“I’ll walk you out,” he stated as I finally stood to exit his office.
Before I realized what was happening, warmth filled the space at the lower part of my back. Micah held his office door open with one hand while his other one lingered at the small of my back. I had to remind myself that I’d only met this man less than thirty minutes earlier. It didn’t make sense the level of comfort and security I’d begun to feel in his presence.
There was that familiarity, too. It kept nagging at me. As if my mind was trying to tell me that I knew him from somewhere. But there was no chance in hell I could’ve met Micah Townsend before and not remember him. Absolutely not.
“Wilson’s been trying to get through for the last twenty minutes,” Leona, the woman at the front of the office, informed him as soon as we entered the lobby area. She glanced between Micah and I. Her gaze dipped, staring briefly at his arm around my lower back. Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly.
“I’ll get back to him,” he told her casually, barely sparing her a glance.
Once we reached the door, I turned to face him, but stepped back, breaking our physical connection.
“Thank you for taking the time to look into this case.”
His lips curled upward. “Don’t think I had much of a choice.”
My belly quaked, but I didn’t dare call them butterflies.
“You’ve got my number.” He dipped his head, gesturing to the pocket of my jeans where I’d stuck the business card he’d given me. “Anything you can think of, give me a call.”
“You’ll be out of town.”
His brows furrowed, but not angrily. It came across as a sudden shift in emotion, from laid back to stern. “Anythingyou can think of, use that number on the back of the card. It’s my cell. I can do two things at once.”
I didn’t respond. I tapped my hand directly over where I’d placed the card, signaling to the both of us that I’d heeded his words.
“What does LS Investigations stand for?” I questioned.
“Lone Star.”
I nodded. “Naturally.”
Chuckling, I pressed the door open, and I passed through, getting a whiff of his citrusy, pine scent. That smell lingered in my nostrils as I strolled toward the beat-up red truck that was one of the only things I had left of my grandfather. Right before getting in, I turned to face the entrance of LS Investigations. A shiver moved through me when I caught him, standing tall in the doorway, watching me.
My fingers nearly shook as I turned the key in the ignition.
“What the hell did I just get myself into?” I mumbled as I pulled out of the parking lot.
Chapter Seven
I sat in yet another lobby, the day after first meeting Micah, glancing around. This time, I was meeting with my grandfather’s estate attorney. Though I’d told Micah I was selling, I was on the fence about letting go of my grandparents’ property. I needed to look into every option.
As I sat there, I kept going over the previous day’s meeting. I could barely sleep the night before thinking about Micah Townsend. There was something about him that I couldn't put my finger on. I got this odd sensation in my chest when thinking I thought about the fact he wouldn’t be in town for the next few days. I started to call him up and request he assign one of his other private investigators to the case, to get things moving quickly, but the inquiry died in my imagination before it even got the chance to form fully. I was sure the rest of his staff were as capable as he was. He didn’t strike me as the type that would surround himself with slackers.
I didn’t want anyone else to take this case. I wanted Micah.
“Ms. Taylor,” a male voice called, pulling me out of my damn reverie over a man I hardly knew.
Standing, I extended my hand toward the older man who was moving toward me. “Mr. Walcott,” I greeted. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
He nodded. “Wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”
I nodded, giving him a tight smile. Jason Walcott was my grandfather’s estate planning attorney for many years. Though he’d been working with my grandfather for some time and he’d sent me all the forms I needed, including the deed to my grandfather's home, this was the first time we met.
“Follow me,” he encouraged, nodding at his receptionist before turning the corner that led to his office. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” I took the seat across from his desk, looking up at the degrees on the wall behind him. It was a typical lawyer’s office packed with books, files, and a myriad of papers, likely filled with legalese even the lawyers could barely understand.
“Ms. Taylor, thanks for coming down and meeting with me. Your grandfather told me a lot about you.”
