Page 10 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

YOU LOOK LIKE TROUBLE

Maggie

Resisting the urge to explore Port Grey was proving to be detrimental to my well-being after a stressful day. I wanted to see that coastal charm the brochures bragged about. But Chester needed food and a litter box— bad , and I needed to stop pretending I wasn’t exhausted.

I bolted home, only making one wrong turn.

Frickin' GPS sent me to Stoddard Street instead of Lane .

But as I turned onto Primrose, red and blue lights stuttered across the driveway.

My driveway.

What the hell?

A crowd had gathered along the fence like it was parade day, the people pressed in close, trampling the roses without a second thought.

Thorns snagged their jeans, but they didn’t seem to care.

They just stared, buzzing with that small-town sixth sense for drama.

Whispering rumors of a bloody knife, and a murder.

Of course.

The driveway was clogged with squad cars and nosy bodies, so I had to park at the end of the property, near a crooked pine that bullied the fence into making an accidental entrance.

I squeezed through the gap, careful not to get snagged—but failed. A rusted wire tore my sweater as I slipped past.

“Shit.”

Leaves crunched underfoot as I crossed the yard, the manor looming like it was a witness holding its breath.

“Ma’am! Excuse me, ma’am!” A slim redhead in a navy pantsuit stormed toward me, waving an arm like she was directing traffic. “You can’t be past the barricade—this is an active crime scene.” She held out her arm as if to physically block my path.

I stopped short, blinking at her. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am. Please get back behind the fence.”

“This is my house.” I said, my voice cracking a little. “I’d like to know why the cops and half the town are in my front yard.”

Her demeanor shifted, her eyes narrowing as she gave me a once over. “You live here, ma’am?”

God, I’d wished she’d stop calling me that. Ma’am. Like I was the fucking PTA president.

“Yes,” I said, hugging my arms tight against the cold. My sweater was thin, and this New England breeze had bite. “I flew in today.”

She hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Come with me, please. The captain will want a word.”

She led me around the side of the house toward the small backyard. Six officers stood in a loose huddle, all eyes on something long and flat in a clear evidence bag.

The air here was heavier—wet dirt and tension. Familiar in a way that made my stomach tighten.

One man turned sharply, like a compass snapping north.

Clean cut. Blonde, but I’d bet my tarot deck it used to be a ginger.

Gingers turned blonde before white when they age.

Square jaw and a thick mustache that looked like it demanded respect and probably ordered black coffee like it was a personal statement.

I stopped walking.

“This her?” he asked, voice clipped.

“Yes, sir. She says she lives here.”

“Thanks, Shell.”

The man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Magdalene Maxwell?—”

“Maggie’s fine.” I said.

“—I’m Captain Jethro Nettles of the Port Grey P.D. And this—” he nodded toward the wall of a man beside him, “is Officer Graham Locke.”

I turned and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Jesus Christ.

Apparently my pussy still had an unquenchable desire for big boys.

He ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair before crossing his arms in front of him, his jacket clinging to his arms like sheer survival instinct. His deep blue eyes trailed over me, studying me like I held the answer to the fall of the Roman Empire.

A scar slashed through one of his scowling eyebrows, making it look like suspicion was his default setting. And his facial hair was borderline unruly. Just long enough to look like he didn’t give a damn.

My brain whispered, don’t stare.

My hormones yelled, fuck it—climb him like the rock-hard mountain of a man he was.

I swallowed, forcing a polite smile onto my face, something that probably looked more like I was holding an electric fence wire than anything socially acceptable.

He flashed one back—slow, crooked, and amused. Like he caught my thoughts mid-thigh and had no intention of giving them back.

This man didn’t look at me the way most men looked at a random woman. He looked at me like he was a fucking wolf trying to decide where he was going to sink his teeth into me first.

And right then—my whole body betrayed me in a single pulse.

God, Maggie, focus. There’s a bloody knife. A murder. A dozen cops. And your ovaries picked now to host its own casting call for DILFs of Law Enforcement?

“Magdalene,” Captain Nettles’ tone sliced through my thoughts.

“Only my mother calls me Magdalene. I prefer Maggie.” I crossed my arms.

“We have a situation,” he continued.

No shit. Have you seen the man standing next to you?

“Look familiar?” He said, pulling a sealed evidence bag from under his arm. Inside: a kitchen knife, covered in dried blood.

