Vengeful Bounty (23 page)

“Well, for that I am sorry,” he said sincerely. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

And I was okay. Ending it with Damon had hurt, yes. But it had been like pulling out a toxic thorn I'd kept embedded in my flesh for far too long. Painful, but necessary.

“Yeah, I'll be okay,” I said quietly. “It's actually not as difficult as I thought it would be. I guess I saw it coming a long time ago; I just didn't want to let go.”

“I think that's—common. Not downplaying your feelings in any way, of course. I'd never do that.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

He pressed the tip of one of the rocking chair's crescent beams, and the seat went back and forth, back and forth.

Then he stopped.

He glanced at me, playfully, and said, “Wait here for a second, would you?”

“Okay.”

“Just one second.”

He went inside the house.

I allowed myself a sigh of relief while he was away. Everything was back to normal now. Or was it? There was so much that was unspoken between us; the air was thick with it. Where were we going, he and I? I had a feeling he was waiting for me to tell him. Problem was, I didn't know what I wanted to happen. Did I want to pursue a real relationship with him? Did I want to start exploring options of casual dating and/or sex? Or did I want to keep things as just friends?

He came out of the house, closing the door behind him. He held his hands behind his back.

“Let me see your hand,” he said.

“What is it?”

“No questions. Hand.”

“Fine, pushy.” I cracked a side grin. “Here.”

I opened my right palm face up and held it out in front of him. He pulled out a long, thin plastic ticket from behind him and gave it to me.

“Come to my concert this weekend,” he said. “Front row ticket.”

“You know what?” I asked, amused by the rainbow colors that undulated across the ticket's surface as I moved it to different angles. “I actually heard some of your music tonight. And it wasn't bad.”

“It wasn't bad?” He put his hand over his heart. “Well, saints be praised! I can die in peace now! Mina says my music isn't bad.”

“I know. I must be ill.”

“Must be.”

After only a few seconds of enduring the intense and rascally way he was looking at me, my feet shuffled away, carrying me toward my car. I was such a chicken.

“Thanks for the ticket,” I said, sliding it in my back pocket. “I just
might
show up.”

I wanted to tell Jackson that he was the medicinal balm to my heart's injury. I wanted to tell him to kiss me, damn it, just kiss me already. I knew we both wanted to. We were headed on a collision course toward an inevitable end, the way we were going. But instead of confessing my feelings, I nodded and started heading down the porch.

“I'm, uh, still going after Roberto,” I said as I got into my car.

I expected more of a reaction, but Jackson, ever so full of surprises, merely narrowed his eyes and said:

“Give him a good punch in the face for me.”

I lit up, feeling my ego swell. “Oh, you know I will!”

He held the car door open as I started the vehicle. It hovered a few inches above the ground.

“Mina?” he said.

“Yes?” My heart started to pound.

He looked as if he were trying to decide what to say. The decision was:

“Be careful.”

My heart slowed down. “I will.”

He closed the door and started to walk away, but I rolled down the window.

“Jackson?”

He turned, expectation gleaming in his eyes.

“Yes?”

I bit my lower lip. Then heard my phone ring in my pocket. I'd been carrying it to make sure I had it on me if Hitomi were to try to contact me. It was she. A text message.

She must've found out some good information if she knew that's where Roberto would be, without my having told her.

My eyes met Jackson's once more. Now wasn't the time to talk about us yet. My mind was already reeling with the fantasy of slapping cuffs on Robert's wrists after roughing his sorry ass up a bit. Number 25. Global.

“Tell your mother bye for me,” I said. “She was really sweet. It was nice meeting her.”

“I will,” he said and waved. “Good night, Mina.”

“Good night, Jackson.”

I pulled out of the drive.

I'd continue this newfound territory with Jackson in due time. For now, there was serious business at hand.

First thing in the morning, Hitomi had said.

I'd be ready and waiting.

26

A text message woke me up early Tuesday morning:

Immediately awake, I responded to Hitomi that I was. A few seconds later, there were two sets of upbeat double knocks on the door. I'd slept on the couch that night, wearing soft, fitted pants and a sleeveless shirt to bed. I slipped on my bra and ran a comb through my hair as I headed to the door. Then I put on my shoes and grabbed my overnight bag, which I'd equipped with a couple of elaborate outfits that would fit me right into New Orleans, as well as a couple of guns and the sword made by Hitomi's late father, Gakuya. I planned on giving Roberto a mark with that sword for him to remember me by.

I opened the door, and Hitomi stood before me, dressed in a flowing white suit with a sparkling lily broach pinned to the breast pocket.

“Ready?” she asked.

“When you said ‘first thing in the morning,' you meant it, didn't you?” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Yes.” Her teeth were brilliant and straight, and she opened her arms to hug me. When I did, I smelled the faintest hint of an exotic floral perfume. “It is good to see you again, Mina, my sister.”

Hitomi considered anyone dear to her to be her family, even though we didn't share the same blood. She was a small woman, but in her 3-inch pearly white heels, she almost reached my height. Not a single sleek black hair of her pixie cut was out of place.

