Vengeful Bounty (4 page)

My Honda's dashboard had a built-in video monitor and phone, so I turned on the screen and typed in my bounty hunter code that would allow me to view the live feed of criminals. The faces I saw were familiar: fugitives who had escaped us for weeks, months, years. Descriptions of their crimes and bounties flashed in bold print below their faces, as well as any knowledge about them that might lead to their capture. Nando's face showed up with a big red X on it, signaling that he'd been captured. Below his face were the names “Colt Maxwell and Mina Maxwell.” He'd stay on the channel like that for about a week before disappearing into the archives.

Then came the face of Jared Doyle.

The clean-shaven face didn't fool me. Neither did the boyish look of innocence on the 27-year-old's face. The man was an abuser and a child molester. He'd been arrested after beating up on his girlfriend, Leigh, who had accused him of molesting her 6-year-old girl. The whole thing might have gone over a little smoother had Leigh not told him about the video footage she had in a safe—footage of him feeling up little Sammy during the night. His mamma had paid his bail with every last dime she'd had, but he'd failed to make his court date. Fancy that. Now he was in
my
territory.

I'd been on his trail for a few months. Leigh and I had somewhat gotten to know each other in that span of time. I took her out to lunch once every couple weeks, tried to give her some hope that I'd catch him. I encouraged her not to let him back into her life, and to contact me if she heard any news. Leigh was a very forgiving person, and a woman who thought she could trust words. She'd been letting Jared live there while he “tried to find a job,” and she'd paid the bills. He'd talked a good game and had tried to make things seem equal by babysitting her child while she was at the job, and keeping the house clean on occasion. Well, the last time I checked, babysitters don't put their hands down children's pants or make kids touch their grown up private parts.

Jared's mother wasn't a whole lot of help, and on top of that, I didn't much care for the woman. She lived with a man that gave me the abuser vibe the minute I saw him. When I'd entered their house, he'd remained lounging in his chair and watching the TV without so much as a “Hello” to acknowledge me. And there was poor Mrs. Doyle, who played martyr and brought him food and drinks with little defeated sighs. When I questioned her about Jared's whereabouts, all I got was, “He's left me penniless and with no way to get in touch with him. Me! His only mother.” And also, “My son would never molest a child.” That sort of garbage. I didn't have the heart to show her the video footage because she wouldn't have believed the truth even if it stared her in the face. As my grandpa liked to say, “Denial isn't a river in Egypt.”

Anyway, Mrs. Doyle really had no idea where her son skipped off to, and though Mr. Doyle had failed to make one comment, I sensed that he didn't know either, and didn't care. I had a hunch that Jared was far away by now, maybe latching his claws into another girlfriend he could mooch off of.

But my hope sparked back to full force when my car phone suddenly rang.

The screen changed from Jared's face to show a thin woman with shoulder-length brown hair in the right hand corner of the monitor. She looked younger than her age, despite all that she'd gone through. Her image brightened and dimmed along with a flourish of wind chime sound effects. I pressed the green TALK button on the dashboard, and her image expanded to fill the screen.

“Leigh,” I said, grinning a little at the irony, “Speak of the devil, I was just thinking about you.”

“Mina,” she said, her video image clearly showing real fear in her features.

Something was wrong.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You said to call you if I had a hunch that Jared might be back around. Well…” She fidgeted with her cross necklace. “I've been getting these phone calls for the last three nights. And—and there's no voice on the other line. Just breathing. Heavy breathing. No image. The phone won't say where it's from, like it's blocked or unlisted. I—I don't know. I just don't know.”

“Okay,” I said. “Continue.”

“It's just unusual. I feel like I'm being watched, and not from the phone.”

A little girl with brown-blonde hair walked into the room. She wore a pink nightgown and carried a little gray kitten. She looked up at me through the video transmission and smiled.

“Hi, Mina!” she said, petting the kitten, which tried to climb onto her shoulder.

“Hello, sweetie, how are you today?” I said, smiling.

“Good. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Is your mommy going to take you to the park today? I think that might be a good idea for both of you to get out and get some fresh air. It's really pretty outside.”

“Yeah! Can we, Mom?”

“Maybe in a little while, honey,” Leigh said. “Why don't you go get dressed?”

