Slow Heat (32 page)

Maggie dropped the piece of the statue of Mother Mary and baby Jesus on the floor and put the rosary in her purse. “I guess there’s no reason to search anywhere in here,” she said. She took one last look at her office and turned to the door.

Micah still stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry.”

She lifted her gaze to his face. He sincerely looked as if he meant it. Maggie wasn’t sure why that surprised her. She’d seen quite a few emotions replace his usual stony expression. Usually they were only visible during sex.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He stepped out of her way and turned his back to her. “Let’s focus on the kitchen. The lights are only on back here, right?”

“Right. There is a light switch on the other side of that door.” She pointed at the closed door that led out into the club—the same door Micah had hauled her through the first day she’d met him. Little had she known that would be the last day of her life as she’d known it. Granted, she’d only worked at Club Paradise since she had finished college, but up until the day Micah had sauntered into her life, Maggie had existed in a world of numbers and sensibility. Everything had its place. There were never surprises. Her schedule never varied.

God! She’d been boring as hell. This life she had now was a bit too extreme for her liking, but maybe once this was all over she would put some effort into being a bit less dull.
If Micah stays in your life there will never be a dull moment.

And how often would she see gunshot wounds? Maggie shivered at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Micah asked, coming up next to her and running his hand down the back of her head.

“No. Just nerves,” she admitted and tried smiling up at him.

“You’re safe.”

He didn’t elaborate. Not that he had to. Micah would protect her to the death. She walked toward the first row of tall shelves where cooking utensils were still stacked. This time when she shivered, Micah didn’t notice. Which was a good thing, since it was not nerves that twisted her tummy in knots, but a scary premonition. Would Micah kill to protect her?

“Are there gloves in here?” he asked.

“Gloves?”

“So that we don’t leave fingerprints.”

“Oh.” She looked around the kitchen then snapped her fingers. “There might be.”

Micah followed her, his solid footsteps as powerful sounding as the rest of him. Maggie moved to stand where Max usually started his day, in his personal space. The counter had been wiped clean, and she imagined that on the last day he had worked here he’d cleaned everything before he had left. She wondered where he was now. Hers wasn’t the only life that had changed that day.

She started to open one of the drawers in Max’s workstation and hesitated. “How do I search for gloves and not leave fingerprints?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Micah.

“Where were you going to look?”

She pointed. “In these drawers.”

Micah reached around her and opened the first drawer. As Maggie suspected, it was full of odds and ends, everything from paintbrushes to rulers to random-sized measuring cups and flour sifters. Micah closed that drawer and opened the next.

“Bingo,” Maggie exclaimed and pulled out the kind of gloves doctors wore before giving an exam. “Don’t ask what these are doing here. I don’t know. I just remembered having seen them in here months ago when you just now asked about them.” She pulled out two pairs and handed one of them to him. “Hope they fit.”

“I’m more concerned about you.”

She gave him an odd look. “Why aren’t you worried about you? Wouldn’t it be just as damaging if the police found your fingerprints here?”

“The cops aren’t going to dust this place for prints again.”

“Then why are we doing this?” she asked, pausing after pulling one glove over her hand.

“Because if whoever is laundering money comes back here and believes things aren’t as they left them, they could check for prints. I’d be less worried about them finding my prints. We don’t want anyone else after you.”

“Good point.” She was relieved to hear him say that he had fingerprints and immediately was mad at her brother all over again for putting the thought in her head that Micah might not have fingerprints. “So, do you know what you’re looking for?”

Micah stared at her, his solemn expression unreadable. “What were you going to look for?”

“Another accounting book,” she said immediately. “I think I’m not the first person who thinks it exists and that it might be here,” she added pointedly, nodding toward her office.

They spent the next half an hour working in silence. Maggie worked her way down one of the tall shelves stocked with kitchen utensils. Micah’s back was to her as he went through the items on the shelves opposite her. She picked up every kitchen product on each shelf, turning it over, examining it, then returning it to where it was. The shelves were taller than she was and lined up next to each other in rows. She never realized how much stuff was in the kitchen until they’d finished the first row.

