6. On the rocks
SIX
On the rocks
SERVED WITH ICE, TYPICALLY IN A ROCKS GLASS
THE NEXT DAY
“Fucking Pacific coastline and its stupid fucking hills.”
Maggie wheezed out breath as she trudged up the steep incline toward the highest point in Townsend Harbor, cursing the founding fathers for their poor urban planning skills with every step.
Stopping to rest a hand against the stitch in her side, she mentally calculated the distance between her and Mayor Stewart’s lair.
Somewhere between ten yards and for fucking ever miles.
Her Chanel overcoat was now sticking to her back, beads of sweat trickling from her armpits down her ribcage like lazy insects.
“Why can’t anything ever be fucking easy?” Maggie asked the universe at large, forcing herself to resume her uphill battle.
The blisters already forming on her heels stung with each step, mocking her choice in footwear. The worst part? Her black leather Jimmy Choo riding boots had been her favorite pair once upon a time.
A time before her dumb fuck of an ex—okay, almost -ex—had somehow managed to reach his pasty, trucker-tanned arms through the bars of Queensboro Correctional Facility all the way to this tiny tourist hamlet.
And onto the laptop screen of one Deputy Trent McGarvey.
Or should I say, Mrs. Charles Wiggins.
A hot flush crept up her neck at the flat, businesslike way McGarvey had pronounced the name that hung about her neck like a balding albatross.
Okay, so he knew she was technically still married.
At least he didn’t know everything. And Maggie certainly hadn’t felt compelled to offer up any extra details.
Like the fact that Charlie was about to be paroled after serving a four-year sentence for bribery and racketeering charges, along with eleven other members of the Long Island Local No. 200 Journeyman and Apprentices of the Plumbing and Pipe Fitting Industry Union.
Or that he’d taken her virginity in the back of his 1989 Cadillac Eldorado the night of the Sophomore Fall Formal to “Closer” by the Chainsmokers.
She shuddered as the sprawling Victorian monstrosity came into view, looming over Water Street and Puget Sound, its tidy garden and wraparound porch boasting an unobstructed view of the lighthouse beyond.
Maggie paused to catch her breath, glaring at the structure as if it were personally responsible for her discomfort.
And in a way, it was.
If only Mayor Stewart had shown up at Sirens’ happy hour either of the last two evenings like he was supposed to, she wouldn’t be fighting for her life while the town’s native deer gangs silently judged her, their liquid chocolate eyes stoic as she aggressively sucked salty wind down her raw, hoarse throat.
On the upside, she’d had a chance to schmooze with Darby Dunwell, who had quickly become her favorite—okay, second favorite—person in Townsend Harbor. And that was only because Myrtle and Vee were a package deal.
Over cosmopolitans almost the exact shade of her hair, she’d served Maggie the tea about the Townsend-Stewart scandal that had rocked the small town to its core. While her lumbersnack of a man-piece slowly turned the color of an atomic beet.
Maggie supposed she might too if her mother had been out bribing officials and arranging Machiavellian machinations instead of sucking an endless succession of Newport 100’s while using her one-year AA chip to molest Lucky Dog scratch-offs at the kitchen table.
The image opened an ache in her chest that propelled her the last few yards to the border of the mayor’s property.
Dappled sunlight fell through a thick canopy of trees, casting playful shadows on the cobblestone driveway that snaked its way up to the grand fa?ade. Illuminated beneath the flickering light, the mansion was simultaneously imposing and inviting with its ivy-scribbled walls, intricately carved gables, and the towering oak that stood sentinel by the small service gate entrance.
Which, thank fuck for small favors, was exactly as it had been pictured on Google Maps: concealed from the street by a hedgerow and on the other side of the formidable gazebo that stood between it and the rear veranda.
Maggie paused on the corner, midwifing her camera out of its carrying case and lifting it to her face to squint through the aperture.
Only, there wasn’t one.
She blinked at the wall of black, confused until she pulled it away to examine the lens.
Which was covered by a lens cap that Trent McGarvey had helpfully put on it.
