With each word she uttered, Maggi edged closer and closer to the bank robber. She was breathing heavily and still trembling.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch. Nobody’s going to die, just do what I tell you.” The bank robber looked panicked himself as he trained the gun on her.
“All right, all right—” Maggi’s voice hitched “—if you promise you won’t hurt me. Pretty please?”
The last two words she uttered were distinctively different from the rest. As she seemed to sag down right in front of him, Maggi grabbed hold of his gun hand. Catching him by surprise, she violently jerked his arm behind his back. In less than half a heartbeat, her own gun was in her other hand. She held it close enough to the robber’s temple to get her point across.
“Drop the gun.” He did as he was told, cursing her roundly. “Now apologize to the nice people and say you’re sorry.”
“What the—” At a loss for coherence, the bank robber let loose a string of profanities that only made Maggi shake her head.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” she marveled. Relieved that the situation was over, Maggi took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of her own nerves. They felt as if they’d been stretched to the limit. Adrenaline still raced through her veins. “Keep that up and we’re going to have to wash your mouth out with soap, aren’t we, Detective Cavanaugh?”
As if waiting for some kind of word of concurrence, Maggi raised her eyebrow toward Patrick. He merely grunted as he pulled the man’s hands behind him and snapped handcuffs around his wrists. The look he gave her left Maggi short on description. Had she just stepped on his male pride?
The robber winced as the cuffs went on. “You’re cops?”
“No, just into a little S&M,” Maggi quipped. “We like to carry handcuffs with us.” She winked broadly at Patrick, beginning to enjoy getting under his skin. “You never know when they might come in handy.”
Using a handkerchief, she stooped down and picked up the man’s weapon by the butt. Nothing fancy. She wondered if this was the man’s first time. He’d certainly behaved that way.
“Next time you want money from a bank, do it right. Use a withdrawal slip.” She tucked the gun in at her belt for the time being, then looked at Patrick. “Want me to call for backup?”
Patrick gave the cuffs a good tug, making sure they were secure. “You mean you’re not going to fly off with him to the precinct?”
Maggi lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “My cape’s at the dry cleaners.”
Separating herself from the others, she took out her cell phone and put in a call for a squad car. The second she closed the phone, the bank manager was on her, telling her how grateful he was to her and her partner and asking if there was anything he could do to show his deep appreciation.
“Other than giving away a five-pound box of tens to charity, I’d say hire a security guard. The next time you might not be so lucky.”
The man was still thanking her profusely as she crossed back to Patrick and the prisoner. It was hard to say which of the two men glared at her harder.
She didn’t do recrimination well. “What’s your problem?”
Patrick made the prisoner face the wall as they waited for the squad car to arrive. His voice was cold. “I don’t like showboating.”
“So I won’t invite you to a boat show the next time there’s one at the marina. Anything else?”
“Yes, did it ever occur to you that you could have gotten your head blown off?”
“Frankly, I didn’t have time to think things through to their grisly end.” Maggi moved her head from side to side. “See? It’s still attached and in good working order.”
“Just barely.” The last thing he wanted was to lose another partner in the line of duty. He’d had enough department funerals to last a lifetime.
“That’s all that counts.” She kept her voice cheerful as approaching sirens grew louder. The cavalry had arrived. “Ah, that’s always such a comforting sound.” She looked at the prisoner. “Bet you don’t think so, do you?”
“Bitch,” the bank robber spit out. The next moment, he found himself spun around and held up an inch off the ground. The man’s feet came in contact with air as Patrick yanked him up.
“What’s your name?” Patrick growled at the man.
The bank robber fought for oxygen and against numbing panic. “Joe. Joe Wellington.”
“Well, Joe, Joe Wellington, talk nice to the lady or the next time it won’t be soap you’ll be tasting in your mouth.” Patrick’s look was dark, malevolent. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear,” the bank robber gasped out. His eyes were glassy as they regarded Patrick.
Filled with disgust, Patrick all but threw him down. He then became aware that Maggi was grinning at him like some damn Cheshire cat.
“And just when I thought you didn’t like me,” she said.
“I don’t like you,” he replied tersely. She didn’t stop grinning. To say it got on his nerves gave new meaning to the word understatement. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You defended my honor. I’m flattered.”
He didn’t want her making anything out of it. It had been purely reflexive reaction. “I did it to defend the honor of the badge. It wasn’t done to flatter you.”
“Call it a side effect.”
He had no time to retort. The backup she’d summoned arrived that moment.
It was just as well, he decided. The sooner they got back to the precinct, the sooner things would get back to normal. Whatever that was.
“Buy you lunch?”
It was a little more than an hour later and the would-be bank robber had been sent to be processed through the system. Cavanaugh was writing up the report, annoyed at the time this took away from the homicide they were supposed to investigate.
He waved his hand at Maggi as if she were an annoying fruit fly buzzing around his head.
Maggi held up a twenty almost in front of his nose. “Now that I’ve had a chance to cash my check, I can afford to splurge a little. I feel like celebrating. Join me,” she coaxed. She knew how dangerous the situation could have gotten, despite her earlier disclaimer to him. The fact that it hadn’t gone badly, that she and everyone else were able to walk away, was a fantastic high she wasn’t close to coming down from.
He ignored her and the bill she held up. “Not interested.”
“Don’t you eat?” She bent down until her face was level with his. The ends of her hair brushed against some of his files. “Can I buy you a can of oil?”
Patrick finally looked up. “Is that supposed to be cute?”
“Relatively speaking.” She wasn’t going to let him rob her of her moment. So little of what she did these days felt this good. The positive reactions she dealt with all squared themselves away on paper. That never produced a high. “C’mon, Cavanaugh, lighten up. We’ve still got the rest of the day to face together. It goes better on a full stomach.” When he made no attempt to get up, she added, “My dad always says you can’t trust a man who won’t eat with you.”
He laughed shortly. “I take it your father never saw The Godfather.”
Perched on the edge