His eyes brighten. “Your little girl imitation is surprisingly on point.”
I touch my hand to my stomach and give him a bow. We share a goofy smile, and I remind myself that I have an investigation to continue.
“She also said the guy who walked her to the precinct had a regular accent, and her mom clarified that she meant a local accent.”
Maverick places his palm on the reader. “You’ve gotta love the way kids’ brains work.”
The gate opens, and I shuffle to the side, wondering if I’ve been standing this close to him the entire time.
Son, the thing to remember in this line of work is that it is critical at all times to maintain proper decorum. There’s a power imbalance inherent in all your dealings with the public, and the only way to keep the balance is to live by your ethics.
Something tells me Dad wouldn’t have found anything about this interaction with Maverick even remotely decorous.
At least I didn’t kiss him this time.
I shake out my hands, needing to focus. “Now I’ve gotta find some murderous art history nerd with a New York accent who’s friends with a heavily tattooed Texan.”
Maverick laughs. “You’ve literally just described, like, half of my family.”
“Exactly.” I run both hands through my hair, frustrated. “I feel like I’m describing half ofeveryone’sfamily because I’m going on less than nothing.”
Maverick’s happy expression softens, and he pats my shoulder. “I know you’ll find them, Booney. I can tell my uncle knew what he was doing when he suggested you for that advanced criminal justice program.”
Yet, with all your fancy classes in justice reform and judicial history, you still cuffed a young Black man without cause or provocation, so…
Christ, I did, didn’t I? That’s not even questionable. It’s straight upwrong.
Yet I remain a slut for his compliments.
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Needing something to push him away with, I throw out, “But don’t think for a second I forgot about that stunt you pulled back there.”
Maverick pouts. “It was just a street selfie.”
“I’m not talking about that—though you shouldn’t do that either.”
He rolls his eyes and closes the space between us long enough to push his thumb into that line I get between my brows.
I don’t step away like I should and instead warn him, “You can’t antagonize people like that, Mav. You’re way too well-known. That dick stain could’ve hurt you, or worse, followed you and figured out where you live.”
Didn’t mean to sound that soft.
“You’re sweet, B,” he says, brushing a kiss against my cheek. “But people already know the building I live in. It’s heavily guarded,” he says, shaking the cast-iron gate, “with lots of security cameras. And don’t forget—I actually know a thing or two about protecting myself.”
I take in his body, a not-at-all-professional glide up and down the length of him, and I know he’s telling the truth.Maverick’s muscles are more than just pretty. That stance he held in the street? The confidence he displayed? That’s more than just self-defense training, or some over-inflated sense of self. That’s dedication to a course of study. A singular martial art.
That’s knowing you can put a man on the ground.
Which should not turn me on as much as it does.
“What do you train?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He reaches out, coy and full of vinegar, to straighten my collar before leaning in. “I’d be happy to show you my moves sometime.”
Fucking hell. Abort.Abort.
I clear my throat and step back. “Are you always this inappropriate?”
“How is that inappropriate?” he asks, failing on any level to maintain an innocent tone.
