Another week and no fucking updates on Megan. I’d spent the week running guns and was forced to delay what I considered my most important task—tracking down Megan’s lying ass. The longer it took me to find her, the more my rage against her grew.

The first place I’d decided to investigate was the address on the driver’s license. D hadn’t found any new leads yet, and like me, he’d been called away on one of his field assignments.

So far, all D and I knew was that Megan Jones was not only the name Megan wrote her books under, it was also an alias to hide who she truly was. It bothered the fuck out of me that I had no idea who this woman was. Facts were, she was as dangerous as anyone in my MC. The scariest part of the situation was that we’d never allowed an outsider to get that close to us. Megan could have killed all of us if she’d had a mind to do so.

Since I couldn’t sleep, I’d chosen to depart during the middle of the night and had driven the long stretch from Florida to Texas. I was tired as fuck but restless at the same time. My body was exhausted, but my mind was too anxious to stop me from tracking down Megan or whoever the fuck she was.

A little after seven in the morning, I sat outside the office building of the lady whose address was on the driver’s license. I’d tried the home address on the license, but no one had answered the door. D had linked the woman’s home address on the driver’s license with her place of business.

Going straight into investigative mode, I hadn’t even bothered to check into a motel. Instead, I’d parked my truck across the street from the office building and fed the parking meter some of the change from my ashtray before I hiked across the paved street.

When people started to enter the building, I merged my body in with a group and followed them in. I’d observed enough to know that this wasn’t one of those buildings that had metal detectors and guards that wanted to see credential before you were allowed in.

A fresh, welcoming aroma met me as soon as I stepped inside the building. The open floor plan allowed me to look up several stories to a giant tinted-glass ceiling. There was a coffee shop, a restaurant, and a few small shopping outlets on the first floor. You could glance up and on certain floors, see the large scripted letters that showcased the names of some of the businesses.

In the lounge area near the coffee shop, people sat with their laptops opened or swiping at their iPads, drinking coffee, and conversing. Their interactions with each other were loud and animated, no doubt, the caffeine doing its job.

The click of heels alerted me to a group of three women walking in my direction. Their conversations ceased as all three glared at me like I was a mouth-watering steak being prepared to their liking. I’d shave my beard off, so my face was cleaner and fresher-looking, I presumed. I’d pulled my hair back into a ponytail, secured by a rubber band which I thought made me look more approachable.

One of the ladies licked her lips suggestively, one’s eyebrows shot up as a gleaming smile spread across her face, and the other just gawked. Their pace slowed considerably the closer they got to me. Their heels scraped against the floor as they made an abrupt stop in front of me, halting my movement.

As if practiced, the group greeted me in unison. “Hello,” they sang. Their greeting was followed by girlish giggles.

The brunette from the group asked, “Can I help you?” Her seductive tone and heated gaze indicated that she was offering the kind of help that could only be given behind closed doors.

After shaking my head no to the question, I greeted them with a quick, “Good morning,” and zipped around them, quickening my steps to get away from them.

Clicking heels started up again, and their voices carried on purpose, I was sure.

“I’d like to help him all right. Right out of those clothes,” one stated before they all laughed.

Another one of them expressed, “I’d like for him to help me out with something on my desk.”

Their not-so-quiet banter made me smile. I’d gotten used to women treating me like I was a piece of meat. Therefore, I didn’t feel bad about my tendency to fuck them once and leave them. However, it was too bad I’d been unable to apply that same principle to Megan’s conniving ass.

The glass-encased legend on the lobby wall displayed that the Megan Jones attached to the address on the driver’s license was an attorney that worked out of an office on the seventh floor. Could there be a connection that tied this Megan to my Megan?

As I turned to head towards the elevators, I was nearly trampled by another woman, and was hit with, “Hi, can I escort you to where you need to go?”

A lanky blonde with a blue business jacket and a short pink skirt that showed off legs for days had found her way into my personal space. Her attire indicated she worked someplace within the building. The woman didn’t hide her scanning eyes as they roamed my body from head to toe.

“Thank you,” I said. “But, I think I can find my way.”

She leaned in closely, and for a moment, I thought the woman was going to kiss me until I caught the flash of a business card she had pinched between her manicured fingers.

“You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me,” she offered, not the least bit ashamed that she was flirting with a perfect stranger, giving him an invite to her pussy as far as I was concerned.

I smiled and nodded my head as I took the card, being careful not to engage her in conversation so that I could continue with my mission. She hadn’t even bothered to ask my name, which reinforced what I was to her. When she walked away, I didn’t have to glance back in her direction to sense her eyes all over me.

In jeans and a white T-shirt, I was likely the most plainly dressed person in the building, but people, especially women, often went out of their way to be nice to me.

With over fifty tattoos scattered all over my body, shoulder-length hair, and a darkly-shadowed chin, I wasn’t exactly the kind of man a woman wanted to take home to meet her family.

However, I was the man a woman didn’t mind having a one-night stand with; the one they didn’t mind cheating on their husbands with or the one they’d fuck in just about any location at any time.

At times, I didn’t think they saw a person. I was a package. I was the epitome of the bad boy they fantasized about. I was the walking image of someone they wanted to fuck, and no matter what I did to myself: beard, no beard, short hair or long, I’d never be the man they would take home to family or the one they wanted to marry. Shit, I wasn’t even the one they would take out to a restaurant, and the thought of having a kid with my ass probably gave them nightmares.

I took the elevator up to the attorney’s floor, hoping she would shed some light on why someone was using her address and name as an alias.

