Page 20 of Crash and Burn

It seemed the vast majority of her business roster had been handpicked by Aunt Abbie. Even before she died, she’d been drumming up business for Maggie.

Sitting on her couch, and contemplating the sorry state of her life, Maggie started to cry. Tears rolled quietly down her cheeks and threatened to drop into the mug of coffee that had gone cold in her grip. She missed Abbie fiercely, but she could hear her aunt’s voice in her head.

Abbie would tell her to buck up. She'd say, “You've got a baseball bat and your brains. What else do you need?”

She needed friends! She needed a home, and Redemption wasn’t it, not yet. Los Angeles wasn’t a safe haven to flee to. There was nothing. But the Abbie voice was right. Even through the tears, Maggie smiled.

So she headed to the kitchen and poured her coffee down the drain, got dressed, and waited for 8:04 to roll around.

She'd been at the fire house often enough that she knew exactly when to call. He’d be done with his shift, and probably out the door, but he wouldn't quite yet be home.

God forbid, they had a call that had run them over. But 8:04 am was her best chance to catch him. So Maggie tried to read the newspaper and avoid yet another cup of coffee.

She hoped her makeup hid the dark circles beneath her eyes and the tension at the edge of her mouth.

At 8:03, she gave up waiting and dialed.

Chapter Nineteen

Sebastian did an about face in the middle of the sidewalk when he got Maggie's call.

His duffel bag bounced at his side with the quick movement, but he enjoyed the stutter in his chest at the sound of her voice. He tried not to linger on the wonderful knowledge that she and Rex had broken up. As tempting as it was to ask Rex if it was okay if he made a move on her, ultimately he figured it was probably better if he asked Maggie herself.

Anything he said to Rex was just a courtesy so his job would move smoother.

The problem was that the hitch in her voice didn't sound like an eight am booty call. She soundedscared,but she wasn't willing to tell him anything over the phone.

Though he’d just passed the intersection where he'd take a left to go to his own house, he turned and headed back, taking the other direction and heading straight toward Maggie’s. So what if the neighbors saw him double back?

He was maybe seven minutes away, just a handful of blocks to wonderwhat could possibly have gotten Maggie so riled up?

Once he'd agreed to come over, she basically hung up on him. Sebastian picked up his speed, not willing to run the whole way but not quite willing to take a leisurely stroll either.

Halfway there, he realized he would show up on her doorstep sweaty and dirty. The only other option was to turn around, again, and shower at home like he'd intended to do in the first place. But he’d told her he was on his way, and hopefully he could shower at Maggie's. She might take one look at him and send him home. He tried to surreptitiously sniff at his shirt and decided he didn’t smell too horrible.

He arrived at the old house and jogged up the path, listening as the front porch floorboards squeaked beneath his feet. He could fix those for her, he thought, but more importantly, he needed to solve this morning’s dilemma first. Even before he got close enough to knock, the door opened and there stood Maggie.

She was in another business suit, one that showed she had a flair for fashion and also an understanding of small town sensibilities. Sabbie must have warned her.

She looked amazing, and he wanted to say so, but a closer step revealed dark circles under her eyes artfully covered with makeup. He saw the twist at the edge of her lips and the expression that didn't smile at seeing him.

“Come in.” She said it almost formally, waving a hand to gesture him inside as she stepped back, her heels clacking on the hardwood. She motioned him to the living room, but Sebastian held his hands up in surrender.

“I was on my way home to shower after shift. You don't want me to be sitting on the furniture.”

Her laugh was a brittle sound. “I don't want the furniture at all … but you’re right, I'm stuck with it for a while longer.”

He’d wondered about it. It didn’t look like “Maggie” to him. The ornate wood pieces were stuffed and padded and buttoned within an inch of their life. He wasn't even sure it suited Sabbie, but it seemed to be part of the inheritance. He stood in front of the couch and waited for Maggie to sit down.

She didn’t. Her hands laced together in front of her, fingers twisting nervously and spiking his worry.

Maggie was competent and fierce. Instead of hiding in her closet with a phone, calling 9-1-1 when a burglar had broken into her house, she'd headed down the steps waving a baseball bat and chased him out.

But now … she looked nervous and paranoid. Even her voice had a small tremor to it. “I called the police and asked about the jewelry box.”

Sweet Jesus, he thought as she told him what she'd learned. He really wanted to sit on the edge of the couch and drop his head into his hands, but he really was too dirty. So he shifted from foot to foot, trying not to look as nervous as Maggie already did.

She explained that she stayed up all night. “At least I didn’t have any prowlers … at least not any that I know of.”

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