“Okay,” Sammy said. “Bye, Mina.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

Leigh waited until her daughter had left the room. She turned to me again.

“What should I do?” she asked.

Without any hesitation, I said, “I'd like to come check out the house tonight. You said you've been getting these calls during the night?”

“Yes.”

“About what time?”

“Hmm,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking down. “I—I guess anywhere from midnight to two a.m.”

“I'll come check it out tonight. I won't come in, though. I'm going to watch from where I can see the perimeter well. I don't want to scare you, Leigh, but he may be near the house when he calls. Usually women's intuition is right on. And he may be watching you from a vehicle, or maybe he's walking around the neighborhood. He might be building up enough courage to confront you.” I hated to be blunt, but people deserve to hear the truth, even if it's hard to swallow. It's better to prepare them for what lies ahead. “I've seen this sort of thing happen before. Guys run out of places to go. They want to reconcile. Or they want revenge. He's a wanted man now, thanks to you.”

“Oh, god,” Leigh said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don't care what he does to me. I just don't want him near Sammy.”

I nodded. “You do know you still did the right thing.”

“I had to protect my child,” she said, then pressed her lips together tightly.

“Yes. And I don't want you getting weak on me. If he comes over before I get a chance to catch him, you don't let him in the door, no matter what he says, understand?”

“I'd rather die than have him touch Sammy again,” she said.

I nodded again. “Hold on for a moment, Leigh.”

“Okay.”

I took the car off of AUTO and made a right turn, the newspaper headquarters appearing in front of me. The horseshoe-shaped building glinted silver in the sun. A little fountain out front sprayed water onto a red and blue mosaic of the state of Texas. I parked the car and lifted a lever underneath the video screen, and a sleek black phone about two by four inches slid out. The phone transmission switched to the phone, and I carried it against my ear as I walked into the building.

“Leigh, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Take Sammy to the park this afternoon. Try to keep a clear mind. I'll be watching out for you tonight. I think it may be Jared. And if it is, tonight will be the last night he bothers you.”

4

The automatic sliding door opened and I walked inside, veering to the right hallway of the horseshoe structure, passing the silver walls with framed awards and back issues of the newspaper on them. I reached a large room filled with large-screen computers, some of which were being used by a few members of Dad's reporting and editing staff. Daytime was usually slower than night, which was when everyone showed up to meet deadlines and stuff in the latest breaking news they'd found out minutes before.

I waved at Madeline and Jenny. Madeline was an older woman about Dad's age with short, dark blonde hair, a curvy figure, and a no-nonsense attitude. I liked her. She was wearing a gray business suit with a striking red blouse underneath. Jenny was a tiny woman about my age with blonde highlights and the cutest little voice you've ever heard. No matter who she was talking to, she sounded like a little girl on her birthday, simply elated to be alive. She was wearing a white T-shirt with a big yellow smiling cartoon flower on it, and a frilly yellow skirt to match.

Jenny always had a very sweet and innocent air about her, but she could be completely ruthless when it came to getting a good story. She'd sneaked into facilities before to get quotes from unsuspecting big business tycoons, and climbed fences to interview celebrities. Those are some of her milder escapades. I'd actually tried to talk her into bounty hunting, but she said the work would be too spaced out and the money not steady enough. It was true; sometimes I'd go months without making a catch, and the financial aspect of my life could get a little scary. But even more important than the cash flow, Jenny had to be going and going all the time. Maybe it was the stream of constant coffee she drank.

“Haaay!” she said, grinning, deep dimples creasing her cheeks.

Madeline gave me a nod, but quickly returned focus to her computer, where she was furiously typing something, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“How are things going, Jenny?” I asked.

“Oh, fine! Fine! Hey! Do you want to do the ‘Dear Janice' for today?”

Occasionally, I wrote the dating advice column for the newspaper. It started out as kind of a joke when I read some of the questions people sent in. Jenny had found a picture of her great grandmother, Mary, at age 60, and the picture had just screamed “Advice Columnist.” We decided to use it and call her “Janice.” Jenny had said her great grandmother would have thought it was hilarious. At first, we made up our own questions, but then people started writing in, and now it was pretty much a daily thing.

“Oh, I would, but I've got to meet with Dad. He said Mom's going to be in town.”

