Slow Heat (11 page)

“Are you going to charge her?” Haley asked when he was done.

It had never crossed his mind to do the job pro bono. “I’ve never broken down the price of my services before,” he admitted, which was the truth. His father, or uncle, had always handled that side of their business. All Micah ever did was focus on the target.

“Before?” King asked.

Micah needed to get his head out of his past. His heart skipped a beat, but he raised his guard instantly, not even blinking. “It isn’t any of my business what you bring in on each case. I wouldn’t know what to charge her until I see what is involved.”

“Miss O’Malley made a smart move in hiring you,” King said, relaxing in his high-back wicker chair and resting his elbows on the armrests. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen a better shot.”

Micah wasn’t going to comment one way or another. He wouldn’t bask in the praise nor would he dispute King’s claim. “Sounds like your daughter-in-law is a hell of a shot, too,” he said. Trying to change the subject might raise suspicion.

“She was fighting for her life. That night she saved all of our lives.” Haley tilted her head and studied Micah. “Sounds like you are an amazing shot.”

He needed to get the hell out of there. “Thank you.”

“All four moving mannequins shot through the heart in the dark. Amazing, Jones. Absolutely amazing.” King was relaxed in his chair.

The vast shades of blue, the ocean fading into the sky, added to the tranquil setting around them. Even the breeze, fragranced by the salt water lapping at the beach behind them, was calm. It was truly a serene afternoon.

Micah wasn’t relaxed. He wasn’t a paranoid man, but the shrewd look in King’s eyes had him on his guard.

“I’m a good shot.” Micah smiled, and didn’t dare look away from King. “I doubt I’m as good a shot as you are, though. We all have our lucky days.”

“That we do,” King said, and grinned as well.

Micah managed to leave shortly thereafter. Something told him that he might have sparked too much curiosity about his past. It wasn’t a problem. The best bounty hunter in the country wouldn’t find a thing if he tried learning more about Micah than what he’d already told him.

Chapter Four

Maggie leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at her half-full cup of coffee. Her mother and Aunt Rebecca were upstairs, arguing over a flower show Aunt Rebecca wanted to go to later that morning. The bus wasn’t good enough for Aunt Rebecca, and apparently now, neither was Maggie driving her. Which was fine with her. If one good thing came out of this nightmarish ordeal it would be that her aunt Rebecca now thought Maggie was the devil.

She turned to top off her coffee, having let it get cool while listening to her mom and aunt fight. Hell of a way to start off a Monday. Her father rode the electronic chair up the basement steps, mumbling something about shirts not being ironed.

“Oh crap,” she hissed, turning with her steaming cup as her father appeared at the top of the basement stairs with one of his work shirts draped over his arm.

“Oh crap is right. Is there a reason why you didn’t get the ironing done?”

She didn’t usually complain about the assigned household chores her parents gave her, as if she were still in high school and had too much free time on her hands. Reminding her papa that she lived at home still because her parents were both in failing health didn’t sound like a good idea at the moment.

“And would it be so bad for you to go upstairs and save your mother?” Her father gestured with shirt in hand, waving it at the ceiling. “Go tell your aunt Rebecca that you aren’t the devil.”

“I don’t know,” Aiden, Maggie’s older brother, said, as he stepped into the kitchen and glanced in the direction his father had pointed. “She’s got some pretty convincing arguments against Maggie.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Thanks a lot,” she mumbled.

“Anytime.” Aiden winked at her.

John O’Malley seldom recited prayers the way their mother did. He went to church every Sunday for their mother. That wasn’t a family secret. But when he started calling out to the saints, as children, they had all known to run.

“So now you talk back to your papa?” he asked, lowering his voice in a tone that used to put the fear of God into her as a child.

Aiden moved easily across the kitchen. He’d always been the only one who had seemed immune to their father’s yelling. Maggie immediately noticed how much smaller her dad was than Aiden. It seemed only last year they’d been the same size and girth.

“I’ll go talk to Aunt Rebecca.” Maggie loved her father, who, in truth, was the biggest pushover in the world. Not that she’d ever tell him that. Any more than she’d share her thoughts with him about, once again, wishing she could move out.