The next row of shelves were full of pots and pans of every size imaginable. They made quite the racket picking up pots to look underneath and checking stacks of pans.

“Hold on,” Micah said, sticking out his hand.

“What?” They were halfway down the row, and Maggie held a large soup pot in her hands when she looked at him.

“Put that down, quietly.”

She stared at him a moment, but Micah wasn’t looking at her. His head was tilted as if he was listening for something. Then Maggie heard it, too.

“Oh crap,” she whispered. “Who could be out there?”

Micah took the large soup pot from her and placed it on the shelf. Taking her hand, he moved fast toward the back of the kitchen. She thought they were leaving, but Micah turned off the lights and pulled her against him.

“Don’t say a word,” he whispered.

Maggie nodded, her eyes wide open in the pitch blackness surrounding them. In the silence she could hear men talking up front. How did they get in? Only she had keys to the place.

The voices grew louder, and Maggie felt a wave of panic hit her when a key sounded in the door leading from the club to the kitchen.

“Is there a light switch at that door for the kitchen?” Micah whispered.

She shook her head.

“We need a good hiding place.”

Micah was telling her to suggest a place for them to hide. Her brain was whirling with fear at the thought of being caught in here by men who quite possibly had ordered someone to frame her for money laundering, and arranged for someone to try to run her over. She heard the key turn the lock in the door.

“Sweetheart, now isn’t the time to panic,” Micah whispered.

“Right.” She gave herself a firm shake.

“We’re going to take down the assholes who have made your life hell. We can do that if they don’t know we’re here.”

“This way.” Maggie grabbed his hand and moved through the darkness. She knew the kitchen pretty well and led them to the supply closet, or where she was pretty sure it was.

“Where are we going?” Micah whispered.

The door opened and two men entered. They hadn’t turned on the lights in the club. Thank God for small miracles!

“Who the fuck designed this place and didn’t put light switches at both doors?” a man growled.

Maggie frantically ran her hand along the far wall, searching for the doorknob. When she found it, Micah’s hand covered hers. He helped her turn it slowly then open the door, which thankfully didn’t squeak. Maggie would eternally be grateful for how neat and orderly Max was. Brooms and mops were hanging on the wall, and buckets were underneath them. The floor in the middle of the closet was clear, and there was enough room for the two of them to stand, closely. Micah pulled her inside with him and closed the door.

He pulled his gloves off and tossed them somewhere on the floor. Maggie did the same and heard hers hit something against the wall. She froze for a moment, afraid she’d knocked something over, but nothing moved. Maggie exhaled and almost hiccuped. She was terrified.

When Micah’s arms went around her Maggie blinked, then opened her eyes. She’d had them squeezed shut. Her eyes slowly adjusted to their surroundings when she noticed Micah hadn’t closed the closet door all the way. She started to reach for it but it was too late. The kitchen light came on and the men started moving around. Maggie yanked her hand back and clutched Micah’s forearm.

“How soon will they be here?” the man who had complained about the light switch asked.

“We shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

Maggie stiffened. Micah’s face lowered until he pressed it next to hers.

“The man who just spoke sounds familiar,” she whispered, barely making a sound.

Micah adjusted his arms around her, holding her close. His strong, powerful body touched her everywhere. There was no reason for her heart to be pounding a mile a minute. She was probably in the safest place in the entire city. There were plenty of tall, well-built men, and Maggie had met her fair share over the years. Something about Micah made him seem more a weapon then simply an in-shape good-looking guy.

“Everything is ready?”

The man whose voice she recognized laughed. “Why do you stay in this business if you get so nervous right before the excitement happens? I promise, Frank, we’re good to go.”

“I’m not nervous. I just like being prepared,” Frank complained, defending himself. “You were vague on the phone.”

“For obvious reasons. You never can be too careful.”

“No one is going to tap your phone, Ryan.”

Maggie straightened. That was how she knew his voice. Ryan Stabler was a judge. Not too long ago, a serial killer was tried in his courtroom. Judge Stabler sent the man away for life. He was quite the hero. Stabler was young for a judge, good looking, and the press loved him. There was talk of him having his own column in the paper and even a talk show. He was a local celebrity. Maggie’s head started spinning when she remembered that he’d met with her uncle several times earlier that year.