“I take it you found out some information,” I said.

She led me down the hallway. “I did. We can talk about it on the trip.”

“Shall we take my car?” I offered.

She turned to me and giggled, covering her mouth in that cute, innocent way that meant she was up to something not so cute and innocent.

“Mine might be a teensie bit faster!” she said. “Follow me.”

She scanned the perimeter of the apartment complex and seeing nobody, she led me up the stairway to the roof of my building. When we got there, I looked around in confusion. Nothing was there.

“Where's—”

I heard a tiny
beep
and in a flash, she pocketed some sort of tiny device faster than I could see. Suddenly a large object began to take shape in front of us. It was disc shaped, similar to the flying saucer that recently took me up to the Sky Café. The domed roof slid back in perfect silence, revealing two comfortable looking plush white seats with plenty of leg room. A rectangle of the saucer's metal material slid back along the back rim, displaying a luggage compartment. Hitomi's bags were already in place, and I set mine next to hers.

“Get in,” she said, her eyes ever glancing around to make sure we weren't seen.

Once in the seat, it molded to my body, creating the maximum amount of comfort. Hitomi got in and her fingers raced across the flat dashboard in front of her. She found keys that I hadn't realized were there, the buttons lighting up in a rainbow of bright colors. The top slid closed, and before I knew it, we were shooting hundreds of feet into the air. She watched a small monitor to guide the ship, but other than that, it had no windows.

“Are we invisible again?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Give me a moment to program our flight, and we'll be there in a couple hours.”

I laughed with nervous excitement. “Is this thing street legal?”

“Shh.” She held up a finger, pressing it to my lips. She whispered, “No, it's not exactly ‘street legal,' as you say.” Another girlish giggle. “But then again, we are in the air, not the street!”

“Hahah, that's my point.” Gosh, the seat was so comfortable. I could almost go to sleep. “It's so quiet!”

“It's quite lovely, isn't it? Doesn't make a sound. And it's soundproof to outsiders, so no matter how much noise we make inside, nobody can hear us. Mr. Kanagawa and I have tried it out.” She licked her lips. “Nice memories.”

“Interesting.” I ran my hands along the soft seat. “I think I'd like to get one.”

“Hmm.” She turned her head to the side, smiling, watching the monitor in front of her. “Wait perhaps a year or two more. Japan may start selling them commercially. Be ready, Mina, for many things may be about to happen to this world. Great things.”

I looked at her porcelain face. How many microchips and tiny gadgets lay under the surface of her skin? The woman feared nothing. But she had reason not to. She was that good.

“Would you like some entertainment?” she asked.

“Sure, show me what you've got.”

She pressed an octagonal green button and the domed ceiling dimmed to a synthetic starry night sky. A laser show began to the beat of ambient electronic music that had kind of a nice melody. It was like watching an alien version of Fourth of July fireworks.

“Neat,” I said, crossing my arms, leaning back.

We made small talk for a while; she told me of some of her husband's latest inventions and endeavors, as well as some startlingly blunt confessions of things they'd tried recently in their love life. I didn't mind, though. It was Hitomi. You couldn't be surprised by anything she said. As she described some new erotic oil that could draw tingling pleasure from the oddest parts of a person's body, such as the elbow or shoulder, I couldn't help but imagine trying it out with Jackson.

“Where did you go just then?” Hitomi asked with a wry smile.

“Me?” I blushed. “Nowhere. I was just thinking about the oil.”

“Mmmhmm. And I am spider monkey.”

“Wow, you look so human though,” I joked.

“Come on, out with it!” She jutted her chin into the ceiling, sure of herself. “You have a sweetheart!” Then she pointed a well-manicured fingernail at my nose. “And it had better not be that Damon boy. You know what I think of him.”

I laughed. “Actually, Damon is no more.”

“He has died?”

“No!” I laughed. “I couldn't be so lucky. No, I mean, the relationship is no more.”

“Good.” She lowered the finger. “I never liked him.”

“I know.”

And she really hadn't. She knew him, outside of what I'd told her when he and I had been dating. Apparently, when he'd gone Global, Hitomi had been one of the instructors at Itineris, the camp all bounty hunters had to go through when they first go Global, and she'd taken an instant dislike to the man. She never explained why, only told me she thought he was scum. Good ol' blunt Hitomi.

“So, you have a
new
sweetheart,” she said. “It is about time.”

“Well, he's sort of one. Not really. We're friends right now, but I think he might want to be more, so it's a possibility.”

“Of course, with you, what man wouldn't?” Then in a whiny playful tone, she said, “At least tell Hitomi his name!”

“Okay. It's Jackson.”

“Jackson what?”

“Kincade.”

She jerked her head toward me. “That's the same name as one of my favorite music artists!”

Oh, great.

“That's probably the same one,” I said.

“Noooo.” Her dark eyes widened and shone. “This one?”

