You're Mine, Maggie (3 page)

Yeah, I didn’t do cops. Unless you counted Super Agent. Him I’d do upside down and sideways on a trapeze in the rain. “Can’t I just write down what I saw and give it to him? You know, like a report?” I hated reports, but I hated cops more. They gave me hives. I’d already starting itching like an addict coming down off a fix.

He reached up and squeezed my elbow, real concern on his face. I didn’t know he could do concern or any other kind of emotion other than avoidance. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I wish there was a way I could take your place. Do you want me to go in there with you…as support?”

I blinked down at him. This was the nicest he’d ever been to me. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you, but I can handle this.” I glanced up at his closed office door. “I guess.”

He bowed his head, cleared his throat and gave my elbow another squeeze before letting go. “I’m always here for you,” he mumbled.

Shuffling my feet, I glanced anywhere but at him. “Yeah, sure. Okay.” Tragedy did strange things to people I guessed, like turning them into human beings.

As I headed off toward Daryl’s office, I could feel Mr. Stratford’s eyes still on me. The look on his face was almost pleading. Did he really think I’d spill my guts under pressure like some cheap 99-cent store piñata? Well, he’d see I was made of sterner stuff. And why I cared what that man thought of me was beyond me. Other than wanting to keep my job in his store I had no reason to be afraid of him. So why was I sweating through my clinical-strength antiperspirant?

I knocked on Daryl’s office door, then pushed it open without waiting for a reply. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Oh, cripes. Not another hot one. Really, whoever was doing the law-enforcement recruiting these days was better than a casting agent for a nighttime TV drama. This one was long and lean with the lazy-eyed squint of a young Elvis. His dark hair and goatee shined blue-black under the fluorescent lights. Suddenly I was sweating for a whole other reason.

“Maggie Mae Castro?” Damn. That voice.

“That’s me. How long is this going to take?” I made a show of checking the time on my cell phone. “I’ve got plans.” I said this to remind myself. Plans = date. Date = boyfriend. Boyfriend = can’t throw myself at him like the sex-starved slut I was.

“Have a seat.” He smiled, but there was something not quite right about it and the look in his eyes that accompanied it. “I’ll try not to keep you. I’m Detective Cruz. I just have few questions about what happened today.”

He asked me for my contact info, then took me through what had happened with Shasta. It was all very conversational and inappropriately flirty. My hives hardly itched at all until he asked me who had access to the stockroom.

“Anyone in the cosmetics department. They haven’t changed the access code since I started here three years ago. Why?”

“In the past few days, did you see anyone hanging around the stockroom who shouldn’t have been?”

Honestly, I hardly paid attention to anything other than keeping my sales numbers up and how long until I was off work. “No.”

“Can you think of anything that seemed unusual or out of place to you?”

“No.” I didn’t think he’d care about all the crap I’d misplaced over the past few weeks.

“Okay, well, thank you for answering my questions. If you can think of anything else—” he handed me his business card, “—give me a call.”

“This wasn’t an accident, was it?”

He sat back in his seat and regarded me with his sexy, panty-melting bedroom eyes. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Why are you answering my question with a question?”

“Why won’t you tell me why you think this wasn’t an accident?”

“Why don’t I call you if I have any more questions?” I got up from my chair and headed for the door.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Halting midstride, I turned back to look at him. My initial attraction to him had slowly morphed into unease the more time I’d spent with him. Even if I wasn’t deliciously tangled up with Super Agent there was no way I’d go out with this guy. “I’m not seeing enough of someone.”

He laughed, but it had an odd edge to it. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not in the market for any more frustration. But thank you.” I opened the door and paused. “Oh, and thanks for answering my question.”

“What question?”

“The one about this not being an accident.”

“I never said that.”

“Actually, you did. I’ve gotten pretty fluent in verbal evasion.” And I had a big ole broad-shouldered FBI agent to thank for that. “Nice meeting you.”

Heading back to the counter to gather my things and go home, I thought about all Detective Cruz had said and not said. Shasta’s death wasn’t accidental, so who wanted her dead?

Chapter Six

Instead of grabbing my purse and heading home like I should’ve done, I went in search of Mr. Stratford. He wasn’t where I last saw him so I took the elevator to the third floor. The executive offices were tucked behind an unmarked door next to giftwrap. I figured if Daddy Department Store was still in the store that was where I’d find him.

Callie, the store manager’s assistant, was busy fielding calls at her desk. I had to wait a couple of minutes for a break in calls. The media had already gotten wind of the story, apparently. “Hey, Callie, is Mr. Stratford up here?”

She flicked a hand toward one of the offices that had become vacant during the last store restructuring. “In there. But he asked to not be disturbed.” She let out a hefty sigh as her phone lit up again.

I waited until she answered to tiptoe past her. “I won’t disturb him.” Much.

I did my usual knock-and-burst-in thing, opening the door to find Mr. Stratford hunched over the desk, head in hands.

He lifted his head. “I told you… What do
you
want?”

Yeah, I wasn’t happy to see him either.

“Can we talk?” I closed the door behind me.

“No.”

“Then I’ll talk. You can do whatever.” I lowered myself into the chair across the desk from him. It was then that I noticed his red-rimmed eyes and mussed-up hair. In all the confusion and shock I’d forgotten this man had lost his daughter. “I’m sorry about Shasta.”

“If that’s why you barged in here, you’re wasting your time as well as mine.”

