Undercover Protector. Molly O'Keefe
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took another bite of her burrito, licked the salsa off the corner of her mouth and forced herself to consider brighter subjects for a while.
“¿Cómo está usted?” she asked the guy on the brochure. “Usted es muy hermoso. Puede usted traerme una bebida con sabor a…” She couldn’t remember the words for a fruity umbrella drink. Her poor Spanish echoed around the empty apartment and she cringed.
“I am crazy,” she told the brochure and jumped off the counter to grab her laptop. A little conversation with the outside world was what she needed, even if it was in cyberspace.
She unzipped the case and opened the thin computer, locating the available phone jacks and outlets. She ate a little more while listening to the soft hum and whir of the booting computer.
She opened her e-mail program, thinking she could get a little work done but was immediately sidetracked by an e-mail from Liz Meisner with the word Emergency in the subject.
Maggie rolled her eyes. Of course. Her sister could be counted on for at least two emergencies during every case.
Luckily, Maggie had never been in such deep cover that some family contact wasn’t allowed. The provision was that her real life never threaten the integrity of the case.
This could be another one of Liz’s not-sourgent emergencies or it could be real. Dad’s health was bad, Dan, Liz’s husband, was working overtime, Mom was exhibiting manic behavior in her effort to counterbalance her husband. The truth was they were a family living in a state of semi-emergency.
Maggie grabbed her cell phone and dialed her sister.
“Liz, here,” her bright perky sister answered.
“Emergency?”
“Oh, my God! Mags! I’m so glad—”
“The Starbucks north of Zuma Beach on Highway 1 in exactly a half hour.”
“Uh…okay.”
Maggie hung up and picked up the remains of her burrito. The cheese was cold and her hunger had turned to a dull ache in her stomach.
“You don’t have any sisters, do you?” she asked shirtless man, and tossed the burrito in the garbage.
LIZ WAS TEN MINUTES LATE. Which, in Liz time, was practically early. She entered and scanned the palatial coffeehouse located just off the beach like a starlet looking for her public. Most of the men in the place looked back.
Liz attracted attention to the same extent that Maggie didn’t. Tall, with long legs, and brown hair cascading down her back. Big brown eyes that screamed “Help me” and suckered even her smarter-than-that older sister into offering assistance. Not even the giant rock on her left hand deterred the interested male glances in the coffee shop.
Maggie put up her hand and waved Liz over.
“Mags!” she cried, throwing her purse onto the chair. “Thank God—”
“Where’s the blood?” Maggie asked.
Liz blinked.
“This is an emergency and emergencies while I’m working require blood.”
Liz winced but then smiled—sorry, her smile said, but aren’t I charming and I am your younger sister and who else could help me out but you?
Maggie looked up at the painted ceiling and blew out a big breath. She hadn’t really expected anything different. “Go get me a latte. A big one,” she said and shrugged out of her coat to settle in for whatever tale of woe Liz had for her this time.
If she ever went in deep cover Liz would be beside herself.
“Dan’s cheating,” Liz said a few minutes later, setting down the large lattes and sliding into her seat.
“On you?” Maggie asked, jaw on the floor. Men didn’t cheat on women like Liz—they cheated on other women with women like Liz.
Liz nodded and Maggie suddenly saw the tension and strain on her sister’s face and felt the age-old big sister desire to make whatever was wrong better.
“Are you sure?” she asked, leaning forward and brushing Liz’s hand with her own.
Liz nodded. “He’s gone all the time. He’s getting these phone calls late at night and then he leaves. Just gets out of bed and goes.”
“He’s a cop, Liz—”
Liz shot her an acrid look under her eyelashes. “I’ve been married to him for six years, Mags. I know what the life is like and I’m telling you this is…different.”
Maggie sighed. “Maybe it’s got something to do with Patrick.”
Again, his name aloud straightened her spine and she saw the small muscles in Liz’s jaw flex. The whole family suffered from the same helpless rage that had settled in their muscles and stomachs. Their father already had atrophied so much that no one could even say Patrick’s name in front of him. It was as if their dad was trying to erase her older brother from the family.
Liz shook her head. “He was warned away from the case.”
“When did a warning ever stop Dan Meisner from doing something?” Maggie asked with a smile, trying to tease one from her sister. “If I remember correctly, Patrick tried to warn Dan away from you. That didn’t do much good.”
Finally, Liz smiled and took a sip of her latte. Her brown eyes no longer dull. “True.” Her smile was coy and Maggie sighed. Liz and Dan were a solid couple. Any woman would chafe at being married to a cop—the hours and the job stress weren’t easy. But Dan and Liz made it look easy. The Meisners were a dream couple.
“So.” Maggie finally took a sip of her own latte, the ulcers groaning in wretched protest. “Dan’s just doing what Dan does best, stirring stuff up and trying to solve his best friend’s murder.”
Liz didn’t look convinced, but at least the fine lines of tension were gone from her face and her hands weren’t white-knuckled around her cup. “Is that what you’re doing?” Liz asked, looking at Maggie sideways. “Trying to solve Patrick’s murder?”
“You know I can’t tell you anything.”
Liz shrugged, looking somehow smaller. “I wish I could do something, too. I feel helpless.”
“We all do.”
Liz sighed and then pasted on a counterfeit smile. “I guess I should leave things to the professionals.”
Maggie nodded. “Please do.”
They sipped their coffees in quiet for a moment. Each of them staring out different windows. This was a good Starbucks. Lots of view to be had. Lots of staring out windows to be done.
“I was surprised when you said you were going back undercover,” Liz finally said and Maggie braced herself for the inevitable question. “We all were.”
“It’s my job,” Maggie said.
“Yeah, the job you were going to quit.”
“Liz—”
“What about law school?”
Maggie swallowed the bitter coffee and stood to find a sugar packet and to avoid the remainder of this conversation. “What about it?” she asked over her shoulder, casually, as if they were talking about nothing important.
Liz shook her head when Maggie got back to the table, stack of sugar packets in hand. Maybe the ulcers would like the gut-rotting caffeine sweetened.
“Don’t pretend like this isn’t a big deal.”
“It isn’t.” Maggie lied.
“Pepperdine Law is a big deal. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you were a kid—”
“Yeah, and I think Patrick