Where were my drugs? No, seriously. Where were they? I rifled through my purse again, looking for the antique pill case my grandma had given me, and the precious aspirin inside. Gone. I’d been misplacing a lot of things lately. Tabitha teased that it was love making me forget, but I was pretty sure it was Shasta siphoning off what was left of my sanity. I gave up and sat back in my seat with a sigh.
“Something wrong?” Super Agent asked, putting the movie on pause.
He was dressed casually, which meant that his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves were rolled up. We were at my place, sitting close together on the couch, but not as close as I wanted to be.
I was trying this new thing: self-control. It was all part of the realization I’d had when Super Agent and I had first met that I might have a teeny-tiny impulse-control issue. It had all started with me being framed for a murder I didn’t commit and ended with me on probation. It turns out there’s no law on the books for kicking your dead, cheating, Arizona state senator ex-boyfriend in the nuts, but there is one for disturbing a crime scene. If I hadn’t caught Chuck Puckett’s murderer for the FBI, I’d be sitting in jail right now facing an additional weapons charge instead of sitting on my couch on probation.
Super Agent and I had kinda, sorta already ripped each other’s clothes off within days of meeting each other. Well, within days of my meeting him. He’d been following me for a year as part of a case the FBI had been putting together against Chuck Puckett. So while Super Agent knew everything, and I mean everything, about me, I was learning about him the old-fashioned way. One chaste date at a time.
My little impulse-control thing combined with a very slight anger-management issue meant that I had a lot of work to do. So this was me turning over a new leaf, becoming a better person, working on me, yada yada yada. And it wasn’t humbling, noble or life affirming.
It was freaking frustrating as hell.
“I have a headache and can’t find my pill case,” I answered, releasing the tangled mass that was my hair from its ponytail and running my hands through it. Thanks to my Spanish/Armenian/Greek heritage I had thick, dark hair that hung down to my waist.
Super Agent loved my hair. Which was ironic seeing as how he didn’t have any. He was bald, black, and so beautiful I couldn’t look at him straight on without wanting to throw out all of my so-called self-improvement.
He watched my hair sift through my fingers like some men would watch a porn flick. “Want me to rub your head?”
“Oh, that would be heaven.”
He put a pillow in his lap and patted it. “Lie down.”
I did as he asked. He lifted my hair so that it draped out behind me. His fingers were magic. I groaned and he shifted me in his lap. After a few moments I noticed he hadn’t turned the movie back on.
“Don’t you want to see what happens?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re going to have a fight because he did something stupid, then he’ll make some big gesture to win her back. The end.”
“Next time you can pick the movie.”
“Deal. What’s got you so stressed?”
I filled him in on my charming new employee. I got to the part about Shasta rubbing her ass on poor old lady Landers, and he burst out laughing.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
The doorbell rang.
“You expecting someone?” Super Agent asked.
“Probably Miguel wanting to borrow something.” I rolled off the couch and went to the door. “Like money or my car…again.”
Nope. Not my brother.
A deliveryman held a huge vase of red roses. “Maggie Mae Castro?”
“Oh,” I sighed. If my self-control was weak before, it now lay on its back with X’s for eyes. Super Agent was gonna get so lucky.
Super Agent pressed against my back. “What’s this?”
“Sign here.” The delivery dude handed me a clipboard, which I scribbled on and passed back. He gave me the flowers, which weighed a ton. “Have a nice night.”
“Thank you.” I hefted the roses over to my dining room table and set them down. I leaned down and inhaled their scent. “Mmm.” I loved roses. I looked up to see Super Agent on my porch, hands on hips.
He came back inside and slammed the door. “Who are those from?” His tone had an edge I didn’t like.
“What the hell do you mean who are they from?”
“I’d like to know who’s sending my girlfriend flowers.” He actually thumped his chest on the word my.
I might have gone all gushy inside at his possessive use of the word girlfriend if it wasn’t for the accusing look he was giving me.
“Must be from my other boyfriend. The one who sends me flowers.”
He lunged for the card, but I snatched it away just in time.
It was like watching a lion puff himself up for battle. He even roared. “Who are they from?”
“Obviously not from you!” And why weren’t they from him? What the hell?
His nostrils flared, and if it was possible, he got even bigger. “Maggie,” he warned.
I put a hand up and glared. When I was sure he wasn’t going to grab for the card again, I opened it. Well, that was anticlimactic. I turned the card over, then pinched the envelope open, thinking I’d missed something.
He grabbed the card out of my hand and read it. His dark complexion reddened as he shook the card in my face. “I’m going to ask you one more time, who these are from?”
“I have no idea. I thought they were from you. Obviously I was wrong.” I got mad all over again. “And why haven’t you ever given me flowers?”
“What?” He shook his head. “That’s not the point here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think it’s a darn good point.”
“I’ll buy you some freaking flowers already.”
“Well, I don’t want them now. They’d just be guilt flowers.”
He slapped the notecard down on the table and pointed at the flowers, which had lost all their specialness since I’d thought they’d been from Super Agent. Now they kind of freaked me out.
“Who sent these?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this.” His tone scattered goose bumps up my spine. It was his FBI-Special-Agent voice.
“What do you think it means?”
“I think it means someone likes you. A lot.”
We silently glanced down at the crumpled, unsigned note on the table.
YOU’RE MINE, MAGGIE