Bounty (Hunted Love Book 2) (2 page)

The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Falon rolled into the little town of Stags Leap, Kentucky, consisting of one main street with a half dozen lesser streets intersecting it to create a business district of a dozen blocks. He took the last left before the main street merged into what looked like a rural two-lane road that snaked along the ribs of a steep hillside before disappearing over the opposite side. The grocery store that took up the corner gave way to a parking lot it apparently shared with the church on the next lot. The small park on the other side of the church served as a transition to a residential area.

A big Victorian sat on the corner in the midst of carefully maintained gardens, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. On down the block, homes of similar style and, presumably, similar status, occupied slightly smaller and less elaborate yards. An adolescent impulse to thumb his nose at such affluence tempted Falon to rev the Harley's engine to an intrusive roar, but he managed to grit his teeth and resist.

Keeping an eye on his speed, Falon rolled down the street, paying close attention to both sides. To the right, the homes were decidedly less prosperous, but still well-kept and nice. The further he went down the street, the less impressive they became. By the time he reached the end, where the only option was a left-hand turn, the residences were solidly settled into disrepair. Broken down cars sat blocked up in the driveways, and lawns were littered with broken toys and discarded furniture.

He made the turn and found himself immediately back in the business area, although the shops were strikingly different from those on the other end of town. A liquor store, a tattoo parlor, a pawn shop, and a convenience store lined the left-hand side of the street. The other side was taken up by a large metal building set a hundred feet back from the street and surrounded by a dusty gravel parking lot. The hand-painted sign on the front of the building declared that the place was called Rita's Rattlesnake. Interesting name.

A dozen or so vehicles, from a beat-to-death pickup and an aging sedan with the passenger door hanging at an odd angle and wired in place, to a brand new Escalade with custom rims, sat in the gravel parking lot. Off to one side, four Harleys stood proudly with a straight shot to the street for a quick getaway.

Falon went on past, and explored down several side streets, just getting a feel for the town. A surprising variety of businesses called Stags Leap home: a high end art gallery, several antique shops, a couple of craft shops, a florist, hell, even a smoke shop. And three funeral parlors. How the hell did a town that size support
three
funeral parlors? Stags Leap must have a high death rate.

The homes in the residential areas ran the full gamut of dwelling possibilities too, from spacious new mini-estates on the north side of town in a gated subdivision and well-preserved historical homes, to shacks remaining upright on sheer imagination, and a trailer park full of rundown mobile homes with broken out windows and busted doors. A low-income housing project occupied a big chunk of the south end of town, stretching in a sort of elongated apostrophe shape back into the narrow valley where two hills intersected. Falon didn't spot any indications of a homeless population, surprisingly.

    Satisfied with his exploration of Stags Leap, he looped back around to the tavern, where the sign out front proclaimed meals were served daily until eight o'clock in the evening. It appeared to be the only place in town to get an actual meal. Given the choice, he'd take that any day over deep-fried sweepings from the slaughterhouse floor. Decision made, he rolled into the parking lot and walked his bike back into a slot facing the road out of town.

Knees just a little too loose to move fast, Falon took his time climbing off the bike and making sure everything was secured. No need to walk in on an outlaw supper feeling less than his best. The leisurely walk to the door provided a good opportunity to look over everything in the parking lot, too. With rare exceptions, a building's occupants could usually be fairly well assessed by examining the vehicles parked outside.

Just inside the double doors, the old habit of never leaving his back exposed in a potentially dangerous situation kicked in, and he stepped to the left to put his back the column supporting the entrance into a dark little alcove set up as an arcade and removed his sunglasses. He could have removed them outside, of course, but waiting until he came inside meant less adjustment time for his eyes. Tantalizing aromas from further inside made his stomach growl.

Two kids, around twelve, currently occupied the arcade, battling it out on some sort of race simulator. Falon had no desire to spend a few minutes re-acquainting himself with arcade games. Sure, they'd come a long way since he'd spent time playing games, but he preferred to spend his time productively. Few pursuits seemed less wasteful of that precious commodity to him.

He moved forward, into full view of the main part of the tavern, with no choice but to make himself a target for anyone who might object to being hunted down. Fortunately, no one knew him there, and no bullet came to greet him.

With an inner shrug, he threw off the eerie feeling, and headed for the bar occupying the whole end of the building beyond the arcade. Very clever design. The position of the arcade sheltered the bar, and the cash register where all the patrons paid their tabs. Behind the bar, the kitchen occupied a sizable addition to the building, invisible from the front and side of the building.

Falon headed for the middle of the bar, where a woman with striking black hair rolled table utensils into napkins and stacked them neatly into a bin. Smooth ivory skin along her jaw and down the length of her neck made his fingers tingle with want. Damn, he really had gone too long without getting laid. Have to see about fixing that before it became a major distraction and liability.

She looked up with a bright smile. "Hi Sugar, what can I do for ya?" Her soft southern drawl blended with a touch of something else.

His spine tightened slightly in response, providing yet another reminder how long he'd held to the self-imposed celibacy that followed his now ex-wife's betrayal. Falon gave himself a mental shake, refusing to sink back into that quicksand of misery. "You still serving dinner?"

The woman glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, and turned back. "You're in luck. The kitchen girls are running a little behind tonight, so as long as you don't mind eating at the bar, you've still got a little time."

Falon ordered the country-fried steak and fries the woman recommended and took a seat at the end of the bar to wait for his food. The steaming plate came out more quickly than he expected, along with an icy glass of sweet tea. He pacified his guilt over all the deep fried carbs by asking for a small side salad.

