Vengeful Bounty (6 page)

“Hello!” his collar said. “Hello! Hello!”

“Can he stay the night?” Colt asked. “Since you're going to be gone?”

“Only if you promise not to keep him up all night,” I said, picking up my gloves and sticking them into my bag by the door. “He needs his sleep.”

“Okay, we'll get him into bed.”

“I'll come by in the morning and get him, then.”

“Thanks!” He kissed Rogue's head. “You're such a good lil guy!”

“Good luck tonight,” A.J. said.

“Thanks. I think this guy's getting desperate. That's when people make mistakes.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “If all goes well, this time tomorrow, I'll be at number 24.”

“Damn,” A.J. said. “My friend, the Global bounty huntress superstar. Can I take you out to celebrate?” He winked. “I promise not to jump you—at least in a violent way.”

“We'll see,” I said, cracking a side grin. A.J. had an endless supply of hormones. “Bye, Colt. Bye, Rogue.”

Rogue was too fascinated tasting the side of Colt's face to notice.

“Bye, Sis,” Colt said. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Jared,
I thought, as I headed down the wooden stairs of the old brick home,
justice is coming for you tonight.

6

I positioned myself within the thick branches of Mrs. Newton's large front yard oak. The night sky was perfectly clear, a cool breeze tousling the leaves, enclosing me in nature's music. I wore all black. I'd braided my hair and wrapped it around my head underneath my ninja mask, which hid all of my face from the nose down. From the tree, I had a clear view of the street and Leigh's house. It wasn't my first time propping up in this particular oak. Back when Jared first made the criminal list and I'd decided to go after him, I'd asked Leigh if any of her neighbors might cooperate with me in letting me onto their property to watch the perimeter. Without hesitation, Leigh had confidently said, “Mrs. Newton.”

Mrs. Newton was a retired old battle-axe of a high school teacher. She was also divorced and had no children. When Leigh had introduced me to her, the woman nodded her head, her smile a thin line across her square face.

“Honey, you just use any bit of my property you want to put that son of a bitch away,” she'd said in a voice deep and husky from too many years of smoking. “If only my ex-husband had a bounty on him. I'd have you go find his ass, too.”

She was a short woman who always wore pant suits, and she kept her violet auburn hair in a tall bouffant that added height to her squat, bulldog stature. I didn't even have to ask if she'd been tough on her students. Just by looking at her, I knew she was the stuff class clowns' nightmares are made of. And that's a good thing. Even considering bounty hunting, I can't think of a tougher job than teaching high school students. The woman surely had nerves of steel to survive all those years among thousands of rebellious adolescents with raging hormones.

That night, Mrs. Newton had told me to come inside anytime I wanted. She said there were freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen and to help myself. She also said there was milk. Tempting. But I declined. I'd eat myself sick on those things. Chocolate can be so deliciously distracting.

Wearing my night-vision glasses, I surveyed the street and used the zoom feature to closely look at any vehicles and their drivers that drove past Leigh's house. I checked my watch. So far, I'd been there for about two hours. It was nearing 1 a.m.

My plan for if I spotted Jared was this: If he remained in his car, I'd slink from the tree and get into my car, which was parked in Mrs. Newton's driveway. Then I'd proceed to follow him to wherever he went, and as soon as he got out of the vehicle, I was going to point my gun at him and encourage him to come with me without a fight. If he wanted to struggle, then we'd struggle. I had three guns on me tonight, two laser shooters, one mid-sized and my Pixie, and one bullet-firing weapon. I also had a knife strapped to my leg and brass knuckles in my pocket. I was ready for him to struggle. I really hoped he would, so I could justify breaking his nose.

Just thinking about little Sammy being thrown into such a horrible situation stirred a deep-seated rage inside of me. When I was 12 and my mother first got remarried, her husband, Alec the CEO, tried feeling me up one summer morning when I was still asleep. And to think I'd tried to make my peace and forgive her for leaving Dad. (Actually, it was Dad's idea for me to go, the peacemaker.) The California home was a huge Spanish-style abode, and I'd taken a room on the third floor. Mom was passed out on the first floor couch from one too many cocktails she'd drunk the night before. So she had no idea that Alec had stolen into my room and thought he was going to get lucky with me. What a rude way to wake up.