She had been on her own for four years after high school, at which time she’d gone to business school. But after graduating, Maggie moved back home and now she paid all the household bills. Thank God the house was paid off. Her parents’ Social Security wouldn’t have covered their bills if it weren’t for her.

“Want some coffee, Dad?” Aiden asked when Maggie started out of the kitchen.

“I want my shirt ironed,” he complained, and leaned over the table to look at the morning paper.

There was sudden silence upstairs and Maggie shot her older brother a querying look. Aiden pulled down his father’s cup and filled it with coffee.

“Maybe you should iron your father’s shirt first,” Aiden suggested, looking toward the ceiling.

“Hell of a good idea,” her father grumbled. He slid into his chair at the kitchen table, accepted his coffee, then picked up the morning paper. “Then you go get your aunt out of your mother’s hair. Hear me?”

“One ironed shirt coming up,” she said, trying for cheerful in her voice.

“Then you go talk to your aunt,” he reminded her.

“Then I’ll go talk to my aunt,” she promised.

Maggie embraced the few minutes of solitude she would have while she ironed the shirt. She loved her family. She really did. But there were days, and lately it had been every day, when she really wanted her own place again. Especially now with trumped-up charges looming over her head. It was too much for her. But it was really too much for her mom, which made it hell living with her dad.

Her mother had worked at the hospital in administration as long as Maggie could remember. Her father had been an accountant and owned a third of his business along with his two brothers. All of them were retired now, with Maggie’s cousins pretty much running the place. Her father had been heartbroken when Aiden hadn’t gone into the family line of work after doing four years with the army straight out of high school. Instead, Aiden got married, had two adorable little boys, and was now divorced. Aiden handled her father’s continual complaining a lot better than she did. Her older brother always seemed cheerful when Maggie wanted to scream.

Maggie loved accounting. Her business degree and experience with bookkeeping made her a good candidate for her father’s business, but not once had he ever suggested she come work for him. John O’Malley didn’t compliment or praise his children often. There were days when she swore the less family she had in her life, the better.

She turned on the iron and draped her father’s shirt over the ironing board. With it finally quiet, her thoughts drifted to Micah. She hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d gone to his house this past Friday. It bugged her that he hadn’t called, but at the same time—though she hated admitting it—relieved she hadn’t talked to him again yet. She wasn’t sure how much time she needed before she’d be in control of her senses once she was around him.

Possibly
never
?

Good Lord! Micah dripped with a deadly charisma she wouldn’t have believed existed in a man. He was overloaded with sensuality and sex appeal that was off the charts. He was taller than most men. But then apparently bounty hunters were required to be giants from what she’d seen of the crew that worked with him.

And his body! Maggie blew out a breath. She’d guess Micah a few years older than she at least, and his body was pure rock-hard muscle … everywhere. She wondered if all of him was in such perfect shape.

“Oh man,” she whispered, leaning against the ironing board as she imagined Micah naked, his dick as hard as the rest of him was. There was a moment there when she thought she felt his cock pressing against her. With Micah, she imagined sex would be wild, aggressive, and fast. “Crap,” she hissed, shaking her head. Maybe she should encourage them to fuck just so she could cool things off between them. Micah wouldn’t tell her no. That much she knew.

“And knowledge is hell,” Maggie mumbled, then spit on the iron to make sure it was hot.

“Knowledge is hell?” Deidre, her older sister, asked.

“Damn it,” Maggie turned on her sister. “You get off sneaking up on people?”

Deidre wrinkled her nose. “I was hardly sneaking. Dad wants his shirt.”

“I’m ironing it.” Being grouchy helped calm the fire that had ignited just thinking about Micah. Which was messed up. She’d hired him to help get her out of this mess, not so she could jump his bones.

“I see that.” Deidre looked pointedly at the shirt and the iron in Maggie’s hand.

Maggie pressed the iron to the shirt and began ironing. “It had to warm up.”

Deidre always had guys fighting for her attention. Maggie had been the one who buried herself in books. Then when math came so easily to her, numbers had become her best friend. Deidre never cared about school. It was one guy after another. Maggie wondered if she ever cared about any of them.

