href="#u3f5af83b-2994-5593-9612-41416461f130"> Chapter Nine
“What’s a seven-letter word for a man who is an all-around donkey to the people who are just trying to help him?”
Maggie Carson shifted her weight to the other foot and blew a frustrated breath out. It moved a wayward spiral of hair out of her face. She tried to tuck it back into the makeshift ponytail holder but it was a no-go. Like her it was probably done with the flip-flopping, hot-and-cold weather. Humid to the point of feeling like you were swimming standing up and then nothing but a dry chill. It was like south Alabama had a fever. Not that she was overly concerned about the weather.
At least not when she was in the process of breaking and entering.
Or attempting to break and enter.
“Not going to answer me, huh?”
She gave the man crouched down next to her, fiddling with the lock, a look that would have done her reputation for being a handful proud. Except the man wasn’t having any of it. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his fingers working.
Those fingers.
Those hands.
Oh, Lordy, what she could do with those.
Maggie shook her head, and the thought, away, surprised it had sprung up in the first place. Sure, Detective Matt Walker was a twelve on a ten-point scale of yummy—there was no denying that—but he was also still Detective Matt Walker. A man who had once called her a no-good ambulance chaser, pot stirrer and a scourge against society without an ounce of regret or shame. Not that she blamed him. She had accused him of murder. His wife’s murder, to boot.
But she had apologized for that.
“Fine, I’ll tell you,” she said, bending at the waist to keep her volume low. The smell of some generic cologne wafted up to her. The image of his hands came back. Maggie powered through it. “The magic word is jack—”
The lock unlatched, distracting her from her insult. For now.
“Tricking me into coming over to break into your house because you got locked out isn’t helping me,” he deadpanned. “In fact, that’s making a false report and is punishable by law.” He stood tall and brushed off his jeans. “And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about carting you off to jail before.”
A smirk pulled up the corners of his lips—the bottom one plump and ripe for the taking—but Maggie knew he was telling the truth without his snark. Which was why she’d kept her distance for the past five years. Still, it seemed there might not be enough time in the world to put their particular stream of water under the bridge.
“It’s not considered tricking if it’s the only way I can get the lead detective to come here,” she pointed out. “Also, I really did lock myself out. Two birds, one stone.”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest. For what felt like a long moment but she doubted stretched past a few seconds, Maggie took stock of the changes that had happened to his appearance since their last blowout years before. His hair was still a shade of dark dirty blond but now it was shaved short on the sides while the top had more length. It was a more controlled and clean look—probably part of being one of the county’s most beloved detectives—and paired like a fine wine with the dusting of facial hair he also, no doubt, kept maintained to the point where no one could ever complain that he was unkempt. Not that she’d seen him be anything but proper and in control during his career with the Riker County Sheriff’s Department. She might have been trying to avoid him but that didn’t mean she’d missed newspaper articles and stories of cases he was involved in on the local news.
However, in person, Maggie had to admit there were a few points that had been lost in the media’s translation of the man in front of her. The first and foremost was a pair of blue-gray eyes that always carried a hawk-like intensity. She imagined if she had the time she’d still not be able to put their level of intrigue on a scale. It was like looking into a spring and feeling its chill before ever even dipping a toe in the water. Then there was that jawline. The description of chiseled didn’t do him, or any woman caught staring at him, justice. It was so perfect that Maggie’s hand was itching to run along it before stopping just below his lips. For all she cared the rest of the man could have been a stick figure and she’d still rate him at an easy eleven. But it certainly didn’t hurt his cause that he was tall and had muscles peeking through his button-down. That was a change from the last time she’d seen him in person. He’d been more lean and less toned. Then again, she wasn’t surprised.
Everyone worked through grief differently.
Some people started a new hobby; some people threw themselves into the gym.
Others investigated unsolved murders in secret.
“And why, of all people, would you need me here?” Matt asked, cutting through her mental breakdown of him.
Instead of stepping backward, utilizing the large open space of her front porch, she chanced a step forward.
“I found something,” she started, straining out any excess enthusiasm that might make her seem coarse. Still, she knew the detective was a keen observer. Which is why his frown was already doubling in on itself before she explained herself.
“I don’t want to hear this,” he interrupted, voice like ice. “I’m warning you, Carson.”
“And it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done so,” she countered, skipping over the fact he’d said her last name like a teacher readying to send her to detention. “But right now I’m telling you I found a lead. A real, honest-to-God lead!”
The detective’s frown