I was old enough and feisty enough to knee him in the balls and get out of there. Mother still thinks it was just a “cry for attention.” Either way, she and Alec only lasted 6 months. But that feeling of violation never really left me. No, it wasn't full-on rape, but it was enough.

I never told Dad. I think he'd be in jail for murder if I had.

But think of a little girl, sweet and helpless, and clueless as to what's going on, a girl whose little soft body was never meant for any sort of touches except for loving hugs and kisses from her mother. Think of her having to endure the cruel molestation of a pathetic and sick excuse for a man. It was more than enough motivation to get me to spend the night propped up in a tree.

A van traveled down the road, and I used the zoom lens to see who was inside. A couple of large men, munching on chips and sipping soda. The traffic was sparse at this time of night, as it should have been.

Vehicles crossed by at an average of every 20 minutes.

One or two dogs barked at an average of every 5 minutes.

I thought of Damon at an average of every 2 minutes.

Anytime he entered my brain, I forced myself to refocus. On the moon. On a darkened leaf on the tree. On the shadows of the rooftops. Thinking of him had become a bad habit. My mind was trying to go over every conversation we'd ever had, every encounter, in order to find some hint, some solution to the problem I faced. But maybe there wasn't a problem. Maybe it really was over, and the truth was looking me in the face. Maybe everyone was right. Everyone couldn't be wrong, could they? It was always so easy to see things as an outsider. Not so easy when your heart was involved. I shook free of the memory of his face and tried to think about the future.

It really wasn't fair that he occupied so much of my mind. The key was to evict him from renting that space as often as possible. It wasn't easy breaking habits, but what was the use of dwelling on him anymore? Dad was right. I hadn't really been happy these last few years. Confusion did that to a person. I guess I had trouble letting go because I'd invested so much hope in what I thought we'd had. But maybe, if all it really brought me was grief, the investment had gone sour, and it was time to put stock into other things.

I have never been like most women, whose entire lives are based on finding “the one.” When I met Damon, love sort of fell in my lap—or so I thought. But despite his entrance into my life, I have always enjoyed being self-sufficient. I have always had goals. Whether or not I'd ever met him, I'd still have those goals. It was easy to fall for him because we had a very large
same
goal, and that was to be Global bounty hunters. But our motivation to get there had always differed. I always sensed that his motive for bounty hunting was personal recognition, though he always denied it. Mine, however, was like my dad's: I lived for taking the scum of the earth off the streets and putting them behind bars where they belonged. I wanted to help people escape fear and pain. I wanted justice.

Every time I brought myself to remember that fact, Damon's face faded a little more, and my own emerged with clarity.

A 2013 Cadillac with wheels slowly rolled down the road. Its lights were off.

My heart skipped and I let it get closer. Then I zoomed my glasses in on the driver.

Jared Doyle.

There was no mistaking him.

His face had a rough, unshaved look to it, his eyes wild.

He slowed as he passed Mrs. Newton's house, and I froze, becoming one with the tree. He didn't see me. He was too busy staring at Leigh's house a few homes down across the street. He lifted his phone and dialed, stopping close to her driveway. All the lights were off in her home. Then a lamp turned on. I imagined she'd answered the phone.

I slowly left the tree, swinging my legs down, landing silently on the ground. I pulled my larger laser gun out of its holster and started to creep to my car. When he turned his vehicle off and stepped out, I fell completely still. Crouching down behind my Honda, I peeked around the back. His steps were unsteady, but he wasn't drunk. He was too jittery. Was he tripping on a drug? Was he dizzied by his own inner turmoil? Whatever it was, my plans had now changed.

I crept closer, slinking from one shadow to the next, my gun ready to fire.

A neighborhood dog barked.

He was going for the front door of the house. He rang the doorbell, and I picked up my pace.

His hand raised again. He knocked. Then pounded.

Leigh, don't answer it!
I thought, wishing for telepathic powers I didn't have.

He didn't give her a chance. He kicked at the door. I started to run in the street with my gun aimed at his shoulders. One house away.

He kicked in the door, the wood cracking and splintering. Leigh screamed.