Her fingers tickled the rim of the dash and a hologram of Jackson appeared in the dome, amid the laser show. The music changed to symphonic pop with an African choir woven in, and yes, damn it, it was good music. He did something to pop music that was totally different from the crap I'd heard. He made it actually good. His hologram held his arms open and he sang—more like belted out in a killer voice that made goose bumps raise on my arms—these lyrics:

“That's the one,” I said, feeling the pink on my cheeks.

Hitomi leaned back and put her hand over her heart. “Mina, you are joking.”

“Nope.”

I couldn't take my eyes off him. His face was glammed up, his eyes lined and shadowed with the color of stardust, his body clad in a flowing blood red shirt and silver pants. The look made me think of a fey or some other powerful creature from a magical fantasy. He grabbed onto a microphone stand streaming with red, purple, and gold scarves that seemed to move with a life of their own.

“How did you meet him?” Hitomi asked.

“Through Dad's newspaper. I was in the right place at the right time. It wasn't even my interview.”

“How fortuitous! Mina, that man is dreamy.” She shook her head. “Not as dreamy as Mr. Kanagawa. But then not many people are.” She put her finger to her chin. “I will deliver a case of the oils to you. I think you two would like that.”

“But we're not dating yet.”

“Yet! You give yourself away. I think you shall become an item.” Then she squealed and hit my leg. “Such a yummy item!”

It was funny hearing Hitomi, lethal bounty hunter and my hero, chat about Jackson as a 13-year-old girl might.

“I'll think about it.” I grinned. “Those oils sound intriguing.”

The singing Jackson hologram did more than entertain me on the way to New Orleans. It gave me a reason to return in one piece. I now experienced a new level of nervousness. Jackson was counting on me to come to his concert this weekend, and I couldn't let him down. The future was waiting.

Roberto's face appeared in my mind, and the rage that followed nearly made me growl. Ugly flashbacks infiltrated my brain like movie clips: the way he ran his nasty hands over my sweaty, drained body, having chained me to a bed like an animal. I knew I hadn't been the only girl he'd done that to, either. That man, if you could call him a man, was going to pay for his choices. Justice was coming for him. Not only justice, but vengeance.

When I felt Hitomi's ship slow down and lower to the ground, my body became alert to the fact that there was a chance, if I wasn't careful, that I wouldn't come back.

Then again, there was always that chance with every catch. It was part of the thrill that fanned the flame of my determination each and every time. But this time I had an extra jolt of adrenaline.

Because this time, it was personal.

Hitomi turned off the light and music show, and Jackson's hologram disappeared. The dome started to fade to transparency.

“Please remain in your seat, Mina, for the transformation,” Hitomi said.

“What transformation?”

My question was answered when the ship, like some robot from a Saturday morning cartoon, began to shift into the shape of a flashy silver sports car.

“This
is
a fun toy,” I said, amazed by the silence of the transformation.

“Yes, it is,” Hitomi said.

The windshield became transparent, and the morning sun flooded in to greet us; it was as if we were looking out of a normal commercial vehicle now. Hitomi slipped on a pair of oval sunglasses with thin silver rims. She landed on a back road, near a swamp and an old abandoned shack. A faded, hand-painted sign's black words read: Bait for Sale. We hovered over the old road in between acres of moss-laden cypress trees whose thick trunks disappeared into green water. There were creatures lurking out there, creatures we couldn't see, like snakes and alligators. We pulled up on the highway, where we could still see the trees from a long bridge that stretched nearly twenty miles over the swampy land.

I'd been to New Orleans a few times in my life, a couple of those in pursuit of catches. Seemed like the city was a haven for criminals. The French Quarter had some of the best food I'd tasted in my life and the best blues music I'd heard, music from bums on the street, even, who owned nothing but an old guitar or harmonica. It was like a make-believe place out of a dream, remaining virtually the same as it had been 100 years ago: French architecture, horse and buggy rides, novelty shops, art galleries; not to mention Voodoo stores and aboveground cemeteries. Outside of the French Quarter was a little different, a little more technologically savvy like the Metroplex. But the Quarter, especially Bourbon Street, promised to transport us back in time as we journeyed into a grown-up playground full of life, music, and to-die-for cuisine. I couldn't wait. Too bad there was a nasty Octopus out there waiting to meet the tip of my blade. I'd have to come back soon and spend a longer time. Maybe bring Jackson.

“We have rooms waiting for us at Harrah's,” she said.

“The casino hotel?”

“That's the one.”

“Why there?” I asked.

“Why?” She batted her pretty lashes. “Because that's where our friend Merritt Walton is staying!”

I didn't even ask how she'd found that out.

I just knew then that I'd made the perfect choice, picking her for this mission.

“Hitomi, my friend,” I said, “you are simply amazing.”

“I know,” she said sweetly and turned on the radio, pumping me up with some rhythm-laced classic acoustic New Orleans blues.

I always did have a special place in my heart for blues music. After all, it had paved the way for rock 'n' roll.