Chapter Seventy-Seven

In preparation for the meeting, Marcus had stressed to all of them that they needed to make inroads with the locals after the briefing. But, when the officers had been dismissed, Maggie only wanted to speak with one person: Baxter Kincaid. Unfortunately, she had been intercepted by a detective named Olivette, who wore way too much cologne, and possibly eyeliner.

When she noticed Baxter and his goth companion rush from the room after conversing with Marcus and Ackerman, she excused herself and hurried to catch up. Not because she cared how Marcus or his big brother had offended Kincaid, but because she was in need of a private investigator.

She finally intercepted the strange pair on the front steps of the old brick building. She shouted, “Mr. Kincaid!”

He turned back, and she saw a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there previously. She quickly said, “I’m sorry for whatever my colleagues may have said to upset you. But—”

“It’s nothing like that. I just heard about an emergency that needs my attention. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait,” she said. “I want to hire you. I need you to locate someone for me.”

A look of confusion fell over his face, but he fished a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “My cell is on there.”

“Hold up. This will only take a second, I promise.”

“Why do you need my help anyway? You have more resources than I do.”

She quickly said, “I have my reasons, but I’d like to keep this between us. It’s a personal matter.” She held out a business card of her own. Only this one listed her info on the front, and on the back, she had already written her father’s full name, date of birth, and a few last known addresses—having planned to hire Kincaid from the moment he was introduced as a private investigator.

She said, “I need you to find the man whose details are on the back of that card.”

“How quickly do you want it done, and how much are you willing to spend?”

“As quickly as possible, and money is not an issue.”

Baxter narrowed his eyes. “Who is this guy, and why do you need to find him so badly?”

“Does it matter?”

He shrugged and, after a glance down at the front and back of her business card, said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I just ask because it may help me find him. But no worries, I’ll flush out your wayward father like an old coon hound.”

“How did you know the man I’m looking for is my father?”

Stuffing the card in his pocket, he said, “I’m a detective. That’s how I roll. I’ll be in touch real soon, Agent Carlisle.”

~~*~~