“Stop!” I shouted.

Adrenaline coursed through my body and I bounded through the doorway. The struggle had already started. I followed the sound of shouting and breaking glass and hoped with every fiber of my being that little Sammy would stay in her room.

“Hold it!” I screamed.

Jared had Leigh by the hair with a knife at her throat. The room was in shambles, even from just a few brief moments of their struggle. By the light of her dim lamp, I was able to make out her wide, doe-like eyes. Her nightgown was ripped up one side, exposing her bleeding right hip. Jared blinked, squinting, as if to figure out who I was.

“Hurt her and I will shoot you,” I said.

“Who the hell are
you
?” he spat.

“Let her go, and we can talk,” I said.

“No! You tell me who you are right now, or she's gone!”

I just needed to get him away from Leigh. Bait him somehow.

“I'm the one that's going to introduce you to your maker if you don't let the woman go.”

“You won't kill me.”

I aimed for his head. “Bet I won't?” I smiled. “If you use that knife on her, I'll most definitely shoot you. If you don't use the knife, we can talk.”

“First you tell me who you are. You have no right to be here.”

“Actually, I do have a right to be here.” I took off my ninja mask and let it drop to the floor. “I'm a bounty hunter, and I'm here to take you to jail, Jared. Your time to hide is over. You can come calmly, or you can come with a fight. I'm up for whatever you pick. Your choice.”

He snickered. “You're just a female!”

“I happen to be an excellent marksman, or marks
woman
if you prefer, and you happen to be at point blank range.” I flipped the laser charge, and a high pitch sound filled the room, the firepower increasing. “You have five seconds. Five. Four. Three.”

He faltered, his eye twitching.

“Two,” I said.

Then, without warning, he released the fistful of hair he held Leigh by and threw her onto the ground. He lunged at me. I shifted my aim at the last minute and blasted him in the shoulder. It was enough to make him cry out and drop the knife.

While he was down, I slid on my brass knuckles and punched his face upward. He flew back and onto the coffee table. The force of the blow numbed my arm, and it tingled in bittersweet pain. Blood poured from his nose. I threw the brass knuckles at his crotch, and he winced from the hit. Then I stood over him, aiming the gun at his throat.

“Get up,” I said. “You're coming with me.”

But he still didn't get it. With a wild scream, he kicked at my hands, and my gun went flying. I backed up, and he scrambled to his feet, hurling his body after my weapon that had landed on the floor by the couch. Faster than he could grab it, I pulled out my bullet-firing pistol from the back of my pants and shot him in the back of the knee.

This time he went down and stayed down, grabbing at the profusely bleeding wound and wailing.

Leigh started to cry.

“Mommy?” Sammy said from the doorway.

I didn't want to look at her. I knew the horrible memory of this broken room of violence would stay with her for the rest of her life. She didn't deserve it. But at least she was safe now. Blood squirted from Jared's nose. The cauterized wound in his shoulder smoked. His knee dripped crimson.

Shaking my head, I muttered, “You pathetic waste of life. You're not even human.”

Then I jerked the mini tranquilizer dart from my boot and stuck it in Jared's neck. He collapsed face down on the ruined carpet.

Taking a moment to catch my breath and let the anger in me die down, I turned. Leigh cradled her daughter in her arms. Both had tears running down their cheeks. I stood, my chest heaving, the gun in my hand shaking.

“It's okay, honey,” Leigh said in a hoarse whisper, rocking Sammy back and forth. “It's going to be okay.”

“I need to get my car and load him up to take him to the police station,” I said, steadying my trembling body. “He's out.” I breathed in deeply and let it out. “He won't move.”

“Don't leave us in here with him!” Leigh whispered, sniffing back the fluids that had begun to run down her nose. “Please!”

“Oh, I won't,” I said, crouching down to hug both girls. “I'm going to call Mrs. Newton. She'll fetch my car. She told me if I caught him close enough to the neighborhood that I had to let her help take him in. Hard to say no to Mrs. Newton.”

Leigh coughed and laughed at the same time.

“You mean that ugly old schoolteacher lady?” Sammy said, rubbing at her leaking nose.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “That very one.”