After he’d obviously wiped it down. Just as he had the rest of her cluttered hidey-hole of a home base before she came home to bust him pawing through her panty drawer.
A little shower of sparks sizzled through her center as she remembered the stricken look on his face.
And the not-inconsiderable semi in his trousers.
What followed was adorably awkward confrontation that ended with McGarvey sputtering something about verbal consent before he’d hightailed it out of her place like he was being chased with a blowtorch.
Still. The man was perhaps the only cop in existence who left the premises nicer than he found them after a search.
Never in her life had a man she was sharing a home with ever bothered to lift a finger to clean. Her father, for instance, had only ever contributed to household chores by mowing the lawn and carving the holiday ham. And the only thing that walking colostomy bag Charlie had ever lifted around the house was his left butt cheek to rip ass every time the Jets scored a touchdown on Sunday afternoons.
And now, there was McGarvey. Beautiful, responsible, infuriatingly meticulous McGarvey, who had not only navigated her labyrinthine instructions for feeding Roxie, he’d broken down the small mountain of empty Amazon boxes to craft a makeshift barrier to keep her everything-impaired rescue dog from getting stuck under the coffee table.
Again.
Speaking of Roxie, Maggie thought—the sooner she finished this unpleasant errand, the sooner they could curl up on the couch together with a bowl of 9 Pound Hammer and the Entenmann’s Lemon Crunch Cake that Mark had been kind enough to send in her East Coast withdrawal care package.
True to Gabe’s “nobody fuckin’ locks nothin’ around here” adage, she found the gate secured by only a basic gravity latch, which she easily reached through the wrought-iron bars to unhook.
Beyond the gate, a wild oasis of lush greenery stretched out before her, a stark contrast to the cookie-cutter lawns of Townsend Harbor. Century-old willows wept their tendrils over a stone path leading to a small pond surrounded by well-manicured rosebushes, seemingly transported straight out of an English countryside.
As she neared the back of the house, the unmistakable sound of sharp consonants and hissed whispers pricked the air with tension. Her curiosity piqued, Maggie sidestepped a marble statue of a cherub peeing into an ornate birdbath—Townsend Harbor’s idea of tasteful lawn décor, apparently.
Peeking past its plump marble buttocks, she felt a jolt of shock as she saw Mayor Stewart talking to… Ethan Townsend ?
Bracing a shoulder against the statue’s base, she brought her camera up to her face, killed the flash, and began snapping photos.
Through the electronic aperture, she watched Ethan’s broad shoulders stiffen as he turned to respond, his voice too low for her to make out except for a handful of words that kicked her heart into a gallop.
Not going to give up… no longer hide… founders… time they knew.
Whatever he’d said, it was enough to make the mayor’s artificially tanned face darken to a raw-liver burgundy.
“As long as you remember that the Stewart family’s reputation isn’t the only thing that stands to suffer if the Palace Hotel’s full history comes to light,” the mayor said with the affected projection of a man used to cutting ribbons with ornamental oversized shears. “If some comes out, all comes out.”
Ethan crossed his arms over his flannel-clad chest, giving the mayor a look that would have frozen molten lava. His ice-blue eyes narrowed, and his lip curled in distaste. “So be it.”
With that, he turned on his heel, the gravel crunching under his boots echoing through the tense silence.
Maggie’s face tingled as her mind raced, questions swirling in her mind like the plastic snow in the tacky globes her mother collected from places that had never seemed worthy of remembering.
How was the Townsend family connected to the Palace Hotel? Did that mean they were also connected to Madame Katz?
What had Mayor Stewart meant when he said “if some comes out, all comes out”?
Why was the stone structure she had been leaning against slowly disappearing from beneath her shoulder?—
A gasp tore free from Maggie’s throat, the thick strap around her neck jerking as the camera dropped from her hands and her arms pinwheeled out to regain her balance.
Only in grabbing the branch of a denuded Japanese maple did she manage to keep herself from going face-first into the drink.
The perpetually pissing cupid, not so much.