My stomach flipped—horniness slightly suppressed.

“Unless it’s got my fingerprints and a recipe for strawberry shortcake on it, I don’t know that knife,” I said quickly, fiddling with my thumb ring. “I just got into town today. I inherited the place from my great-uncle Silas. I haven’t even unpacked my luggage.”

“That so?” Captain Nettles shot a look at Officer Locke. A look that screamed: She’s hiding something.

“Yes. I went to the store for cat food and…” my skin bristled, “when I got back, I found you standing in my backyard acting like I did something very… very bad.”

“We haven’t accused you.” Officer Locke said, stepping forward. His voice was smooth and low, the kind of voice that made promises you probably shouldn’t trust. “But you’re not exactly helping your case with that attitude.”

I blinked. His smile was gone now—replaced with something serious, more analytical. He watched me closely.

“I’ve never killed anyone. That knife probably belonged so some meth-head who used the place as a stash house.” I said it way too fast—throwing out whatever sounded halfway plausible. I hated when I got flustered because it made me over-explain, and when I over-explained I sounded guilty.

Because—apparently—to my brain, the fear of being perceived as guilty was worse than keeping my fucking mouth shut.

Nettles’ expression darkened. “We found this knife on your property. The blood on it is fresh enough to make you our first stop.”

“But you knew that already, didn’t you?” He added, eyes narrowing.

“Well, you’re obviously not here to compliment my landscaping, so yeah—I figured,” I said.

A bead of sweat trailed down my spine. This was going south fast. “I don’t know—maybe a dog dragged it in?” My nerves were beginning to fray, because I started gesturing wildly like I tended to when things got out of control. “I noticed a butcher shop down the block, could it have come from there?”

Captain Nettles raised an eyebrow. “Unlikely. But funny you should mention a dog. That’s exactly who found it.”

“Seriously?”

He gestured to a woman sitting on my front step, her Yorkie planted firmly in her lap. “Your neighbor, Mrs. Tack, was walking her dog past your gate?—,”

“Technically, she’s trespassing. There’s no reason for her to be in my driveway.”

“Dogs are strong.” He continued. “She’s just a little old woman. It could have easily pulled her to it.”

I shot a glance back at the dog. “It’s a fucking Yorkie .”

The corner of Officer Locke’s mouth curled into a smirk.

“It sniffed something under the rosebush and pulled her straight into it.” Nettles nodded to the tangled thorns near the fence line.

The blood drained from my face.

And because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I added, “Maybe Uncle Silas had a falling out with someone. Maybe that’s why he died.”

Everything stopped.

Nettles’ eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Regret hit me like a brick. “I just mean—what if it’s unrelated to me? If someone held a grudge against him ?—”

“—then the blood on this knife is justified.” Nettles’ voice dropped to something cold. “I worked with Silas. He was the best damn private investigator Essex County had.”

Shit.

“I’m not saying he deserved it—I don’t even know if the knife has anything to do with him—” my heart rate ticked up as I scrambled for an answer, “but I don’t know how it got there.”

Officer Locke’s face had gone from curious to unreadable.

Nettles stepped forward. “I don’t know what you’re hiding, Magdalene. But right off the bat… I don’t like you. You look like the kind of girl who’s always had everything handed to her and finally screwed up. And now you’re trapped.”

Asshole.

“My name is Maggie.”

Officer Locke shifted, throwing a look Nettles’ way. Subtle disapproval. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“Until we know whose blood that is,” Nettles said, “I’ve got my eye on you.”

Before I could answer, a voice rang out from the woods behind the house.

“We’ve got a body!”

The words echoed through the trees like a gunshot.

Captain Nettles didn’t even flinch. He turned back to me, his eyes sharp. “You’re running out of plausible explanations, Miss Maxwell.”

And just like that, he was moving—fast. “Stay with her, Locke!” he shouted over his shoulder.

My knees nearly gave out.

Graham

Damn, she’s beautiful.

Not in a polished, filtered way. No, this was the kind of beauty that was wild, unexpected, and more than likely going to burn me if I tried anything.

I liked it. Unfortunately, so did my dick, and I had to remind myself we were standing in the middle of a fucking crime scene and right now she was our only suspect.

She had that look—defiant yet scared at the same time. There was something about the way her eyes glittered when she told us to basically fuck off that made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Like she could shank me and I’d apologize for bleeding.

I forced myself to focus.