Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (49 page)

“Come on, Monroe. I’ve just started work on this new assignment Jack’s punishing me with. There’s no way you know what I’m working on. Word on the street doesn’t move that fast.”

“Brian Wright,” Monroe said, sounding unusually sober.

How the hell did he know? The cords in her shoulders stiffened. She had to work to keep her expression neutral. “Who doesn’t want me to find Brian Wright?”

“You’ll find out.”

“And what does that mean?”

He tilted his head like an attentive puppy. “There’s lust in your eyes. It flared when I mentioned that slippery Walker. He shot you, and you’re not done with him yet. That’s what they’re worried about. You’re just about the only one who could catch up to him and expose it all.”

“What all?” She didn’t like the sound of that. Falling blindly into what sounded like a pit of vipers was something she tried to avoid. She’d much rather peer over the edge and count heads before jumping in.

She grabbed his arm before he could slip away. “Give me details. Who’s this new boogeyman I should be afraid of?”

Monroe shook his head violently and jerked away from her. “Did my duty and warned you,” he grumbled, “made everyone happy.”

Her gaze shifted from the retreating Monroe, back to the office building in front of her. She knew better than to try and shake information out of Monroe when his veins were swimming in a cocktail of drugs.

But if there was any truth to what Monroe was telling her, she’d wager Brian Wright’s partner, Guy Pollock, would know a little something about this invisible danger gnashing its teeth behind her back.

Guy looked exactly like he sounded on the phone. Slick. Heavily perfumed pomade greased his thinning, unnaturally dark hair back like a cresting ocean wave. His polyester suit not only screamed for a fashion updating, it was so worn that the pants shined like a mirror in the seat.

It looked as if their investment business hadn’t been as successful as Brian’s wife had made it sound over the phone.

Guy Pollock had met Vega outside the office door on the third floor. An hour earlier, with a simple threat of calling a friend who worked for the IRS, she’d convince Guy to cooperate. He fiddled with the lock and grumbled something under his breath before pushing the door open.

Armed with nothing more than two pairs of handcuffs and a bottle of mace, she followed Guy into a cozy suite of offices. No obvious clues could be found in the reception area or in the adjoining two offices. She poked around Brian’s desk and even searched his trash.

Nothing.

“You’re wasting your time,” Guy said. “The police took anything that looked important and they can’t find him.”

“They’re not searching for him like I am.” She picked up a framed picture of Lake St. Clair taken from a fairly high angle. “His wife said the club is really important to Brian.”

“It was. They’re going to revoke his membership at the next meeting. He groaned on and on about it to me on the phone…” Guy’s gaze lingered on Vega for a moment and he licked his lips. It looked as if he was imagining licking every inch of her body, the creep. “He didn’t come from money like you and me. He fought for every dollar he made, stupid bastard.”

She set the photograph of the lake aside and left Brian’s picked-over office. She plunked herself down at the receptionist’s desk and flipped through the appointment book, worming herself into her prey’s head.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get Monroe’s warning out of her head. And Guy, though not the most trustworthy of fellows, didn’t seem to have a clue about any big bad ugly scaring the city. A slightly confused, vacant stare had given her more proof of his ignorance than anything he’d said. Maybe he knew but didn’t know what the hell he was dealing with. People in way over their head often proved the most ignorant.

Or maybe she was a fool for listening to Monroe.

Her cell phone chirped, cutting short that line of thinking.

“Yep?” she said, and rolled the chair off to the side to find a little privacy. Guy had enough decency to pretend to be flipping through papers in a filing cabinet on the other side of the room.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” It was Fiona.

Vega’s heartbeat picked up its pace.

“Nope. I’m working a cakewalk assignment. What’s up?” Fiona was exactly where Vega wanted to be, hunting Grayson Walker, not playing round up to some greedy little bastard who’d gotten himself in over his head.

“I need your guidance. Actually, I need your research.”

“Sorry, Fiona, no can do. You were the one who wanted to test your wings in Atlanta.” Vega couldn’t leave her sister hanging completely, though. “What have you found out so far?” she asked. “Maybe I can point you in a new direction.”

A safe one.