Mayor Stewart’s eyes went first to the mess in the fountain, then rose to her, his face a mask of indignant fury. Maggie’s breath hitched, and she felt an unwelcome flare of irritation spread through her chest and rise to her cheeks.
“This was a lawsuit waiting to happen!” she said, stabbing a dagger-like nail at the ceramic soup. “I could have been killed.”
“Miss Michaels,” he said, his voice soaked with contempt. “What do you think you’re doing on my property? You’re lucky I didn’t press charges after your little stunt at the Palace Hotel.”
Maggie took a step closer, narrowing her eyes at him. “Lucky?” she challenged. “See, I kind of thought it was super sus that you took your balls and went home so quickly. What is it about the Palace Hotel that has your taint in a twist?”
The mayor’s face deepened to summer eggplant. “Apologies, but would you mind repeating that in plain English? With your quaint colloquialisms and your…accent, it’s difficult to apprehend your meaning.”
“I bet the readers of the Townsend Leader won’t have any difficulty,” Maggie said, using her nail to flick the flash back on before snapping a picture of the mayor’s rage-creased face. “Especially accompanied by the pictures of you attempting to strong-arm Ethan Townsend into keeping quiet. You apprehend that okay, jackfuck?”
Mayor Stewart paled slightly at her words, though he tried to maintain his composure. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Michaels. This is pure, rank speculation on your part.”
Picking up on the subtle tension in his shoulders, she leaned in closer, her breath tickling his cheek as she whispered, “Is it, though? Because you have no idea what I was able to document before Deputy McGarvey came along the other night.” She tapped the camera hanging around her neck. “And whatever secrets you’re trying to protect, well… I’ve got all the evidence I need right here on this memory card.”
The mayor’s steely fa?ade cracked for an instant, allowing Maggie a glimpse of the fear lurking beneath his arrogant exterior. He cleared his throat, obviously attempting to regain control of the conversation. “If you think this kind of sophomoric bluff will be effective on me, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Am I?” Maggie replied, her heart pounding with adrenaline. “You tell me, Mr. Mayor. Are you willing to take that risk?”
The mayor lunged without warning, his lotioned grip surprisingly strong as it closed over her wrist.
Maggie clamped her fingers down on the camera strap just as Mayor Stewart made a grab for it, their hands brushing against each other in a tug-of-war for control.
“Let go of my Nikon, you pompous asshat,” Maggie snapped, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip.
“Not as long as it contains unauthorized images of my property,” Mayor Stewart retorted, his face reddening with exertion.
“You take your hands off her camera, or I’m going to take them off for you.”
The sudden, unmistakable rasp of Trent McGarvey’s voice had both of them freezing and whipping their heads toward him. He was standing by the wrought-iron entrance gate, his muscular arms folded across his chest and a stern expression on his face. At his side was one of the mayor’s staff members, who had clearly been watching the confrontation unfold.
“Respectfully,” McGarvey added.
“Officer McGarvey,” the mayor said, releasing his grip on Maggie’s wrist as if it had suddenly become white hot. “I find it quite concerning that, despite your assurances, I continue to be harassed by Miss Michaels on my own property.”
Maggie clenched her fists, trying to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at the mayor’s overdramatic response. She glanced at McGarvey, wondering if he could see through the mayor’s theatrics just as easily as she could.
“Mayor Stewart,” McGarvey said calmly, “I understand your concerns. However, that doesn’t give you the right to take Miss Michaels’s property.”
The mayor’s mouth twisted into a sour grimace. “If this is the kind of support the Townsend Harbor Police Department and County Sheriff provides, perhaps it’s time to reevaluate the allocation of our municipal bonds.”
“Sir,” McGarvey responded evenly, “we take all investigations seriously, and I assure you, we’re doing everything in our power to maintain order and safety within our community.”
“Everything in your power?” Mayor Stewart retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’d hate to think what would happen if your department was any less capable.”
“Actually,” Maggie interjected, “it’s the Townsend Harbor municipal law that gives me the right to be on this property.”