“The moment you start thinking you’re invincible is the same moment you can be beaten. Always remember that.”

“Save your words of wisdom for your courtroom. This is a different job, and we’re partners.”

“What do you have ready for these guys?”

“Fine.” There were footsteps; it sounded as if Ryan left the kitchen. “Everything is right here.”

“Damn, Ryan,” Frank said after a minute. His voice was calmer, almost sedated. “You had everything already stored here?”

“I can’t carry it around on me.” Stabler laughed again. “It wouldn’t look good for my image.”

Apparently Frank didn’t see the need to comment. “This looks like pure shit,” he said instead.

“They’ll be satisfied.” Ryan sounded confident.

“Did you have it delivered here? How did you pull it off when they were expecting Santinos?”

“Yes, and I have a way with people.”

Maggie could almost see the judge flashing his broad, toothy smile. Who would have thought that the all-American judge, with his perfect teeth and hair, his flashy car and charming demeanor, was a big-time drug dealer? Maggie couldn’t get it to sink in. They’d just implied her uncle had been doing the judge’s dirty work before going to jail.

“What about Santinos’s daughter or cousin or whatever she is?”

“She’s his niece, although close in age from what I’ve learned,” Stabler said, his tone as smooth as satin. “And I’m working on it. Little bitch has had a stroke of good luck but it will run out. If I can’t take her out one way, I will find another.”

“The good judge speaks,” Frank said, chuckling.

“There can be no liabilities, not anymore. Santinos getting busted was the best thing that could have happened to us.”

“He did make some mistakes.” Frank almost sounded regretful, as if possibly he had liked her uncle.

Nonetheless, a cold sweat broke out over Maggie’s body. Judge Stabler was an evil, cruel man. She didn’t know him, had never met him, and yet for some reason he was the one trying to have her killed. But why?

“Some mistakes aren’t allowed in this line of work. They aren’t cost-effective. Santinos had his niece making his travel arrangements when he traveled south. I won’t risk her knowing anything else about his business.”

“Why didn’t the charges stick when they hauled her in?”

“She did too good of a job hiding Santinos’s books.”

“Santinos said there aren’t any books.”

Stabler made a scoffing sound. “Can you picture Santinos keeping track of all this in his head? The man isn’t that smart. There are ledgers, and the cops were idiots not to find them before questioning her.”

“So now we kill her?”

“That’s the plan.”

“What about that Jones guy?”

“He’s not Jones,” Stabler hissed, a sneer in his voice.

“What do you mean he’s not Jones? Isn’t that his name?”

“Who he is, is on a need-to-know basis, and if you know he’ll kill you.”

“I know nothing,” Frank smirked.

“Keep it that way.”

Maggie’s head was spinning. All the answers and information put her brain on overload. Despite her uncle swearing Maggie didn’t keep records of whatever it was he’d been doing on the side, not even his partners believed him. She’d been hauled in for questioning on Judge Stabler’s orders, or so it sounded. Then when they couldn’t charge her with anything, people were following her and trying to kill her simply because they didn’t believe her uncle and thought she knew too much. If that weren’t too much to take in, Stabler had just suggested that Micah wasn’t who he claimed to be. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Micah hadn’t even flinched when they’d mentioned him. He remained the calm, sturdy rock with his muscular arms wrapped around her protectively.

Silence followed, and Maggie heard one of them pacing. They were waiting for someone to show up. Judge Stabler was doing a drug deal in her club. But why here? Was it because the club was closed down? It was probably a great location. No one would think to come here to look for drug dealers. But who had the key to the club and how did they get it? Had her uncle lied about losing his key? He’d told her not to bother making another one and had laughed it off at the time, telling her he’d probably just lose it. Uncle Larry always showed up after she’d opened the club for the day. She was always the last person to leave, after she’d finished all the paperwork. Anyone watching would think she ran the club, which she had. Did her Uncle Larry set her up? Apparently he hadn’t really lost his key. Somehow he’d given the key to Stabler.