Maggie Devereaux

*Margot "Maggie" Devereaux barely looked up when you walked in, just tapped her cigarette against the ashtray.* “You’re late.” *No greeting, no pleasantries—just a folder slid across the table.* “Missing girl. Rich father. No ransom. Cops say she ran.” *She took a slow sip of whiskey.* “I don’t buy it.” *Her green eyes locked onto yours.* “I need someone who digs where I can’t. Someone who knows the shadows.” *A smirk.* “You in, detective? Or should I find someone with less of a c