Jenny scrunched up her cute little nose until she looked like a chipmunk. “Oh, well! Maybe your mom could do one. How To Snag a Millionaire.” She let out a contagious giggle. “Think she'd like that?”

“Hmph.” I rolled my eyes. “She wouldn't want to share her secrets, because then she might have competition.”

More giggles. “Okaaay! Oh, guess who I got an interview with?”

“Who?”

“Markus Finch!”

“The movie director that lives in Ft. Worth?”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands together, her long eyelashes fanning out from her big hazel eyes. “The very one!”

“Oh, wow! How'd you manage that?”

“Well, I camped out on the sidewalk in front of his place all night last week and caught him when he was coming out for the morning paper. I started singing Christmas carols to him from across the gate because he loves Christmas carols, no matter what time of year. I thought he'd either think me crazy or give me an interview. He said it had made his morning.”

“That is great. When's he coming in? Or are you going there?”

“I'm going to meet him for coffee tomorrow. I'm so excited!”

I hadn't realized I'd still been holding my car phone until it rang. Looking down, I saw that it was Jackson Kincade. Oh, boy. Jenny was absolutely going to flip out. I answered the call.

“Hi, Jackson,” I said, looking Jenny dead in the eye.

She screamed and then quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide and sparkling. Madeline looked up from her computer, as did two men who sat across the room at different computers. Hurray, my life on display.

“Hey, Mina! How's life?” Jackson said, his voice smooth and friendly as always.

“Good! Listen, can I call you back in a few?”

“Sure, if you need to.”

A look of horror spread across Jenny's face. She mouthed:
No! Talk to him!

Trying not to roll my eyes, I said, “Well, I can talk for a second. What's new?”

Jenny grinned and leaned in closer so that she might hear the conversation. I shook my head, smiling, and let her. Some people could get so star-struck. Like the entire office of people I was among.

“I'm in town for a while,” Jackson said, “and am going to be doing a benefit concert here, and had a little down time. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tomorrow night and catch up since we haven't seen each other in a couple months?”

Jenny heard that. She clamped her hands over her squealing mouth.

“Who was that?” Jackson asked, laughing.

“Oh, that's Jenny Philips. Reporter here.”

“Oh, sure!” Jackson said. “She interviewed me. That was one of the best articles written about me. My mom has it framed.” His voice changed, a slight softening. “That was also when you and I first met.”

“Was that the day? Oh, yeah. It was, wasn't it?”

The softness in his voice gave way to playful exasperation. “Don't tell me you forgot. Oh, Mina. I'm crushed!” He started fake sniffling. “Total burn.”

“I hadn't forgotten! It's just been awhile, goofy.”

“I'm just kidding,” he said, the words laced with laughter. “Tell her I said, ‘Hello.'”

Jackson was 25 then, and I'd been 23. He'd just come out with his second album, which had gone platinum. He was from the Metroplex area and was getting ready to go on tour. I'd been in the office that afternoon, helping Dad with some editing and working on the love column, when Jackson had come in. And there I was, with no clue this guy was a celebrity, although the rest of the office was buzzing with estrogen. I think every female reporter and editor on staff had shown up for the event. Anyway, I'd listened in on the interview, too, and found myself piping in, because Jackson and I had quite a bit in common. We both enjoyed playing Chess. We both liked Art Nouveau. Heck, he even had a weenie dog. And before we knew it, we were talking like old friends. Jenny hadn't been the least bit jealous, though. She'd sat there, soaking it all in, scooting her recorder closer to us as I got him to really open up and talk about himself, and not so much his music.

The feature article had turned out really good. Even Dad was pleased, and Dad usually doesn't pay much focus to celebrity interviews. Jenny had no idea how in the world I could have lived without having heard Jackson's music before. Jackson hadn't seemed offended, though, and after the interview he'd taken me aside and told me it was refreshing having met someone who didn't talk to him only because of his fame. He'd asked me for my number so we might go out sometime. I'd almost backed down then. I'd told him that I was seeing someone long-distance. He really didn't seem to mind, though. He'd had a girlfriend, too. We agreed to keep in touch. And believe it or not, we had managed to maintain a real friendship.

“Jenny,” I said, “Jackson says, ‘Hello.'”

“Hi, Jackson!” she peeped.

Jackson laughed. It was a nice sound. Melodic.

“So what do you think?” he said.

