“Shit, this is not good.” He shook his head, afraid to click on the link that would enable him to see the images.
Maggie was going to freak.
He glanced back to Michael and hit the link, his eyes not leaving the boy as it loaded onto his device. His world was about to crash and burn. He felt it, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. As he scrolled through the pictures his gut churned and his face went white. When he’d seen every single one of them, his body thrummed with anger. He was flush with it.
He’d love to put his hands around Natasha Simmons’s throat and—
“You all right?” Jake stood a few feet away.
What the hell was Maggie going to say when she saw the photos? She’d be pissed for sure. Cain shook his head. “No. I’m not.”
A crow cawed in the distance, its eerie screech somehow an omen.
He turned to Jake. “Can you take Michael back to the cottage and give Dax a ride too? I have to talk to Maggie before she sees these, if she hasn’t already. I have a feeling it’s going to get ugly.”
Jake nodded. “Sure. Call me later and, uh, good luck.”
“Thanks.” He stared down at the camera in his hand. He sure as hell was going to need it.
Chapter 28
Maggie should have known her happy place, that soft bubble of bliss, would never last. She should have known that it would inflate into a mess of gigantic proportions—one that would leave her on the floor, wrecked, and virtually frozen with fear at its demise.
But when a train derailed and came at you full tilt, you didn’t always see it. And when you did…sometimes it was too late.
And that train ran you over.
***
Twelve hours earlier…
Maggie woke up with a tulip near her pillow and the scent of Cain all around her. The imprint of his body was like a picture on her sheets, and she closed her eyes, imagined him there beside her. It wasn’t hard to do. The man’s charisma was like a physical entity. He bled into everything he touched.
Maggie nestled into the blankets and noticed a folded note beside the tulip next to her pillow. She grabbed it and read it quickly before folding the small piece of paper and sinking back into the bed. She thought of his arms and the comfort he’d offered the night before. Of his strength and desire to protect. She’d never felt so coddled or cared for. Not ever.
The shell that slithered along her skin, that invisible force field she used to keep everyone out, had been cracked. She’d shared some of the pain that lived inside her, and the weight of those secrets was gone.
It gave her hope that the other stuff, the dark secrets that she hoarded, would one day lessen and ease her burden.
Maggie’s alarm clock glowed six a.m. in the early-morning gloom. She stretched, and though she would have liked to linger, she threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed.
It was going to be a busy day. She had two clients on the books, and according to Cain’s note, he would be by around seven thirty for Michael. A bunch of volunteers was meeting at the football field in order to get the stage built, and he’d promised to keep her son busy.
He’d ended the note with a promise to keep her busy later on.
Maggie grinned and slipped into the shower. Twenty minutes later she had coffee on, and when Michael shuffled his sleepy head down the hall, it was nearly seven thirty.
Michael had just sat down to eat his breakfast when there was a soft rap at the door. Her heart lurched and her cheeks flushed.
Cain.
“I’ll get it.” Michael almost tripped in his effort to get to the door, and Maggie stared after him, anticipation rolling inside her when she heard Cain’s voice.
The two of them entered the kitchen, and her heart swelled. Cain was dressed “blue collar”—white T-shirt, old worn jeans, and work boots. His hair was damp, his chocolate eyes warm, but the smile that greeted her—that lazy, slow smile—was hot. Her heart leaped as she settled on his mouth.
Michael chatted animatedly, his arms moving violently as he described a scene from latest X-Men comic.
“Did you hear what I said, Cain?”