Either he was starving or the food was of excellent quality, because Falon found it delicious even if it wasn't something he would normally choose. After the first few bites, he slowed down to relish every morsel.

The staff bustling around to clean tables and chairs only drew a portion of his attention. When the band started warming up, he actually noticed. Most of the tables and chairs had been moved aside to leave a large area of the floor cleared.

Where had the woman with the black hair gone? He really should ask her—there she was. Falon caught her eye and lifted a hand.

With a broad smile, she glided over to him, all T and A, and graceful movement, enough to make his mouth water. "What can I do for ya, Sugar?" She stopped close to him and leaned one elbow against the bar so she tilted her head back to smile up at him.

Powerless to resist, he grudgingly allowed his gaze to travel downward from her face, taking in the generous breasts and willowy waist. Full hips, designed to cradle a man just so, made him grit his teeth a little. He forced his eyes back to her face. "If a guy wanted to rent a room and put up at a motel for a couple of weeks, where would he find such a place around here?"

She licked her lower lip in what was probably an unconscious gesture, instinctively recognizing a man on the prowl. "Aw, Sugar, there's nothing like that to be had around here. We don't get much call for rooms to rent. Everybody just crashes over with relatives. Now, that said, I do happen to have an old camper on the back lot that I sometimes rent out for a couple weeks at a time. Every once in a while some lady will leave her old man and need a place to lay low for a bit while he cools down. It ain't nothing fancy, but it's clean, if you're interested."

"Can I see it?" Damn, there was a
lot
he'd like to see.

Another smile and she flicked a runaway lock of hair back before answering. "Sugar, all you got to do is ask, and you could see just about anything you wanted to." She gave him a long slow look that said she'd intended the remark to be as all-inclusive as it sounded. "Give me ten minutes to get everything squared away for the evening crowd, and I'll be glad to show you the camper." At his nod of agreement, she moved away, tantalizing him with the sway of her hips.

His appetite for food withered away, leaving him with a raging hard-on that resisted all attempts to take his mind off the black-haired woman's shape. The thought of casual sex, especially with no kind of connection or relationship, turned his stomach. It showed the utmost lack of respect for both himself and the woman, in his opinion. But when a woman like that one showed up on his radar, principles became seriously difficult to hold himself to.

Even with the reminder to himself, Falon continued to watch her as she moved around the big room, straightening this or that, pausing to speak with a staff member occasionally, and just looking around to make sure it all met her requirements. Falon had the impression she was very specific about what she wanted, and nothing less would do.

The band continued warming up and arranging their equipment to fit the small stage. Falon wouldn't even have realized the twelve-foot-square dais was actually a stage if he hadn't seen the band on it. Apparently during the day, they used it as an exclusive dining area, with a pair of tables situated for a good view of the rest of the dining room. But with the tables removed and the backdrop lowered, it was definitely a stage, even if it was a small one. And the band moved into a passable rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd's
Gimme Three Steps
.

While Falon sipped his sweet tea and observed the transformation, Rita's Rattlesnake
transformed into a small bar with live entertainment. The contrast with its day job as a family friendly restaurant was surprising. The staff put the final touches on the metamorphosis and a few patron began to filter in. It looked as though the owner had found a killer marketing strategy that kept the place packed from open to close. Smart.

A half dozen men entered together, catching Falon's attention with the wariness of their movements. They wore rough clothing, probably selected specifically for the number of weapons they could conceal within each item. Most notable, though, were the leather vests with embroidered patches proclaiming status and rank. On the back, a large central patch depicted a grinning death head over a background of flames. Block lettering on the upper rocker declared they were the Hell Raiders.

The man in front, clearly the leader, kept his face in shadow with the brim of a baseball cap. The others followed warily, making no secret of their station as guards for the leader. At a vague gesture from him the men dropped into chairs around two different tables, watching as he continued on toward the black-haired woman.

Glancing up from whatever she was doing, the woman froze when she became aware of the man approaching her. Her pale face went even whiter and blue eyes darkened with what could only be fear. After the initial show of apprehension, she squared her shoulders and frowned, turning to face the man full on.

A cold smile crossed the man's face as he shook his head. "Rita, you aren't dressed yet. I told you to be ready."

"And I told you, I'm not going anywhere with you."

The man lifted his hat with one hand to comb long brown hair straight back over his head, then replaced the cap. It was only a brief moment, but long enough for Falon to confirm the man hassling the black-haired woman was his quarry, Kellen.

"And I told you there's no choice in the matter. You're my old lady now. I don't take no for an answer." He reached for her arm, catching her elbow in a hard-looking grip, and jerked her toward him.

Falon's heart pounded with the need to act. He couldn't betray his mission, but he also couldn't allow a woman to be molested by the likes of Kellen. The man was known for his brutal treatment of women.

Falon stood, ready to intercede, but before he could, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun's pump action echoed through the suddenly silent room. Falon swung carefully, keeping his hands visible, toward the other end of the bar where a slim young blonde held a double barrel twelve gauge comfortably at hip level.

Kellen's men rose but the muzzle of the gun swung to cover them.

"You dogs stay put." The low feminine tone declared no argument would be tolerated. "I will mow you fuckers down like the pigs you are."

"Kellen, you release her and step back, or I take your head off your shoulders." The barrel of a high-powered hunting rifle peeked over the edge of a small square balcony suspended in one corner by the stage. The cover provided by huge old-fashioned speakers ensured the female speaker's safety against any but the most determined barrage.