Slow Heat (20 page)

“We have a real problem here, Micah. I’m sure you’re seeing it, too.”

“I told you the truth about what happened last night.” He was starting to believe there was a serious problem here, too. But not the same problem the Kings were seeing.

Haley finished cleaning the spilled beer then faced Micah, one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. “Jimmy, I mean Detective Osborne—is the son of a very dear friend of ours. We’ve known Jimmy pretty much his entire life. He’s third-generation LAPD. And before you start thinking it, he
is
one of the good cops.”

Micah didn’t say anything, although he really wanted to hear the story the detective had told King. Haley had been in the car with her husband when the call came through, but apparently hadn’t heard what Osborne had said to King.

“Micah,” she said and sighed. “There is too much about you that doesn’t add up. Greg and I usually read people pretty well. I will stand by my gut in saying we didn’t make a mistake hiring you.” She lowered her voice, and that motherly look returned to her face. “Greg definitely agrees with me there. We don’t see any bad in you.”

Haley crossed her arms over her chest but moved one hand to her mouth. She tapped her finger against her lips and walked the distance of the kitchen, which was a fairly large room. “The good in you sometimes disappears, though.”

She had no idea how atrophied the good in him was. Micah’s dad and uncle instilled values and morals in him when he was a kid, but not necessarily the way other parents might have with their kids.

“You’re easier to read sometimes than you probably want to be.” She was still behind him when she chuckled. “I think every man likes to think of himself as unreadable, his natural guard against women. But you’ve got pretty eyes.”

Haley was still tapping her finger to her lips when she paced to the other end of the kitchen. She turned at the refrigerator and faced him. “Greg got pissed when I told him that,” she said, smiling at the memory. “I’m not the kind of wife who likes making her husband jealous. So I’ll assure you the same way I did Greg.”

Haley wagged the index finger at him that had been against her lips. “You’ve got pretty eyes just the way my sons do.”

Micah imagined they’d hired bounty hunters before who had tried hitting on Haley. She was a beautiful woman, definitely MILF material. Micah didn’t hit on another man’s woman, though. Not to mention, he respected Haley. He would never insult her, or King, by making a pass at her.

“Thank you,” he said, and forced himself to calm down and wait for her to elaborate.

“You’ve got a past that haunts you. Many people do, so that doesn’t make you unique. But you’re awfully young to have all the demons that we have seen in you during the short time you’ve been with us. Now, it isn’t our concern, or even our business, to know everything about your past. But your past seems to have created certain personality traits in you that might have an impact on your work performance or KFA’s reputation.”

Micah didn’t see that one coming, and he should have. This wasn’t about anything they might have stumbled on about him personally. He beat up their friend’s son, who happened to be an LAPD detective, and it made KFA look bad. The Kings’ business did have an impeccable reputation. KFA would survive one of their bounty hunters hitting a detective but that didn’t mean that bounty hunter would remain with KFA.

King was a retired cop, though. When he found out about Osborne, it went to his pride. He would feel terrible for his friend, Osborne’s father. Possibly he would have imagined how it would have felt if it had been one of his own boys.

“Haley, I won’t say Osborne begged for a fight, but I’m supposed to be fighting the same fight he is, and he destroyed my home. If that wasn’t bad enough, he then violated my right to privacy by bugging my home.” It was as close to an apology as he could manage.

Haley nodded for Micah to sit. She sat facing him and rested her elbow on the table, then her chin in her hand. Her eyes were a pretty shade of green, and there were laugh lines around her eyes. She had her brown hair pulled back, and the thin streaks of gray didn’t make her look old. Micah saw happiness in Haley’s eyes, but her expression was guarded. Something about Micah bothered her. If he convinced her everything was okay, she would take care of King.

“I want you to pretend I’m not your boss.” Haley spoke softly, and smiled at him. “Imagine we’re just two friends chatting. Tell me exactly what happened last night.”

“I don’t play make-believe very well,” he said flatly.

Her smile faded. The tough mom returned. “Micah, what happened?”