Deidre shoved her fingers through her dyed-blond hair, which was perfectly long and straight down her back. Maggie would never figure out her sister’s secrets for always looking so incredibly beautiful no matter how she dressed or wore her hair.

Deidre ran her finger along the edge of the ironing board. “I’m really sorry,” she mumbled.

Maggie glanced up from her task. “It’s okay.”

“I know you’re innocent.”

“Me too.”

“Hell, Mags, I don’t know what to say.”

Maggie pushed the iron over the shirt, making quick work of it, then yanked the shirt off the ironing board and faced her older sister. “What would you say if I told you I hired someone to find out why the cops think I was part of some money-laundering scheme?”

Maggie waited out the moment of silence. Her sister stared at her, her expression blank, until a slow smile crossed her face.

“Way to go, little sis,” she whispered, her blue eyes lighting up as she spoke. “Is he hot?”

That would be Deidre’s first question. Maggie should have been ready for it. Her mouth went dry as she tried thinking of the best way to answer. “Hot doesn’t begin to describe Micah,” she said, whispering just as her sister had.

“Micah.”

Maggie couldn’t explain why she didn’t like hearing her sister say Micah’s name, but a strange possessive darkness filled her. Deidre might get all the guys, but she wouldn’t get this one.

“Unusual name,” Deidre added. “Is he Catholic?”

“Catholic? Does it matter?” Maggie turned her attention to her father’s shirt, although she didn’t really check for wrinkles when she held it up.

“Only if you plan on introducing him to Mom and Dad.”

“Well, I don’t,” Maggie snapped.

She glanced at Deidre and wished she hadn’t. Her sister was staring at her with a shrewd look. “You were thinking about him when I came down here. You were a million miles away and mumbling to yourself. You’ve got the hots for him.”

Maggie turned off the iron and gripped the shirt as she turned from her sister. “I need to take Dad’s shirt to him.”

“Wait a minute,” Deidre demanded, and her hand was cool when she grabbed Maggie’s arm. “Don’t go all defensive on me. Tell me about this Micah. You hired him? What does he do? Is he a private dick or something?”

“He’s the bounty hunter who grabbed me out of my office and hauled me out to the cops,” Maggie informed her and headed to the stairs.

“Holy crap! You’re kidding me. Maggie, wait!” Deidre was on her heels when Maggie rushed up the stairs.

Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut when they entered the kitchen and Maggie handed her dad his shirt.

“I’m going to take Aunt Rebecca to her show,” Aiden announced, leaning against the counter.

“She’s wearing your mother out,” Maggie’s dad announced.

“I’ll go check on Mom,” Maggie said and smiled as she turned to leave the kitchen and met Deidre’s impatient glare.

“That’s my girl,” her father said as he stood and slid into his shirt.

“Wait,” Deidre whispered, catching up with Maggie before she could get through the living room to the stairs. Once again she grabbed Maggie’s arm, this time spinning her around. “You’ve got to tell me or I’ll go nuts. I’ll worry about you,” she stressed, pulling the older-sister routine as she looked imploringly at Maggie. “How did you hire him? What’s he going to do to help you? Did something happen between you two?” Her last question was barely audible in a hushed whisper.

“Something wrong?” Aiden asked, coming up to both of them and looking from one of his sisters to the other. His shaggy hair showed what was left of his youth. At thirty, Aiden had been divorced now for five years, and worked long hours at his job in San Dimas to help support his sons and their mother as well as himself. It showed in the lines around his eyes as he scrutinized both his sisters. “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s fine,” Maggie said, waving both of them off and hurrying upstairs. She prayed Deidre had the good sense not to tell their brother what she’d just told her.

The house was finally quiet when Maggie left her mom’s room, who’d finally drifted off to sleep after sharing several Bible scriptures she’d found that she felt applied to what Maggie was going through right now. Cancer had taken its toll on her mother. Maggie hated how her mom was slowly shrinking away from them. There were good days and bad days. Today was a bad day, with something as slight as Aunt Rebecca arguing with Maggie’s mother wearing her out. Lucy O’Malley was a spitfire who could raise holy hell when she was pissed. Maggie had a lump in her throat when she walked out of her parents’ bedroom and left her mother sleeping. She missed the spitfire.