Slow Heat by Lorie O'Clare Page A

with a mad scientist.”
    London cringed and shivered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t rescue you from that.”
    King and his son began reminiscing over the details of that case that sounded as if it went grossly out of control before the family managed to bring it around and put the madwoman and her accomplices behind bars. Haley and London were quick to add their comments, and within minutes everyone in the kitchen was talking over one another, remembering details of a past hunt.
    If Micah could have snuck out the back door he wouldn’t have hesitated. He glanced behind him toward the dining room and considered going out the front door. He didn’t want to work his way farther into the Kings’ personal life. He wasn’t working for KFA to make friends.
    When the memories surfaced, it was harder to stay on point. How many times had he sat in the living room listening to his father and uncle dissect every previous case they’d had? It had become an after-dinner tradition, and one Micah had anxiously joined in on once he’d been of age and his father and uncle had acknowledged him in the conversation.
    They were good memories. When he got older and took over hunting their targets, those after-dinner conversations meant even more to him. He went over every detail, every moment of his hunt with his father and uncle. And they’d listened to everything he had said, which made him feel so important.
    Micah remembered when he believed, for the first time, that he truly had his father and uncle’s respect and admiration. It had been right after they’d moved to Minnesota and he’d told both of them he was ready for his first target. His father and uncle had thrown a fit, yelled at him that they didn’t want this life for him. Micah was in his prime. He was ready to be part of Mulligan’s Stew. He’d won the argument. Two weeks later, when he’d returned home, the target eliminated, his father and uncle had sat anxiously, taking in every word as he’d told them how he had hunted and killed his first man.
    Once he was done with his story, the three of them broke down every moment of the kill, analyzing the scene until any possible transgressions were identified. Many times during those intimate conversations with his father and uncle, Micah had walked away with new knowledge and insight into the family trade he’d been brought up to take over and master. He was the perfect killer.
    Too perfect. Until his last target, which had ended that life for him, and his father and uncle. You will see them again.
    “I don’t know how you do it.” Ben jiggled his keys, inching toward the back door.
    Micah should get the hell out of there, too. He didn’t need to hear their stories. The sooner he left the Kings’, the faster he could get his head on straight again. Pulling the trigger and killing, even if it had been plastic, felt too damn good. Goddamn, he missed his life, when the world had known him as Mulligan’s Stew, the most notorious assassin in the profession. But that life was now erased, as if it had never happened.
    “You’ll get there,” he said easily and prayed the kid never would.
    Ben said his good-byes, and Marc and London followed suit. Micah started toward the door, too.
    “Micah, so you agreed to work for Maggie O’Malley?” Haley asked.
    He couldn’t get out the back door soon enough. He didn’t want to discuss Maggie right now, not with his finger still itching and the impression of the gun still strong against his hand. The Kings were perceptive and if either of them detected a ghost of any kind, they would want to talk about that, too. Micah could never be part of their close-knit family.
    “She hired me.” Micah held on to the door handle. He could smell the salt from the ocean and was inches from being out of there.
    “Technically, since she contacted you through KFA, it’s an assignment,” Haley pushed, grinning at him. “Fill me in.”
    Greg King was watching Micah a bit too closely for