“Well, his mother and father are dead, so no help there. The third partner, a…” Vega heard pages being flipped in the background, “Joshua Whitfield won’t return my calls, and won’t give me access to any of the Six-Star Enterprises files.”

“Hmmm…What else?”

“What else?” The strain in Fiona’s voice came through loud and clear. “I’ve been banging my head against every wall in Atlanta with no visible success, that’s what.”

“Okay, okay.” Vega thought quickly, trying to decide on the safest course of action. If her going after Grayson was making someone in Detroit edgy, she certainly didn’t want to send Fiona in a direction that might have her stumbling into a situation that could turn that edginess into a full-blown and dangerous temper tantrum. “Try going to his old neighborhood, the one where he grew up. Interview any neighbors that might have known him or his family.”

Fiona huffed. “I guess I could do that.”

“That’s what bounty hunting is about, Fiona—grunt work.”

“Be easier if you’d just shoot more of your computer files to me. You must have a detailed picture of our fugitive? I know you. Just because Jack has pulled you back, you haven’t stopped working on finding him.”

“Who me?”

“Yes, you.” Fiona’s voice grew strained. “Let me help you.”

“Sorry, Fiona. Not this time.”

God, how she wanted to be out on the prowl with her sister searching for Grayson Walker. But she wasn’t. Besides, maybe Monroe was right. Maybe Brian would lead her to the city’s new boogeyman that would give her a connection between Grayson and Detroit.

A girl could always hope.

Vega turned back toward Guy. His slippery gaze never rose higher than her chest. She gave him a menacing smile.

Shaking this slime ball until all his dirty little secrets came falling out may not prove as satisfying as slapping a pair of handcuffs around Grayson’s wrists, but it might come pretty darn close.

* * * *

Just as Vega suspected, though Guy was ignorant about any new evil that had woven its way into the fabric of the city, he did know all about the missing money. His hand had been as deep in the client’s accounts as his partner’s had—maybe deeper.

Vega sloshed through the snow, up a walk piled with snow, to an address Guy had happily provided, after a little friendly arm-twisting.

Brian’s mistress’s house.

This was exactly where she’d expected to end up.

The one-story bungalow was in a quiet neighborhood a few miles from the bustle of downtown. Children played chase under a streetlamp just three houses down, laughing that high-pitched sound that only children giddy from a warm sense of safety and comfort ever made.

This creep had a loving wife and family nearby who were honestly worried about his sorry hide. The fact that he kept a woman on the side in this cute little home curdled Vega’s blood. He didn’t deserve the help she was about to give him.

The bungalow, unlike many on the street, was dark, all the curtains drawn. Vega circled around to the back, hoping she hadn’t arrived too late.

She would have to write off the chase as a loss if he’d gotten spooked and had driven over the bridge into Canada. She had no interest in finding herself in jail under a kidnapping charge over a meaningless criminal like Brian. Bounty hunters weren’t legally allowed to cross national borders to capture their prey. Though some did. She didn’t.

A brittle stick crunched under the snow. Vega spun around. She’d been stepping far too delicately to create so much careless sound.

Someone had to be in the yard with her.

Her eyes strained in the darkness as she tried to see who was hiding in the shadows of the bushes.

“I’ve got a gun,” she lied. She didn’t. She hadn’t bothered to sign a gun out of Jack’s supply closet. Not for this guy.

A whimpering sound shook the bush. Great, that was just what she needed. Vega prayed she hadn’t just scared the crap out of some young kid who’d wandered too far from the game of chase just down the street.

“Come on out,” she said, gentler now. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

A young woman dressed in nothing warmer than a pair of tight jeans and a tank top that didn’t cover her midriff crawled out from under the brush. She shivered uncontrollably in the frigid night air.

Her long, silky black hair veiled half her face, but Vega could see the bruises despite the woman’s efforts to hide them.

“Did Brian do this to you?” Vega demanded.

“No,” the woman whispered. “Not Brian. The men who were looking for him did this. Said they’d be back.”

“Who?”

“Kayne,” she whispered the name. “He wants his money. Said he’d kill me if Brian didn’t have it when he came back.”