“When I got home, the first thing I noticed was my security had been tampered with. It’s set up to alert my phone if anyone enters my home when I’m not there.” Security systems were often set to notify a security company if there was a burglary. Micah didn’t see the point in paying for a service he would never need anyway. “There was a wire cut just above my kitchen door. Whoever entered the home already knew the wire was there before entering. They had less than a minute to cut it before it would have notified me. It was a clean slice, like with scissors. They entered already knowing where the wire was and they had the proper tools to cut it.”

Haley wasn’t reacting to what Micah was telling her, but she was listening. He kept his tone neutral, aware that despite the facts implicating the detective was working around the rules, the Kings wouldn’t side with an employee who’d been with them three months over a cop’s son, whom they’d known quite a few years.

“I turned the light on and saw how trashed my place was. And yes, I immediately suspected it had something to do with Maggie O’Malley. I searched the house, found listening devices.”

“Do you still have those listening devices?”

Micah blinked. Did they not believe him? Or maybe the Kings already suspected that Osborne was a dirty cop and were using Micah to supply their proof. None of that mattered to him. If Osborne was dirty, though, that mattered where Maggie was concerned. He searched his memory, retracing his steps of the night before in his head. He’d destroyed them and thrown them away. But his trash was still in its trash cans.

“I’ll bring them in for you.”

*   *   *

Haley had given Micah the rest of the afternoon off. She wanted the bugs he’d found in his house. And she’d told him she’d see him in the morning and not to worry about his job. It was secure. She’d laughed when she’d said, “Unless, of course, we discover you’re a serial killer, or something like that.”

Micah had given her a confident smile, assured her he wasn’t, and had left. He needed to get to where comments like that didn’t make him leery. Paranoia could destroy a man.

He’d sat on his bike at the Kings’ house only long enough to check his messages. Micah didn’t care if he ran into King. He didn’t appreciate the man getting in his face, but Micah had worked under a structured chain of command all his life. His uncle couldn’t keep him in line but Micah’s dad, Jacob Mulligan, an award-winning big-game hunter who just also happened to be an assassin, had always been able to set Micah straight with a look. King wasn’t Micah’s father, nor would he ever be, but he was Micah’s boss. Micah would never throw the first punch.

There were two voicemail messages, one from Maggie and one from Perry O’Toole.

“How are you doing?” Micah asked when Maggie answered her phone.

There was a smile in her voice and his loins immediately responded to her softly spoken words. “Pretty good, actually. We’re kind of having a family reunion,” she said, laughing.

Micah didn’t get the joke but there was definitely noise in the background. He’d pulled off into the first parking lot off the interstate after leaving the Kings’. So far it didn’t appear anyone was following him.

“Definitely sounds like a party. How much time do you need? I have to meet with someone but want to see you afterward.”

When Maggie spoke again, the noise behind her was gone. She’d apparently gone to where she could talk to him privately. “I’ve really needed today, Micah,” she said and sighed. “I don’t remember the last time I hung out with all of my brothers and sisters. Well, Bernie isn’t here but Deidre and Aiden and Annalisa are, and it’s just been great. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

Maggie was focusing on building a relationship with him. It was normal for a woman like her to do that after having sex with a man she was interested in. Micah had no problem answering her questions. He’d tell her the truth as much as he could. Relaxing somewhat as he straddled his bike and cast continual glances around him as they spoke, he wondered what it would be like to seriously pursue a relationship with Maggie.

“No brothers or sisters,” he told her.

“Seriously? Wow,” she said, but pushed forward quickly. “But you’re Catholic, right? I mean I guessed you were because of the Saint Michael pendant.”

His hand instantly went to the flat silver piece around his neck. He pressed his finger to it through his shirt. “Born Catholic but I don’t go to church much.”

“I believe that about you,” she said, chuckling.

Her honest, yet nonjudgmental view of him turned him on more than it should have. Maggie wanted to know about him but accepted him as he was and didn’t appear interested in changing him. He told himself that if he actually was able to be in a long-term relationship with her, it would come in time. All women wanted to mold their men into subservient husbands they could stand to live with for the rest of their lives.

