Maggie didn’t get mad often—fuck, I hadn’t even realized she’d had a temper until we’d worked together over a year. I’d just gotten my quote-unquote big break, and some gossip columnist had done some digging into my past. My juvenile case had been sealed, and I’d changed my name.
But no data in this world was ever safe, and he’d connected the dots.
The story had blown up in the absolute worst way.
I hadn’t been prepared for the attention, hadn’t been ready to face those memories. I’d had no security, no system, no backup.
Except Maggie.
Who was looking at me with disappointment in her eyes.
Ouch. That fucking hurt.
I needed to be doing something. Right now, I needed to find something to do with my hands, something that wasn’t looking at my friend, who was looking at me like I’d let her down in the absolute worst way.
Food.
Yes.
I was hungry. Tammy would be hungry, too. And she needed to eat in order to not get an upset stomach with her antibiotics and painkillers.
Dr. Stevens had said so.
And food was something I could make happen.
I crossed to the fridge, started pulling out ingredients for omelets. It was still early, definitely early enough for brunch, and omelets were brunch.
“Do you know if Tammy likes onions?” I asked, grabbing a pack of bacon, along with several peppers from the drawers. I glanced at the bacon, realized something else. “Is she a vegetarian?”
I’d been too busy with other things at the party the night before to see if she’d eaten something, and then she’d left, and I’d followed her—
So, yeah, I didn’t know if she actually ate bacon.
Or eggs. Or peppers, onions, and cheese.
Quiet for a long, long moment before she finally answered.
“She’s not a vegetarian,” Mags said. “And she’s one of the most easygoing people I know when it comes to food. She always says, so long as it’s not mooing, she’ll eat it.”
That made me chuckle.
Because it was such a Tammy thing to say.
Then I bent and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, began cracking eggs and frying up bacon.
Maybe the smell of the latter would lure her from the bedroom.
Or maybe I was slowly losing my mind, the encounter the previous night the final straw.
Also, yay for such happy thoughts before the sun was even at its highest point in the sky.
“You want one?” I asked Maggie, tossing her a glance over my shoulder.
Her mouth twisted, curving up to one side the way it always did when she was displeased with me but wouldn’t actually voice that displeasure until later.
Fine by me, I’d take the reprieve when and where I could find it.
“You want the works?”
More mouth twisting, paired with a begrudging nod, but she crossed to the cupboard where I kept the plates and pulled out three. Then she moved to the coffee maker my interior designer had included in the kitchen, one that I’d never used, and began brewing up a pot.
“I know you and I don’t drink it,” she said, retrieving a mug, “but Tammy needs her sludge to keep her mind functioning.” A beat. “And I’m guessing she’s going to need it, considering the storm that’s about to blindside her.”
I flipped the bacon, turned to face her. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No, I was too busy.” I shrugged, turned back, thinking this story was the same as any other. It would be front page. It would be blasted around for a few days, but then it would blow over as something much more interesting happened.
“Too busy having sex with my childhood friend,” she muttered, just barely audible over the hissing and groaning of the coffee pot.
Biting back a sigh, I turned to face her. “What is between Tammy and me is between Tammy and me. Neither of us have to explain ourselves,” I said. “We’re both fucking adults, and what happens is our business.”
A long pause, then, “You’re right, of course.”
I nodded, focused on the bacon.
“Of course,” Maggie said, “you’re also wrong, very, very wrong. This is everywhere, Tal.”
I shrugged. “It’s always everywhere,” I said. “It’ll be bad for a bit, and it’ll roll over.”
Silence then, “Where’s your phone?”
“Why?” I asked, flipping the bacon.
“Phone, Tal.”
I pointed to the counter on the opposite side of the room, where I’d plugged it in the night before.
She moved to it, muttering, “That’s why you didn’t pick up when I called.”
To which I replied, “In fairness to me, I did try to reach you last night.”
To which she replied, “In text message, which I didn’t get until this freaking morning.
To which I replied, “I didn’t want to ruin your party.”
Which made her sigh and cross to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and hugging me tight. “You stubborn, wonderful man. I really do love you.” A sigh. “You’re in the absolute shit,” she said. “But I really, truly do love you.” Then she swiped her finger across the screen—because obviously, she knew my passcode after all these years—and began tapping away. After a moment, she held it up so I could see the screen.
She’d pulled up the security cameras for the front of my house, and the view made me wince. “Aw, fuck. The neighbors are going to hate me.”
A nod. “They’re all the way down to Murrieta. Most have their cars positioned on the side of the road, leaving the street mostly clear as they clustered by your front gate, but some are double-parked. I had to curse, meander, and snail’s pace my way up here.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
“The police have already arrived to clear out the double-parkers,” she said. “I called them right when I saw the tangle, and they’ll act quickly considering it’s blocking emergency access. But the group out front of the gate isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
That was to be expected.
“Also, I called the security company. They’ve staffed extra bodies instead of
