Page 11 of Sighs By the Sea

“A friend, buddy. This is…uh, Maggie.”

My head tilts at the name, but I don't get a chance to correct him. “Hi Maggie, do you like dogs?” the kid asks. I almost laugh at the random question.

“Yes, in fact, I used to have a little cocker spaniel at home named Chap.”

If the child is impressed with my personal information, he doesn't show it. “Daddy, can we call Gwamma now?” he asks, already moving on to his next focus. Kids have the attention span of earthworms, but in my experience, that makes them more resilient. I certainly was. Just don't ask me to tell you what my childhood was like between the ages of six and fourteen. Isn't repression great?

I can already tell that this kid, George, won't have any repressed memories like that with Grayson in charge.

“Of course, Georgie.” Grayson holds out his cell phone to me. “Do you mind? Just select Lori and hand him the phone.”

Huh, he's not using his phone while driving? That makes him thoughtful. I push that thought away. He's probably only doing that because I'm in the car. Either way, I do as he requests.

Soon, Georgie is yapping away to his gramma in the backseat as Grayson drives.

“He’s cute,” I say.

“Hmm,” Grayson replies, his scowl only deepening.

“You could at least say thanks,” I mumble, crossing my arms against my chest. I see his lip twitch again. Is that as close as I can get to a smile? Probably. It'll have to do, I suppose.

Grayson pulls into his condo’s parking lot and goes into a numbered spot. But as he looks out his window, he frowns, backs up to adjust maybe a few inches, then pulls back in.

Cold, calculating, perfectionist, and sexy. Check, check, check, and oh boy, check. He gets out without saying a word to me and goes to the back seat. Georgie is still chatting with his grandmother, but Grayson scoops him up and throws him over his shoulder playfully.

Definitely no traumatic memories for Georgie to repress. I can check 'excellent father' off on my profile too.

I follow him inside and into the elevator. The soft hum of the machinery is comforting, almost soothing. We ride up to the seventh floor and walk down the modern hall to his front door. The building is nice. It's well-kept without scuffs or marks on the walls. The carpet is clean underfoot. No mysterious stains for Mr. Cardenas. He unlocks his front door with a code, and the three of us step into his home.

Grayson immediately flicks a light on and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Wash your hands, mister,” he says as he goes to the sink and does the same.

I look around his home. It's like something out of a magazine. Sleek modern furniture is carefully arranged everywhere. The air carries a subtle scent of pine and cedar, as though the rooms have just been freshly polished. Not one picture or toy is present.

Odd. But it fits his profile. The one I can’t help but build in my own mind. Detective training is hard work, and I’ve been damn good at studying. That includes learning to profile, to a degree.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “You too, Detective Parker." It's so devoid of emotion, I suddenly hate my own last name.

“Call me Maggie,” I say. As soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, I wince. Maggie? Where the hell had that come from? No one has called me Maggie since… ever.

Wait, not ever. He told his son that was my name. Somewhere, the information is already settling into my core memories. I like the way it sounded coming from his lips. It seemed right.

Maggie. Yeah, I like that far too much.

I walk over to the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. Not a crumb out of place. To my surprise, he doesn’t move when I approach. Instead, he holds out the hand soap and coats my hands, then turns on his faucet.

I rub my fingers liberally, rinse, then shake them in the air. But Grayson is wearing a frown.

“What? I washed them.”

“You splattered my floor,” he says, almost snarling. I laugh. I can’t resist. With his grumpy face and bared teeth. The man is like some sort of predatory wolf. His mouth twitches again, and he tosses the rag that’s hanging over the dishwasher handle at me. “You think it’s funny, then you clean it up.”

I bend and wipe the floor quickly before straightening back up and throw the towel at his face. "Lighten up, wolf man, your pack is safe from the bears or elves or whatever it is you're afraid of."

He slowly swipes the cloth off his face, his cheeks ruddy. And there is that twitch again. Is that…? It hits me. He's trying not to smile.

“Can we sit now?” he asks, affixing the towel perfectly back in its place. There's a small dining room table in the adjoining room, and I pull out one of the oak chairs before sitting down. I keep a small notebook in my back pocket, opposite to my badge, and pull it out before pulling the pen from between the buttons on my blouse where it was clipped. Right as I'm about to open my mouth, Georgie comes out of the hall, a happy bounce in his steps, buck naked.

“George!” Grayson shouts, a broad smile on his lips.

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