Page 37 of Sirens
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 elevena.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.”
SEVEN
Leg bail
TO RUN FROM POLICE ON FOOT TO AVOID ARREST
If you’re on time,you’re late.
Trent’s dearly departed Grandma Grace’s idiom echoed like a mantra as he pulled to the curbside of the Palace Hotel five minutes before he and Maggie had agreed to meet.
He tugged at the collar of one of his more casual button-down shirts, the fabric suddenly too tight and warm even for a frigid February lunch hour.
Maggie was already there. Standing amidst the drab backdrop of gray stone, sawhorses, scaffolding, and plastic sheeting, she was an arresting sight, her curls a riot against the stormy renovation chaos, each one defying the notion of order that Trent held dear. She’d dressedwayup for an afternoon tour through an active construction site. Trent’s gaze lingered a moment too long, taking in her hourglass figure hugged by a vintage-inspired dress that seemed to laugh in the face of practicality.
“Thought I was early,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of surprise mixed with a pleasure he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
“Early bird gets the worm, or in this case, the scoop,” Maggie quipped, her mobile recording gear clutched like a shield of journalistic integrity. “Now let’s do this—if I skip lunch, I getreal hunty.”
Trent frowned. “Don’t you mean hangry?”
“No, I do not.” Flashing him a mischievous smile, she turned on her heel and started off for the curtains of plastic sheeting protecting the edifice from the late-winter rain.
He palmed her elbow, gently detaining her for just long enough to snatch an implement off the scaffolding shelf.
“Hard hat.” He thrust the yellow helmet at her, avoiding her gaze.
She giggled, the sound lifting the fine hairs on his body like some live feed ASMR. “You can’t be serious.”
“Rules are rules, Michaels. Safety first.”
“We’re the only ones here, McGarvey. The crew doesn’t work Sundays.” She shook her head. “There’s no need for either of us to walk around looking like lemony dildos.”
“It’s code,” he insisted around a snort of laughter. “I was granted permission for this tour, only if it’s all on the up and up. So it’s hard hats or hard luck.”
