Slow Heat (15 page)

The moment he ended the kiss, Micah swore he’d do whatever it took to see that realization through. Maggie’s eyes were still closed. Her lips were moist, slightly swollen, and parted as her breathing came hard. He brushed his thumb along her lower lip.

“When I do something, I mean it,” he informed her, and captured her gaze the moment she looked up at him. “I’ve never done anything I didn’t want to do.”

She didn’t say anything but studied his face. Micah knew fear for the first time in his life. He was afraid when he stared into her eyes that he didn’t have what it took to meet her expectations.

“Good to know.” Maggie looked away first and touched her lips, squinting and staring across the crowded beach.

Micah did the same, taking in their surroundings and searching for anyone who might appear out of place, or seem to have a vested interest in them. A good tracker would fade in and never make eye contact with those he was tracking. But Micah put faces to memory. He would remember if he saw any of them again. Once he got a better look at that white Taurus it wouldn’t matter how many of them were in Los Angeles, he would know it if he saw it again, too.

“Let’s walk,” he decided, turning into the sun. If someone was watching them they would battle the glare of the sun, and it could fuck with any cameras they might be using. “There’s a couple of things I need to tell you.”

“What?” Maggie’s heart was still racing. She’d never been kissed like that before. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined that rough and dominating would be that hot.

This kiss was what she’d expected the first time he’d kissed her. So what was that passionate and gentle kiss he’d given her in the parking lot in the city? It was as if she’d just been kissed by two different men. What was it about Micah? She thought his first kiss would be punishing, aggressive, dominating all her senses. Instead that first kiss had made her melt right there in the parking lot in front of her older brother, the whole city, God, and everyone. She’d been so sure his curiosity for her was as strong as hers for him. But then he’d told her the kiss was necessary. Necessary? Seriously, necessary?

So she’d called him on it. Because hell, what else could she have done?

Maggie hadn’t expected him to respond like this. Her legs were wobbly. Walking on them, especially in the sand, was taking more effort than she was able to pull off at the moment. When she damn near tripped as one of her shoes got sand in it, Micah put his arm around her, holding her close, and guided them across the busy beach.

“I have a connection in the FBI.”

“A connection?” she asked.

“Yes.” He answered as if everyone had a connection in some government agency.

“Go on,” she prompted.

“Right. The FBI have been tracking Santinos for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Over ten years,” he said, and his hand moved up her back and under her hair. He rubbed the base of her neck before relaxing his hand there and stretching his fingers around her neck. “How well do you know your uncle?”

Maggie shrugged, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut. “I guess as well as anyone knows their uncle. I mean”—she shrugged—“he’s my uncle.”

“You weren’t just any employee.”

“True,” she admitted, and was glad he’d noticed. She was more like a babysitter.

“Santinos has been laundering money in and out of the country most of his adult life.” He glanced around them at everyone on the beach, then lowered his voice.

Maggie looked around the crowded beach as well. She didn’t notice anyone nearby that she’d seen before on the beach, or at the lawyer’s office. Although she was sure people had been walking up and down the street and through the parking lot when she’d been standing there talking to Micah, for the life of her she couldn’t remember what any of them looked like.

“Santinos testified against a crime lord when he was in his early twenties and was put in witness protection at that time.”

“My uncle? The witness protection program?” Maggie did the math quickly. Uncle Larry was ten years older than she was, which made him thirty-five. That meant somewhere around fifteen years ago … which meant when she was ten. “I wasn’t around him that much as a little girl,” she concluded.

They found a park bench that wasn’t occupied. Maggie sat, gratefully, and quickly emptied the sand out of her shoes. Micah sat next to her and when she straightened, he had his arm stretched across the back of the bench. If she leaned back, his arm would appear to be around her. Was he trying to create something between them, or was this more of his acting because it was “necessary”? She would hate that word for the rest of her life.

“Good thing you weren’t.” Micah saved her the trouble of trying to decide how to sit. He placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned her back against the bench. Stretching his long, thick muscular legs out in front of them, he forced anyone walking in front of them to take a sharp turn to avoid his legs and large, black boots.