Mayor Stewart raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her interruption. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” she replied confidently, even though she was only half certain she was right. “So unless you want to have a lengthy discussion about civil codes, I suggest you let me continue my work.”
“Fine,” he huffed, gesturing dismissively. “You’re welcome to leave so that those with the proper authority and qualifications can discuss this matter.”
“You mean like a dick?” Maggie asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Because last time I checked, a penis isn’t required to read civil codes. Or press releases, for that matter. Because I’ve got some contacts at the Seattle Times who would just cream their khakis to run a feature piece on the sordid sex worker scandal that Townsend Harbor was founded on. In fact, that reminds me. I’m supposed to meet Michelle for coffee.”
Maggie’s fingers danced over her phone screen, tapping out a message before she raised the device to her ear. The mayor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to maintain his air of superiority even as his face betrayed his anxiety.
“Michelle whom?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Michelle Thompson,” Maggie replied, her smirk widening as she hit send and switched the call to speakerphone. “The editor in chief of the Seattle Times .”
The ringing on the other end echoed through the tense silence, and Maggie watched with delight as a bead of sweat escaped the artfully sculpted shock of the mayor’s silver hair. It traced a wet path down his spray-tanned, Botox frozen forehead, signaling his growing unease.
“Hey, Maggie!” Michelle’s cheerful voice rang out from the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Michelle,” Maggie responded, keeping her eyes locked on the mayor’s increasingly uncomfortable expression. “I was just thinking about that coffee date we’ve been meaning to set up. How does tomorrow sound?”
“Sounds great! You better have some hot goss for me!” Michelle—her nail tech—replied, blissfully unaware of the power play unfolding on the other end of the line.
“Perfect. See you then,” Maggie said, ending the call and tucking her phone back into her purse.
Mayor Stewart’s jaw flexed. “Very well, Miss Michaels,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve made your point.”
“You have no idea how delighted I am to hear it,” Maggie replied, her smile never faltering.
“Now kindly remove yourself from my property. And be advised that if you come within a hundred yards of me again, I will press charges for your recent trespassing offense.”
“Are you serious?” Maggie interrupted, incredulous. “Townsend Harbor is so small it’s nearly impossible not to be a hundred yards away from someone at all times!”
“Then I suggest you find a way to manage it.” Mayor Stewart spun on his heel and disappeared back into the mansion, leaving Maggie fuming in the garden.
McGarvey placed a warm hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her down the hill. The unexpected touch sent a shiver up her spine and sparked that familiar flutter in her stomach.
“Can you believe that dickwrinkle?” Maggie vented, feeling the need to fill the silence between them. “Who the actual fuck does he think he is?”
“Um, the mayor,” McGarvey replied, his voice tinged with frustration.
She hated it when he had a point.
As they reached the bottom of the hill, McGarvey removed his hand from her back, leaving her skin tingling from the loss of contact.
“Listen,” he began, hesitating for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. “You need to be careful with Mayor Stewart. He may be an insufferable prick of the first order, but he’s a well-connected one.”
“Are you worried about me?” she asked, poking him playfully in the shoulder.
The moment they stepped out of the line of sight of the mayor’s gawking staff, McGarvey spun her around and pressed her against the car, hovering a breath away from her.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice rough and low. “When are you planning on going back to the Palace Hotel?”
Maggie’s heart stuttered as she stared up at McGarvey, eyes wide, swallowing hard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “Give me a little credit, Margaret .” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and heat flared in her belly. “I know you better than that.”
Maggie pressed her palms against his biceps, but the gesture backfired magnificently. Rather than creating the space she’d hoped for, the feel of his mounded muscle in her grip made her stomach flip. “I don’t have any plans to go back there. I got what I needed.”
“Really?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Because I could always call in a request for surveillance on the place. You know, just to make sure.”
“Okay, fine!” she snapped, her resolve crumbling under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. “I was thinking of going back tomorrow night. But if you think the fact that we tongue wrestled gives you the right to try to stop me?—”
“Stop you?” he scoffed. “Hell no. I’m coming with you.”