“Where are you and what time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Micah?”

“Yeah?”

“When you come get me, will you come inside and meet my brother and sisters?”

Damn. He should tell her no. He didn’t need any more people knowing who he was. Not that anyone would ever know Micah Mulligan.

What the hell was he thinking? He was an assassin. Mulligan’s Stew terminated the derelicts of society. He didn’t stop in during a happy family reunion.

What kind of life would he have if he actually did meet the family of the girl he was dating?

“How painful will it be?” he asked, and hoped he sounded as cheerful as Maggie did.

Half an hour later, Micah was cruising through suburbia. He would make his appointment with Perry O’Toole then ride back to Maggie’s part of town. Her soft, relaxed-sounding voice still lingered in his mind. He could tell she’d been laughing a lot. Micah could see her, possibly stretched out on one of two twin beds in the motel room where she was hanging out with her brother and sisters. He bet her cheeks were sore from laughing and grinning all day. It sounded as if she were close to her siblings and that—other than her obviously no-good uncle—Maggie had a close, loving family.

Micah didn’t bother imagining what it would be like being a sibling in a large family. It would never be his life, but it worked well for Maggie.

He pulled into a wide driveway and wasn’t able to park before the two-car garage door opened. Perry stood to the side and gestured for Micah to park. Micah pushed his bike forward and entered the garage, which was just like every other two-car garage on this street. He turned off his bike as Perry closed his door.

“I just pulled some kebabs off the grill. Your timing is perfect.” Perry O’Toole, if that even was his last name, didn’t exactly fit the definition of geek.

Micah had never seen the man wear anything other than black slacks and a buttondown white shirt. His hair was trimmed short but not quite as short as most government men. To the best of Micah’s knowledge, Perry had never held a real job other than the one he had right now. He was an information man. Anything anyone wanted to know about anyone, or anything, O’Toole could provide it, for a very nice price.

“How long has it been?” Perry asked over his shoulder, initiating small talk as he entered his kitchen and went straight to sliding glass doors that led to a cement slab patio.

More than likely every house for at least several blocks had that same cement slab for their deck. Perry firmly believed in fading into the suburbia world and never making waves. Micah couldn’t remember Perry ever raising his voice, looking nervous, or even laughing too hard. The man had the perfect environment for what he did. He could fade into the woodwork faster than anyone Micah had ever met, and had even disappeared on Micah before. That had been all the proof Micah had needed to know he would do business with this man. Perry was very good at vanishing, often before anyone suggested it necessary.

“It’s been a while.” Micah remained inside and leaned against the open doorway. The smell from the grill was appetizing.

“You’re going to love these.” Perry pulled off four kebabs.

Micah was pretty sure the guy was here alone. When Perry stepped past him with the platter of grilled meat, vegetables, and fruit, and placed it at an oval dining room table, it was already set for two. Not the way a meal would be laid out for two lovers, but in a professional, organized manner. A table setting was at either end of the small table, cloth place mats, matching cloth napkins, with silverware placed on top of them. There was already a tossed salad in a wooden bowl, some kind of vinaigrette in a fancy, ornate bottle, and two glasses of wine, already poured.

“Sit. Let’s catch up.” Perry was always friendly.

Micah had learned early on in his working relationship with O’Toole that he insisted on formalities and wouldn’t do business without them. Micah would sit, have lunch, do the small talk, and bring up what he wanted sometime before the meal was over. If he left without finishing his meal, Perry either wouldn’t see him the next time, or would charge him an even more exorbitant rate for bad manners.

Perry served himself first. “I can only eat two. Please take both if you want,” he offered, handing two of the remaining kebabs to Micah.

They smelled wonderful and Perry was being sincere. Either he didn’t like eating alone or had found this the easiest way to remain very far under anyone’s radar while still providing a service that Micah wouldn’t be surprised if even the president of the United States used. Perry could get any information, and had never been wrong.