“It’s not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Putting my elbows on my knees, I leaned closer. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced down at his hands on the desk. “You’re the first person to offer condolences.”

“If more people knew about Shasta’s connection to you—”

“No.”

“Okaaay.” I didn’t get this guy. He obviously cared about his daughter, so why not claim her?

“Do you have children?”

“Not that I know of.”

That managed to pull a half smile out of him. “I didn’t think I did either until about fifteen years ago.”

By my quick calculations—math genius that I was—Shasta was about three when Stratford had found out he was a baby daddy. Sooo Shasta clearly hadn’t been a product of his twenty-eight-year marriage. No wonder he wasn’t so keen on making the news public.

He noted my raised brows. “I’m not proud of myself. I did the best I could, providing for her, making sure she had everything she needed.”

“Your wife doesn’t know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her. We couldn’t have children. If she found out about Shasta… Look, I love my wife.”

I held up a hand. He didn’t owe me an explanation. “I get it.”

“I did the best I could for Shasta. She got into drugs. I paid for rehab. She got arrested. I got her a job.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Sorry. She chose cosmetics. I thought maybe if she worked at something she enjoyed—” He let out a frustrated breath. “I kept tabs. I know how that went. I’m sorry you had to deal with her…behavior.”

“The police don’t think it was an accident.”

That seemed to surprise him. “What else could it be?” The realization slowly dawned for him. “No,” he breathed. “Why? Who would want to hurt her like that? She was just a troubled girl.”

“It happened in your store…” Really, this man was a department store mogul, but he couldn’t put two and two together?

“You think…aw, Jesus.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Who knew Shasta was your daughter?”

“No one. Well, her mother, obviously. My attorneys…and now you. My name isn’t even on her birth certificate. We did everything privately and quietly. Her mother just wanted to secure Shasta’s financial future.”

“Could Shasta have told someone?”

“She didn’t know about me. It was a condition of my contract with her mother, Valerie. I always deal with Valerie directly. All Shasta knew was that she got the job here at the store through one of Valerie’s friends. We’ve never even met.”

Wow. No wonder Shasta had been so screwed up.

“Is there anyone who might have a grudge against you or the store?”

He shook his head. “No. I can’t think of anyone who could or would do such a thing. God. I still can’t believe this. I guess I should call Valerie and break the news.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Mr. Stratford answered.

Callie opened the door and popped her head around it. “There’s a detective here to speak with you, Mr. Stratford.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.” He waited until Callie had closed the door. “Please. Don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. My wife…her health is very fragile.”

I’d heard about Mrs. Stratford’s cancer battle. “I won’t, but don’t you think the police should know? You know, to help them find Shasta’s killer?”

He flinched at the word
killer
, then battled back, morphing into the titan of department store industry. “That’s my decision to make. Not yours. I need your word you won’t talk about this with anyone.”

I rolled my eyes at him. So dramatic. “I gave you my word.”

“I suppose you think you’ve got me over a barrel now, that I’ll do anything to keep you from telling my secret.”

“I’m not going to blackmail you, if that’s what you’re implying. Like you said, it’s your story to tell or not tell.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“You’re a cynical old bastard?”

His laugh surprised me. “I object to being called
old
.”

I rose and headed for the door. With my hand on the knob, I turned back and gave him a wink. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

“Thank you.”

Now I was the one caught off guard. “For what?”

He made a sweeping gesture.

“You’re welcome,” I answered. “Let me know what the arrangements for Shasta will be. I’d like to be there.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” I opened the door and nearly walked smack dab into Detective Cruz, catching myself with a hand on his hot, hard chest. I quickly snatched it away. “Er, sorry.” I stepped to the side and back out onto the sales floor, but the detective caught up to me at the elevator.

“I guess I know now why I got shot down.”

Was he… Did he…? Oh, hell no. I folded my arms across my chest to keep myself from smacking that smug smile off his face and stared hard at the numbers above the elevator door.

“You recently got a promotion, didn’t you?” He moved in front of me. “From what I’ve learned the big boss man set Shasta Devereaux up with a job here. Maybe you didn’t like being replaced with a younger, hotter version of yourself.” He shook his head and
tsk
ed. “Messy business pitting your mistresses against each other. Maybe he was hoping for a catfight. Some men like that kind of thing.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So maybe you decided to take out the competition.”

I stared at him, balling my hands into fists, my face growing hot.

He inclined his head toward the office. “Was that you securing your position?” He made a rude hand gesture, moving his fisted hand back and forth from his mouth while poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Assuming the position under his desk?”

Before I’d even formed the thought to do it, I cracked him across the cheek with the flat of my hand. His head jerked back. The sound of my palm slapping his face reverberated around us. Suddenly I found myself plastered against the metal elevator door, my arm twisted painfully behind my back. He caught my other wrist and brought it back to join my other one. His long, hard body pressed against my back, trapping me. I couldn’t breathe.

His hot breath blew across the side of my face. “That’s assaulting an officer.” He kicked my feet wide apart. “But then maybe you like it rough.”

He held both of my hands in one of his. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t twist away. He was too heavy and too strong. I sucked in a breath as he ran his other hand over my body, slowing at the parts he seemed to especially like. The click of handcuffs jumpstarted my heart into a hard rhythm. He did the whole frisking thing again, this time with both hands. His hands started to slide up my skirt.