Every inch of the man was virile and intimidating. Maggie swore mothers clutched their children closer as they walked past the two of them. Two fast-paced games of volleyball went on in front of them. A couple of ladies playing still managed to shoot curious looks his way. Women lying out rolled over on their beach towels, deciding it was a good time to switch sides and drool over Micah.

Micah might have noticed; hell, he was probably used to it. He stared down and in her direction, his expression solemn and unreadable and he spoke so only she could hear.

“Your uncle didn’t stay in witness protection very long. He bailed in less than six months. “

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” she muttered wryly.

Maggie shifted on the bench, turning to face him.

“It’s no secret to the family that Uncle Larry has been in and out of trouble,” she informed him. “I have no idea how he was able to buy Club Paradise. But as soon as I finished school, he called me and offered me a job keeping books.” She chuckled at the memory, although she now questioned if a lot of it had been lies. “He told me with my knowledge of numbers he was sure I could turn his club around. I was up for the challenge.”

“He set you up.” His hazel eyes were dark, even in the sunlight, and searched her face as he spoke. “From the moment he bought that club he’s been using it as a cover for laundering illegal money.”

“But I kept the books,” she complained.

“Come here.”

“Huh?”

Micah reached for a strand of hair alongside her face, then tangled his fingers in it. He brought her face close to his and for a moment she thought he would kiss her again.

“We have to find the real books to the club before the cops do,” he whispered into her ear. “Or worse yet, before whoever is setting you up.”

Maggie shivered. Despite the warm ocean breeze, she was suddenly cold.

Chapter Six

Micah pulled up to his garage and parked long enough for Maggie to climb off. They’d reached a point in their conversation where they needed guaranteed privacy. The only logical place to bring her was his home. When he’d suggested going there, Maggie had readily agreed. He was getting damn sick of the cops following them; it would have taken nothing to pull his gun and shoot out their tires so they couldn’t. That would scare Maggie, though, and he needed her full trust.

He looked at her when her cell rang.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“My brother Aiden.”

He’d been able to hear her brother when Maggie had called him on Micah’s phone while they’d been at the beach. Her brother hadn’t been too impressed with Micah. He was a smart man.

“Don’t answer it. You can call him on my phone once we’re inside,” he told her. Micah left his bike running, which he hoped made it harder for anyone to pick up on what they were saying, then pulled up the garage door. “Come in here,” he instructed.

Maggie sent the call to voicemail and continued looking at it as she walked up his driveway into his garage. Micah drove his bike inside then pulled the garage door closed, shrouding them in darkness. He turned around, letting his eyes adjust, then moved in on Maggie, putting his arms on her shoulders and holding off the urge to pull her body against his.

“There’s no light in here,” he explained. He hadn’t been looking for creature comforts when he searched for a simple rental property with a landlord who wouldn’t ask a lot of questions. Micah had paid cash to rent the semi-dilapidated house for the full year. His landlord had been very happy and had left him alone since then. Exactly what Micah had wanted.

“I can’t see a thing,” Maggie said, the slightest edge of nerves audible in her voice.

“I’ve got you,” Micah told her, wrapping his arm around her narrow waist. “I guess this is your test in trusting me.” He guided them to the door that led to the narrow, weed-infested path between the garage and the house.

“You give bad tests,” she said, and this time she was teasing him.

Because he wanted to, Micah scooped her into his arms. Her dress crept up her soft, round ass as she squealed and clawed at his shoulders.

“My God! Micah!” she cried out, turning into him as she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are you always a brute?”

“I’m seldom a brute,” he said, which was the truth. Usually he was pure asshole.

Maggie’s laughter lightened his mood. He wanted to keep her laughing. He wanted to carry her straight to his bed. The urge was overwhelming as he managed to unlock his door with her still in his arms. The moment his alarm didn’t go off, he froze.

“What?” Maggie asked, when he dropped her then pushed her behind him.