“And where’s Brian?” If the bastard ran and left this kid to face this kind of trouble alone, Vega might just have to reconsider her decision not to chase a fugitive outside the US border.

Much to Vega’s relief, the girl cocked her head toward the back door. “He doesn’t have the money,” she whispered. “Everything’s wrong.”

Bracing herself for anything, Vega made her way into the dark house. In the middle of the living room, she found a man huddled over a small oil lamp and scribbling madly into a notebook. Vega took a cautious step toward him and cleared her throat. “Brian Wright? Are you okay?”

He whirled around. The lines on his face were deeply shadowed in the dim light.

“Who are you?”

“Vega,” she said and took a half step closer. “Vega Brookes.”

He held out his hands as if he was trying to hold her back. “Who are you?” he asked again.

“I’m a bounty hunter, Brian.” She gained nothing by lying about it. “When you didn’t show up for court a few days ago, people began to worry about you.”

“She’s trying to help you,” his girlfriend said from the back door.

“I doubt that. All everyone’s worried about is the money.”

Vega shook her head. “Not me.”

“Especially you.” His eyes started twitching. “You need me to show up in court. You need me to subject myself to their scorn. You wouldn’t make a living otherwise.”

Oh dear. This guy needed some serious help. She’d seen it before; he’d tumbled headfirst off into the deep end. Vega rushed forward a couple of steps, trying to close the distance. She stopped just out of arm’s reach when Brian held up his hands like a traffic cop again.

“Don’t come any closer.” He used a tone—a tremor that sounded like desperation—Vega knew from experience to respect.

Brian heaved a deep breath and carefully unbuttoned a heavy flannel coat. His gaze locked on Vega. He grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled them wide.

Explosives, coated with a disarray of wires, crisscrossed his chest.

Vega sucked in a breath. “Oh…damn.”

Chapter Eight

“It’s not my job to judge you, Brian,” Vega said real slow and easy, while motioning his young mistress to back out of the house. “Many of the men I bring in are later found innocent. I understand you’re scared. But things aren’t as bad as they seem right now. Talk to me, Brian.”

Keep him talking; she just needed to keep him talking.

His eyes darted here and there, never settling on any one spot for long. “I don’t know what the hell happened to the money. I just don’t know.”

She didn’t care if he’d frittered away his clients’ money or not. All she wanted to know was where he kept the triggering mechanism for those explosives. His hands appeared empty.

“I spoke with your partner, Guy Pollock, this evening. He’s pretty worried about you.” A little lie couldn’t hurt.

“Guy?”

He swung his arms, punching the air above him, which made Vega nervous.

Where was that triggering mechanism? She didn’t dare go near him without knowing.

“He was the one who insisted we take the account. I was against it from the beginning. If Guy is worried about anything, it’s his own ass.”

“Account?” She almost kicked herself for asking. Wasn’t there a saying about curiosity and dead cats? “What account?”

“Dirty money. It was nothing but dirty money.”

Which explained Guy’s nervous reaction to her questions,
Vega thought.

“I didn’t touch a penny of it. I swear. But no one believes me, not even the police.”

Understanding his situation and defusing the explosives were two very different problems. Sure, Vega understood how he felt. He was frustrated. Hell, possibly more frustrated than she was.

“You build a reputation,” he said. “You spend every waking hour to gain the respect of your peers, of your clients, and then one stupid mistake—one stupid thing happens and your life is ripped out from under you.”

Yep, Vega knew the screaming anger swirling around in Brian’s head. He’d summed up exactly how she felt about Grayson and how he’d made her look like a complete idiot.

“Life’s bitchy, I know,” she said. “But you don’t see me crying about it.”

“You don’t understand.”

“There’s more to life than material things, Brian. Certainly, you can see that. You’ve got a wife and family who would miss you. You’ve got your young girlfriend who depends on you, too.” He didn’t deserve to die and leave his family in tatters.

“I’m already a dead man.” He waved his arms, punching the air. “I don’t have the money and Finn Kayne doesn’t care if I do or not. He wants blood. I’m dead.”

“No, Brian, you’re wrong. The police can protect you. Don’t end things like this.”