My pace slowed when I walked into the highly fashioned and stylish-looking office. I glanced down at myself and around at the expensive paintings, the glossy floors, and highly varnished and perfectly finished furnishings.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked before my eyes made the full journey around the office space. Her wide smile danced under sparkling green eyes.

The way she bit the tip of her pen and eyed me insinuated she didn’t care one bit about how I was dressed.

“I was hoping I could speak to Miss Jones,” I stated in the most fake proper voice I could muster.

“She doesn’t take walk-ins, but I can let her know that you dropped by. What’s your name and why do you want to see her?”

I leaned over the receptionist’s glossy granite counter, allowed my tongue to dart across my lips, and let my gaze travel over her body. If they were intent upon treating me like charbroiled steak, I may as well use whatever they saw in me to get what I wanted.

“I’m Detective Jeff Jackson,” I lied while flashing one of the fake badges I used while hunting someone. “I was hoping I could see Miss Jones for just a few minutes about a suspect I’m tracking down. I’d tell you everything, but I’d have to get to know you better before I tell you all of my secrets.”

My flirting had her blushing and grinning. The fact that I didn’t have to try hard or come up with clever lines had me laughing on the inside.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll see if she will take you after her current client. She may have a moment to spare. I’ll be right back.”

The woman rushed towards her boss’ office, glancing back at me with a wide grin the entire time. When she was out of sight, I dropped my smile and waited. I hadn’t bothered to ask the woman her name.

The receptionist came back around the corner rather quickly.

“Miss Jones said she’ll see you, but only for a few minutes. I insisted that it was vitally important that she see you. She will be done with her client soon. You can have a seat or you can stay here and talk to me.”

“I think I’ll take a seat because you look like the kind of girl that can get an innocent man like me into trouble.”

She shook her head energetically and lowered her voice, not hiding the fact that she was flirting. “I won’t be any trouble. I promise,” she said before placing the pen back at the corner of her lips and biting on it.

Her ringing phone saved me from gagging on my own words. As I headed to my seat, I glanced back at her on the phone and winked while she was handling her caller. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman either. A sexy redhead with a nice small frame. The ring on her finger and the picture of a toddler between her and the man who was likely her husband I’d spotted displayed on her desk, revealed the rest of her story.

Less than five minutes later, another woman came strutting from the back. Her navy designer business suit looked as expensive as everything in this place. Her gaze met mine and an immediate smile flashed across her face. She waved at the receptionist while passing her desk to head towards the exit.

The receptionist remained on her call, but she pointed me towards her boss’ office, letting me know I could go back.

I cruised down the first short hall, which had an office on each side. Since none of the nameplates on the doors indicated Megan Jones, I turned down a second hall and found several offices back there, each with what must have been other lawyers.

The name of the place was Evans, Jones, & Carter, so Miss Jones was likely one of the partners. Miss Jones’ office was located at the far end of the second hall. I knocked softly on her door and waited until she invited me in.

“Come in,” she called.

When I stepped in, she stood, but her eyes were glued to some document in her hand.

“Have a seat, Mr. Jackson,” she directed, but she hadn’t glanced up yet.

I sat in one of the two brown leather chairs facing her desk and waited. Her office was as polished and sophisticated as she was dressed. Brown, black, and gray traces of leather were everywhere. Her desk was transparent, so I saw her black red-bottom pumps with a heel so high, it gave her at least five extra inches of height. She wore a red suit jacket, paired with a blue top that matched her blue skirt.

I never understood the need for makeup and those extra pieces and parts women seemed to like called accessories. This Megan flashed many parts from her expensive necklace and bangles on her wrist, to the broach attached to her lapel, the multiple rings on her fingers, and the dangling earrings.

I liked when a woman kept it simple like my Megan. No makeup, her natural hair, and no extras. It allowed me to see a true depiction of a woman and not the polished trophy she’d transformed herself into.

When Miss. Jones placed the document on her desk and glanced at me. Her eyes scanned me quickly, much like the lady in the navy suit had. Miss Jones seemed to like what she saw, but unlike the other ladies, she at least attempted to hide it under a layer of professionalism.

This Megan was nothing like mine. This one had a pale complexion with bone-straight dark brown hair and a model-slim frame. She was likely in her forties, but her heavy makeup and refined appearance had her looking in her early thirties. A small smile remained shining in her gaze, but it didn’t spread to her lips.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m investigating a case that you may or may not have insight into. A piece of evidence in the case led me to you.”

I had her full attention with those statements.

“I don’t believe your personal or professional life has been compromised in anyway, however, I am searching for a woman that is or was using your name and address as an alias.”

Her smiling eyes grew tense, and her posture stiffened.

I handed her the driver’s license to see if a picture of Megan would spark any knowledge.

“Do you know this woman?” I asked her, praying that she did.

She shook her head as her eyes darted back and forth across the driver’s license. Remaining quiet, she placed her fingers up to her painted lips in thought.

I could tell by that lost look on her face that she had no idea who she was looking at. I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck that this woman had been chosen at random for her name.

I’d wasted my fucking time chasing a dead-end lead. My body drooped a bit. Hopefully, D would be able to find me another lead because the hunt for Megan wasn’t as easy as I’d assumed it would be.

The Megan that stood before me asked, “May I ask why are you looking for this woman? More importantly, why would she be using my information?”

“She stole something…” My fucking heart. “It was something of value that I’d like to get back. And, as I mention before, I believe your name was chosen at random.”

Although Attorney Megan Jones and I exchanged numbers, and she made several calls to ensure her identity was protected, I was certain I’d never see the woman again after this day.