or so. But her mother had rounded up the family, not just because they would all want to know about Maggie, but to make her father feel better.
“You’ll be here soon?” Her mother barely made it a question.
Well, that would cut into the time she might need to persuade Micah to help her. If she didn’t show up at the house soon, her parents would send the O’Malley army out looking for her. After promising not to be long and using the argument that traffic was a nightmare, Maggie got off the phone, confirmed where she was on Google Maps, and drove the last few blocks to Micah’s house.
Micah Jones didn’t live as extravagantly as the Kings did. Maggie parked in front of a run-down small house with a narrow cracked cement driveway leading up to a detached garage. After confirming it would be a twenty-minute drive, at least, to her house from Micah’s, Maggie got out of her car and locked it.
“Stay calm,” she ordered herself, and did her best to ignore her pounding heart when she walked up the drive to the front door.
* * *
Micah watched Maggie O’Malley walk up to his house through his partially closed living room curtains. There had been something about her auburn hair, pulled back from a face with very little makeup, that at first he’d thought made her look innocent. Now, watching her as she looked down, stepping over the cracks in the drive, with her hair today tucked behind her ears and partially covering her face, he had a chance to see Maggie in a new light.
Most of the time when people were released because charges couldn’t be pressed, they started living under the radar, or they ran. Then their name would inevitably pop back up on the bounty hunter’s list. They’d been released. They’d taken off. The DA or FBI finally had viable evidence to book them but couldn’t find them. Once again, it became the bounty hunter’s job to track them down. Micah was actually starting to like this line of work. At least as a bounty hunter, he still got to hunt and capture. He just didn’t kill. Money wasn’t everything. Peace of mind often proved just as necessary and desirable.
Maggie wasn’t running. Four days ago the police had let her go. If he were to step outside it wouldn’t surprise him if he found an unmarked car parked somewhere on his street. They would be watching her. And more than likely right now they were as confused as he was. If she was guilty, why would she return to the bounty hunter who very well may be asked to track her down in the near future?
Maggie walked in front of the window without looking in his direction and tapped on his door. She was possibly one cocky bitch. Maybe she believed she could outsmart him. Micah had no problem tangling with a beautiful young lady.
Or the possibility existed that she truly was innocent.
Micah stared at his front door. Maggie rapped on it several times. He no longer saw her through the window. He waited a breath then unlocked and opened the door.
“Micah Jones.” She combed her fingers through her hair, dragging long, thick strands to the back of her head where they fell and draped around her oval-shaped face. It fell as it did in those shampoo commercials, thick, shiny, healthy-looking hair that was tangle-free. She absently tucked one side behind her ear. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”
That was an understatement. “We already know each other.” Micah stood to the side, pulling his front door far enough open for her to enter. Maggie remained standing in the doorway.
He seriously doubted someone who was working in a club that was a cover for money laundering—guilty or not, Maggie had to know that much—was going to stand on propriety and not enter a single man’s home without introduction. Maybe she was trying to make an impression. He wasn’t going to discuss shit with her while she stood on his front stoop. There was some outstanding spy equipment out there, and LAPD probably had their share of it.
“You’ll be here soon?” Her mother barely made it a question.
Well, that would cut into the time she might need to persuade Micah to help her. If she didn’t show up at the house soon, her parents would send the O’Malley army out looking for her. After promising not to be long and using the argument that traffic was a nightmare, Maggie got off the phone, confirmed where she was on Google Maps, and drove the last few blocks to Micah’s house.
Micah Jones didn’t live as extravagantly as the Kings did. Maggie parked in front of a run-down small house with a narrow cracked cement driveway leading up to a detached garage. After confirming it would be a twenty-minute drive, at least, to her house from Micah’s, Maggie got out of her car and locked it.
“Stay calm,” she ordered herself, and did her best to ignore her pounding heart when she walked up the drive to the front door.
* * *
Micah watched Maggie O’Malley walk up to his house through his partially closed living room curtains. There had been something about her auburn hair, pulled back from a face with very little makeup, that at first he’d thought made her look innocent. Now, watching her as she looked down, stepping over the cracks in the drive, with her hair today tucked behind her ears and partially covering her face, he had a chance to see Maggie in a new light.
Most of the time when people were released because charges couldn’t be pressed, they started living under the radar, or they ran. Then their name would inevitably pop back up on the bounty hunter’s list. They’d been released. They’d taken off. The DA or FBI finally had viable evidence to book them but couldn’t find them. Once again, it became the bounty hunter’s job to track them down. Micah was actually starting to like this line of work. At least as a bounty hunter, he still got to hunt and capture. He just didn’t kill. Money wasn’t everything. Peace of mind often proved just as necessary and desirable.
Maggie wasn’t running. Four days ago the police had let her go. If he were to step outside it wouldn’t surprise him if he found an unmarked car parked somewhere on his street. They would be watching her. And more than likely right now they were as confused as he was. If she was guilty, why would she return to the bounty hunter who very well may be asked to track her down in the near future?
Maggie walked in front of the window without looking in his direction and tapped on his door. She was possibly one cocky bitch. Maybe she believed she could outsmart him. Micah had no problem tangling with a beautiful young lady.
Or the possibility existed that she truly was innocent.
Micah stared at his front door. Maggie rapped on it several times. He no longer saw her through the window. He waited a breath then unlocked and opened the door.
“Micah Jones.” She combed her fingers through her hair, dragging long, thick strands to the back of her head where they fell and draped around her oval-shaped face. It fell as it did in those shampoo commercials, thick, shiny, healthy-looking hair that was tangle-free. She absently tucked one side behind her ear. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”
That was an understatement. “We already know each other.” Micah stood to the side, pulling his front door far enough open for her to enter. Maggie remained standing in the doorway.
He seriously doubted someone who was working in a club that was a cover for money laundering—guilty or not, Maggie had to know that much—was going to stand on propriety and not enter a single man’s home without introduction. Maybe she was trying to make an impression. He wasn’t going to discuss shit with her while she stood on his front stoop. There was some outstanding spy equipment out there, and LAPD probably had their share of it.
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