Page 6 of Midnight & Mavericks

“Yeah, but I’m not interested in dating the boss’s son.”

She saw the look Missy sent down the hall in the direction of Nathan’s office. “Yeah, what girl would ever want to be seen with that guy?”

Abbie’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You’ve got a thing for Nathan?”

“Shhhhh. That’s not for public consumption.”

“Oh, sorry.” Abbie leaned in and whispered. “Good luck, Missy. I think he’d be a great catch for the right girl. I’m just not that girl.”

Ten minutes later, Abbie strode across the ground floor lobby of the Winters & Winters building, her heels clicking against the polished marble as she made her way to the exit. The buzz of her colleagues still lingered in her ears—hushed congratulations, proud nods, and the lingering glow of her courtroom victory. She had everything she’d ever worked for within reach. The partnership was all but official now, and her name would soon be etched onto the glass doors of the firm she’d poured her blood, sweat, and ambition into.

But as she stepped outside into the crisp evening air, the weight of her success felt strangely hollow. The adrenaline that had powered her through the trial was gone, replaced by a knot in her stomach she couldn’t quite shake. The city moved around her with its usual electric rhythm, but tonight, Manhattan, her kingdom, felt out of sync.

She hailed a cab, sliding into the backseat and giving her driver her address in clipped tones. The car merged into the rush-hour chaos and she took a moment to lean back against the worn seat and let her mind wander. Her phone buzzed in her bag. She didn’t even bother to respond. Whatever it was, her colleagues would handle it.

Her thoughts drifted instead to the call she’d made earlier to her grandfather. His voice had been warm but weary, carrying the kind of quiet resolve that only came from years of hard workand dealing with life’s struggles on the ranch. She’d heard it the moment he answered, the subtle crack in his tone that told her he was carrying more than he wanted to admit.

And now, on top of it all, there was Teddy’s unsolicited offer to buy the property. That didn’t make sense.

The cab came to a jerking stop outside her brownstone, and Abbie climbed out. Inside, the quiet of her apartment greeted her like an old friend. The sleek, minimalist decor—white walls, glass surfaces, a pop of color in a modern art piece above the sofa—usually felt like an oasis after the chaos of the city. But tonight, it felt cold and a bit impersonal.

She dropped her briefcase on the table by the door and kicked off her heels, wincing as her sore feet met the cool hardwood floor. At the small wet bar, she poured herself a splash of bourbon and leaned against the counter, slowly sipping while she stared out the window at the city lights below. At times like this, she felt much older than her thirty-one years.

Not one to indulge in self-reflection too long, Abbie grabbed her suitcase from the second bedroom closet and hauled it back to her room and onto the bed. She began throwing clothes into it with methodical precision—jeans, boots, a few blouses, lots of T-shirts—trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the knot of uncertainty twisting in her gut.

Cosmetics, minimal hair products, undies, pj’s, all in the bag. When she was finished, she zipped the suitcase and lifted it off the bed to place it by her bedroom door. She caught her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. The woman staring back at her looked polished, composed, every inch the rising star of Winters & Winters. But beneath the carefully crafted exterior, she felt untethered, unsure, unbalanced.

For the first time in years, Abigail Carter didn’t have a plan. All she had was a loaded suitcase, a first-class plane ticket, and a need to fix what was broken.

Broken.

Was she? Broken? This afternoon’s scene with Nathan flickered unbidden into her mind, his polished smile and practiced charm a sharp contrast to her grandfather’s rugged sincerity and the guys she grew up with like Teddy.

Once, during an office-wide group networking exercise, Nathan had been asked to describe her. Ambitious, driven, even intimidating, he’d said. And maybe he hadn’t been wrong. As a lawyer, those were the kind attributes she admired. But she knew without a doubt, that Nathan had never seen her—not really. None of her colleagues knew the real Abbie Carter. They saw the polished version of her that fit neatly into this carefully curated life.

She was not the right girl for Nathan, but the question that gnawed at her now was whether she was the right girl for anyone. Could any man handle her sharp edges, her relentless need to fix things? Or would she always be too much—too demanding, too ambitious, too—everything? Would anyone feel comfortable enough around her to stick around long enough to know the real Abbie?

Her chest tightened at the thought, and she pushed it aside, pushing her luggage down the hall toward the front door. This wasn’t the time for self-pity. She had bigger things to worry about. Like getting to the ranch before her grandfather made any decisions he couldn’t take back. And maybe, just maybe, she thought as she glanced at her packed bag, she’d find some answers about her own decisions along the way.

Chapter Four

Beau still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Less than a week ago, he’d been one of the top detectives in the city, known for his sharp instincts and his ability to get results where others couldn’t.

Sure, he played loose with the rules now and then, but in his mind, the end always justified the means. His record spoke for itself: countless criminals behind bars and lives saved. But none of that seemed to matter to Acting Chief Janet Redmond who informed him he needed a new perspective.

"Perspective, my ass," Beau grumbled as he stood at the entrance of the Jessup Peak police station, The building before him was a far cry from the towering, state-of-the-art precinct he’d left behind in the city.

Here, the station was nothing more than a squat, single-story structure sandwiched between a diner and a hardware store on Main Street. The blue paint on the sign above the door had faded to a patchy gray, and a dusty American flag hung limp from a pole out front. It looked more like a forgotten post office than a hub for law enforcement.

He pushed open the station door, the jingle of an old bell above it grating on his nerves. Greeted by the sight of two mismatched desks, one stacked high with papers and the other conspicuously bare, save for a dusty rotary phone. A single computer sat humming in the corner, flanked by filing cabinets that looked like they hadn’t been opened since the Reagan administration.

“Detective Elliott,” he announced to the empty room, dropping his duffel bag onto the desk that seemed the least cluttered. “Reporting for duty.”

The only response was the faint buzz of a ceiling fan, its blades struggling to push around the stale air. He stood there for a moment, surveying his new domain. It was laughable, really. In the city, his desk had been buried under active case files, evidence bags, and half-empty coffee cups. Here, it seemed like the biggest threat was going to be boredom.

Beau let out a slow, controlled breath, willing himself to stay calm. “This is what you get for doing your job too damn well,” he muttered under his breath, scuffing the toe of his boot on the carcass of a dead beetle lying belly up on the floor. The brittle shell skittered across the floor before dropping unceremoniously into a crack in the wood, much like his career prospects.

The sound of boots outside caught his attention. Seconds later, the front door swung open and he turned to see a tall, wiry man with a sun-weathered face and a cowboy hat perched jauntily on his head walk in fisting a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and that unhurried confidence that came from decades of experience.

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