Micah pulled his gun, keeping one hand on her arm and using his body as a shield as he kept her behind him and glanced around his house.

“God damn it,” he growled, and pulled Maggie with him as he walked to the side wall where the kitchen light switch was. He used the butt of his gun to turn it on.

“Oh my God,” Maggie whispered behind him. “Micah, your house.”

“Don’t say a word,” he ordered, his anger peaking too fast for him to control. He stared at his ransacked home. “And don’t move. In fact, sit.” He pushed her into his kitchen chair, then slid her into the middle of the room where she wasn’t near the window or door. “Don’t move,” he repeated, then turned, willing whoever had the nerve to do this to still be in his home.

Micah checked his two top dresser drawers in his dining area first. The drawers rattled, proof that whoever had been there had tried tampering with the locks on them. He saw a couple of nicks in the wood around the locks. Someone had started working on opening the drawers. They’d stopped, though.

He tensed, his gaze searching his living room. They’d destroyed the room—not that it had been overly clean before he’d left. A newspaper and the dinner he’d eaten on his couch had been tossed to the floor. Someone had pulled the cushions from the couch then hurriedly tossed them back in place.

Micah gripped his gun, feeling the comfort of the metal become one with his hand as he took in how his coffee table and couch were both at angles. They’d been moved during the search. Someone had been in a rush. There wasn’t anything in the house that would reveal him as a Mulligan.

Not that Micah cared. They’d intruded on Micah Jones’s space. Someone had made a terrible mistake. He moved down his narrow hallway. There were no pictures on his walls. No pictures of family. No pictures of girlfriends. No snapshots of Micah hanging with friends in bars or at family events. There was nothing anywhere to give anyone any indication of what type of person he was, or any indication about his private life. To a good detective, that would have been a serious red flag.

You’re risking everything by helping Maggie.

Micah reached his bathroom first and pushed the door open with his gun. He did the same with his shower curtain, shoving it to the side with the end of his gun.

They’ve invaded your space because she’s with you.

He returned to the hallway and turned the doorknob to the only bedroom in his small house. This time Micah turned on the light. His mattress and box springs hung off the bed frame. The sheets were pulled off. The few pieces of clothing he owned had been pulled out of his closet and tossed on the floor. Micah guessed whoever had been in his house had been pretty pissed off at this point in their search. They’d torn his house apart and hadn’t learned a Goddamn thing about him.

He turned at the sound of footsteps in his hallway.

“I told you to stay in that chair,” he barked, glaring at Maggie.

“Here,” she said, ignoring him, but glancing at the gun in his hand as she held out a small business card. “I spotted this stuck inside the doorknob of your front door.”

Micah stared at the LAPD insignia stamped on the business card before taking it from her. “Show me where you found it.”

He followed her down the hallway to his living room. Micah sheathed his gun in the holster attached to the back of his jeans and tugged his T-shirt over it. Maggie pointed to his front door.

“It was stuck against the doorknob,” she said, pointing.

“Against the doorknob?” Micah moved around her, inspecting the simple doorknob that wouldn’t keep a fool out of the place. It was loose enough that the card did fit between it and the wooden door. The dead bolt he’d installed after moving in had been tampered with. Glancing up at the almost invisible wire that was part of his security system, he noticed it had been cut. His fury mounted all over again. Whoever had entered his house had known to cut that one wire as soon as they’d entered. They’d done it fast enough to prevent the signal from being sent to his phone, which was how he’d set it up. “The son of a bitch knew it was there and what they needed to do to turn it off.”

“Knew what was there?” Maggie asked.

He pointed to the cut wire. “My security system. The motherfucker cut that wire within a minute of entering. Otherwise, I would have gotten a notice on my phone that someone had entered my house.”

“Wow,” she said under her breath.

“It’s a bad neighborhood,” he offered as explanation. Not that the neighborhood bothered him. Looking at the card, Micah pulled out his phone and paced the length of his living room. He called the number then waited out two rings before a man answered. “I suggest you get your ass back over here right now,” Micah growled, then hung up.