rescue would likely never fade, including how he’d cradled me in his arms, his K-9 companion Max trotting by his side. He’d seemed so huge, Superman in a young girl’s mind.
“Understandable.” He shifted his glass back and forth. “You’ll forgive me if I’m having difficulty believing what you said.”
“Don’t worry. I’m still trying to make sense of what my gut told me as well.”
“Maria Rivera now Alexia Martino. Your mother remarried, your stepfather adopting you, and you began using your middle name.”
He’d kept up with my little world. After he’d rescued me, I’d seen him maybe three times after that. He’d all but disappeared after cracking the case. “How do you know?”
He scanned the bar, not from concern but to buy himself time while determining what to tell me.
“As you said, you were the only survivor of a horrific crime that rocked the entire city. Your face as well as all the others haunted me for months. Cases like that change a man. My psyche needed to know you were okay.”
“So you’ve been stalking me.” My smile was sly.
I knew he hadn’t been, or he would have recognized me the moment I’d walked to his table.
My appearance was completely different, not only because I’d blossomed from a gangly kid to a woman.
My hair was also longer, allowing my natural curls to take center stage.
And I’d found my voice, refusing to hide behind the terror that had held me in bouts of panic for over a year.
His features softened as he chuckled. “Hardly. Your mother was so strong and when I sensed you’d recover, I quietly removed myself as being your ghost. You’ve obviously done very well for yourself.”
“Tell that to my bank account and my plumber who I have on speed dial. On second thought, don’t tell him. He’ll charge me more than the arm and leg he does now.”
“Old house?”
“Old enough I should have known better. But sometimes the price range outweighs the cause and effect of making the right decision.”
“I can certainly say you’re successful based on your sense of humor if nothing else.”
“Try me at office parties. I’m a hoot.” Talking with him was much easier than I thought it would be.
Maybe being attracted to someone was the perfect icebreaker for delving into twisted memories.
“I don’t know if anyone ever fully recovers, but I made a promise to myself in that horrible shed that if I was lucky enough to escape, the bastard wouldn’t destroy the rest of my life.
I’ve worked very hard to ensure I didn’t lie to myself.
” It felt a little as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
“You obviously kept your promise.”
“My work helps more than you know.” Another awkward moment settled between us. “I wanted to reach out to you. I almost did several times.”
“As I did with you, but you deserved to have your life back.”
Why was it when tragedies of any type occurred, it was often very difficult for two people to talk?
“Whatever happened to Max? The poor dog. He allowed me to wrap and keep my arms around him for hours. He didn’t whine. Didn’t complain.”
As soon as I asked the question, I sensed a wave of profound sadness. “He was killed in the line of duty less than two years later. I lost my little buddy.”
“Right before you quit the force.”
“Somewhere in that neighborhood.”