“I could probably do dinner. Tonight would definitely be out, so tomorrow's good.”

“Work tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Gotcha.”

One thing I liked about Jackson, among all the other things, was that he never asked me too much about my job. I'd occasionally give him little bits and pieces, especially if something bizarre or funny had happened during a catch, but for the most part, I didn't like talking about it. It put me into a very serious frame of mind because it was very dark, serious business. Plus, not talking about my job much made me feel a little less guilty for not asking him about his music.

“Okay,” he said, “well, if you can make it, I'll be at Reunion Tower around seven. There's this really great chef, Winston Burbank, who's created the menu for this season, Asian cuisine.”

“Sounds good.”

We didn't need to discuss getting-there arrangements. Jackson never picked me up. We always met somewhere when we got together, and we'd actually never been to each other's homes (though Jackson had a few). It was partly because of our schedules, partly because it was only friendship between us. He knew I was with Damon…even if now I wasn't so sure what Damon and I were. And Jackson had his string of girlfriends to keep relaxed. We also had to be careful about the world of entertainment news crews, those vampires. I'd already been asked by a couple TV reporters who'd seen us out together if we were a romantic item, and I'd told them “no.” They wanted to know all about me, regardless, so I told them I worked for my dad's newspaper and talked it up. Always good to give Dad's press a little press. And distract them from the fact that I was a bounty hunter. I didn't want my face flashed all over the country as someone for criminals to avoid.

“That sounds fine,” I said to Jackson. “I'll try to be on time.”

He laughed. It was a running joke between us that I could be punctual for so many things, but I always managed to show up late for our dates—err—meet-up's.

“See you then, looking forward to it,” he said.

“Me, too. Bye, Jackson.”

“Bye, Mina.”

As I put the phone in my pocket, I counted in my head:
Three, two, one.
Then as if on cue, Jenny attacked me with a plethora of questions. Where were Jackson and I going? What time? Were we dating now? What was I going to wear? Had he kissed me yet? Was he still as utterly hot in real life as in the magazines?

“We're just
friends
, Jenny,” I said. “Can't two people be friends?”

“Not when it's Jackson Kincade! I'd give my right arm to go on a date with him! He's so sexy! We'd probably never make it out the door. I wouldn't be able to contain myself!”

“You never are,” Madeline quipped over her computer.

“Oh, you hush, over there,” Jenny said, playfully waving her hands to dismiss Madeline's comment.

“Just sayin' the truth.”

“Hmm,” I said. “I just don't really see Jackson like that. I mean, I acknowledge that I think he's good looking.”

Madeline cleared her throat. “Who the hell doesn't?”

“Come on,” I said, laughing. “What's the big deal?”

Jenny started tapping her foot. She always did that when she was hesitating bringing up a topic. I had a good guess what she was about to say next.

“So,” she said, treading on thin ice, “have you talked to Damon lately?”

I looked off at the wall, anywhere but her eyes. Jenny knew the Damon story. She was a good friend, someone I could talk to about my love life. She knew how things were. She knew Damon was more than everything to me. And she also knew that he'd broken my heart.

“No,” I said, quietly. “Just, no.”

She nodded a little too long, her head bobbing like one of those little cars people stuck on their dash boards. “Mmmhmm. Mmmhmm. Okay!” The smile flashed again. “Well, I'll let you go talk to your dad! I didn't want to keep you. We can talk maybe tonight or tomorrow? I need to tell you about Tannon, this guy I met on the Internet. He is a hoot!”

“That sounds good. Give me a call tomorrow.”

“Kay!”

I was a little relieved to be walking away from her and towards Dad's office. I didn't mind talking to Jenny about Damon, just not in front of other people. It was embarrassing enough that the love of my life ditched me to go on a mission and hadn't been back in two and a half years. It was even more embarrassing explaining why I wasn't dating anyone in the meantime, especially Jackson Kincade. Because secretly, deep down, I
did
want my ex to come back, despite what I said.

Because I believed that the love Damon and I shared wasn't run-of-the-mill plastic love.

The love we shared was as powerful and as deep as a swirling, dizzying black hole. We had a soulful connection, an unexplainable bond that made my adrenaline rush just when I heard his voice. He was the love of my life.

And given a little time, I knew I could regain that bliss that the two of us shared before he'd gone, gone so far away.