“The fuck you are,” she said, sinking to the soles of her boots. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“How about a bodyguard?” he asked.
“With all due respect, Deputy McGarvey,” she purred, looking at him from beneath her lashes, “your body seems to be the one I need guarding against.”
His eyes softened as they took on a sexy, sleepy, hooded look that Maggie found irresistible. “Tell that to your nipples.”
But Maggie didn’t have to glance downward to know that he was correct. She could feel the achingly stiff peaks brushing against her Judas of a bra.
She licked her lips, acutely aware of his hand still resting on her lower back, his touch burning through the thin layer of her dress. “I can take care of myself,” she said, her protest somewhat lacking in conviction.
“Really?” he asked, his voice firm but gentle. “Because judging by your record, you’re an absolute embarrassment as a thief.”
Maggie stared at him, torn between arousal and exasperation. “It’s like I told you?—”
“Now I’m telling you ,” he said, his breath fanning warm over her cheek as he leaned in. “You’ve got a better shot of getting what you’re looking for with me watching your six.”
A delicious shiver ran down her spine at the implication in his tone. She swallowed hard, torn between suspicion at his sudden interest in her work and the desire coiling hot in her core. “What’s in it for you?”
A low groan rumbled in his chest. His hands snaked down her back to cup her ass, dragging her flush against him. She sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of his arousal, hard and unmistakable, pressed to her belly. “Watching your six.”
He flexed his fingers against her ass as his lips descended on hers, hard and hungry, stealing her breath and what was left of her resistance. Maggie melted into him with a soft sigh, her reservations burning away in the fire of their merged mouths.
She pulled back, breathless, and gazed up at him with a dazed smile. “All right, deputy. You’ve convinced me.”
“Good.” He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through her. His eyes darkened as he studied her kiss-swollen mouth. “Though honestly, I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping to have to persuade you a little harder.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at the implication, and an answering ache coiled low in her belly. “Maybe I’m being agreeable for my own nefarious purposes. You don’t know.”
McGarvey’s smile turned wicked. He slid a hand into her hair and tilted her head back, baring the line of her throat.
“Yes, I do.” His lips brushed her pulse point, and she shivered.
Maggie sucked in a sharp breath at the scrape of his teeth over her skin. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails biting into the fabric of his shirt. “Well, when you put it like that…” Her words momentarily evaporated as she struggled to regain her equilibrium. “But you better not get in my way.”
“Relax, Michaels,” he said, pulling back enough to aim his perfect grin into her upturned face. “I’m just trying to keep you from adding a felony to your illustrious record.”
His casual reinstallation of her maiden name despite his knowing full well she was still hauling around the balding millstone that was Charlie Wiggins did something to Maggie’s insides. The warmth creeping into her chest spilled downward to augment the liquid heat pooling at her core.
“Very magnanimous of you.”
“Just that kind of guy,” he said.
The deep, mournful bellow of the ferry’s horn shivered the air, tolling the official end of the moment. Glancing over her shoulder, Maggie saw the lumbering beast of metal and lights slowly sliding toward shore. She turned back to Trent, who was already relinquishing his grip. “Meet me at eleven below the dock next to the Palace Hotel,” she said. “Wear dark clothing.”
The corner of his mouth curled in amusement. “Should I come alone?” he asked. “Make sure I’m not followed? Maybe bring a suitcase full of unmarked bills?”
Maggie hauled back and punched his shoulder, uncertain her knuckles hadn’t gotten the worse end of the transaction. “Smartass.”
“Better than a dumbass any day.” McGarvey peeled himself from her, discreetly tugging his pristine khakis as he opened the door of his cruiser. “Better yet, meet me at eleven a.m. on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.”
Maggie blinked at him. “But what about Mayor Stewart?”
McGarvey hit her with the full force of his slow, sexy smile. “Let me worry about that.”
Swallowing hard, Maggie nodded.
“Until tomorrow, then?”
Maggie’s stomach flipped for the second time as he slid behind the wheel, releasing a heady current of his clean scent.
“Until then.”