Flamingo Fugitive (Supernatural Bounty Hunters 5)

by E A Price

“Awesome.” He started opening the file when Mia interrupted.

  “And according to Leslie’s employment agency, Leslie is due to perform at a private party tonight. Here’s the address.”

  She passed him a piece of paper. “Wow, you already did half the work for me.”

  “I was planning on giving it to Logan, but I think we’ll just have a quiet night in instead.”

  “Thanks, I owe you.” He almost clicked his heels together as his rhino excitedly thought about chasing a skip. The beast sure did like to charge at people.

  Zara’s shoulders seemed to be shaking for some reason, and a tear even escaped her eye. He asked her what was wrong, but she just waved him away.

  He shrugged and said goodbye to the two women. When he stepped outside, it was the darnedest thing. Both of them started hooting with laughter.

  *

  “Oh no, Brick, we must do this. Don’t you see that?”

  “But Ruby, I’m a married man.”

  “I don’t care about that, Brick. I need you, Brick. I need to feel you inside me. I won’t be complete until you fill me up with…”

  “Francine,” sighed Michael.

  “Hmmm? Was that not good?” She knew it wasn’t good. Her heart really wasn’t in it. It wasn’t a problem she usually had. She could say anything and make it believable, but she couldn’t seem to get to grips with this. It didn’t help that her usually sweet and supportive flamingo sneered at every word. The words had sounded bad echoing through her tiny apartment. Here, in this beautiful house, they sounded downright seedy.

  Michael blew out a breath. “It was fine, but I don’t think that we’ll be able to generate the kind of heat and passion that this scene requires with you all the way over there.”

  Francine cocked her head on one side and affected an expression of innocence. It wasn’t hard, she was a damn fine actress, even if she said so herself. Except when it came to this damn script. He was sprawling on the couch. The fact that she had chosen to sit on the seat of the grand piano, a good fifteen feet away from him – thus putting an enormous piano between her and any supposed threat to her virtue – didn’t mean a thing.

  When he sent her a copy of the tawdry scene he wanted her to learn, she sort of thought that he would just read the lines to her unemotionally. Or there would be someone else there, a producer or an assistant, to ensure that any burgeoning sexual tension was popped quicker than a balloon. Yeah, she was an idiot. So now she was in his house, at night, with half a glass of wine queasily sloshing around in her stomach and wondering whether Michael St. Fontaine was some kind of breed of pervert. Her flamingo answered in the affirmative to that – he was a breed in his own right.

  Her flamingo fluttered her feathers, perhaps preparing to run away. Flamingos were lovers, not fighters. And she didn’t fancy being a lover that night.

  The leers he had hurled at her the first time they met clearly hadn’t been a throwaway reaction to a generous bosom. Unless… she could just be overreacting. The part of her that wanted him to be genuine and that believed he wanted her for her artistic talents was very great, nearly eclipsing her uneasiness at being alone with him. And not even her temperamental flamingo could ignore that part of her. Perhaps she was just reading something into nothing.

  Michael gave her a patient smile. “Come on, Francine. Come and sit closer.”

  “Well, okay, if you think it’s necessary…”

  Chapter Seven

  Stone forced himself not to close his eyes. His beast grunted in frustration. As far as satisfying chases went, this rated very low – even lower than the time he had to capture the octogenarian who needed to lug around an oxygen tank. The old man, amid a lot of encouragement from Stone, gave it his best shot at running, but he gave up and let Stone catch him. He was actually thankful that Stone was after him – he carried the old guy all the way back to the cops.

  But, he was going to kill Zara and Mia for this. No, not kill them, he didn’t hold with violence against women. But he had to think of a way to get back at them. Except that never ended well, did it? He wasn’t exactly great at thinking up plans, and Zara could be downright devious when she wanted to be. It was all those witchy powers.

  Leslie, the blonde stripper, who Stone had to admit was very limber, slipped out of his grasp. His rhino reared up at the disturbing eyeful he got. Leslie was covered in what appeared to be an entire bottle of baby oil and was only wearing a g-string. And oh yeah, the stripper was a dude. Fucking baby oil.

  By the time Stone caught up with him, Leslie was already entertaining at a bachelorette party. He was already virtually nude, lubed up with a hell of a lot of oil and no, he didn’t want to come quietly.

  This was probably his own fault, Stone thought, as Leslie wriggled against him to no avail. The young man was ripped and a strong cougar shifter, but he was no match for Stone.

  Usually, Stone would have subdued him by now, except it was kind of distracting trying to wrestle a slippery young man while his thinly covered junk kept flashing in his face. Not to mention the ring of horny, drunk women who were immensely enjoying the display.

  He and his rhino roared as the young cougar elbowed him in the face. Fuck, this guy’s more slippery than an eel. Stone gritted his teeth and put his hand somewhere it should never go. But on the plus side, the cougar yelped and calmed down.

  Stone changed his mind. He was actually going to kill Mia and Zara for this.

  *

  They were now on the same couch with just a cushion between them, and Francine was more than a little concerned. Her bird was outright chirruping ‘danger’.

  Michael had lured her to the couch; she didn’t remember the words he used – they may have been ‘starring role’.

  Of course, to start with they were a decent length apart. But somehow Michael had edged his way towards her and the cloying scent of his man perfume – gross – was making it hard for her to breathe.

  It was supposed to be a scene where the female character – by some unexplained and totally indecipherable reason – was completely hot for this asshat of a married man. If Francine were building a background for her, she’d say brainwashing or Stockholm syndrome played a part in the obsession. And for some reason she wanted nothing more than to get him into bed and for him to fill her with his, ugh, love juices. Yeah, she almost barfed in her mouth the first time she read that, and even her flamingo had trouble calling it artistic license. But this scene had obviously been written by Michael – this was his kind of rubbish language, and his kind of underwritten scene that masqueraded as character development.

  Except, even though she was supposed to be seducing him, instinctively she found herself edging away from his advances while her bird paced nervously. He scowled every time she nudged out of reach, but that didn’t stop him coming for her.

  The stage direction in the script said that she was supposed to be straddling him at this point in the dialogue, and rubbing her breasts in his face. Well, he’d just have to settle for her shuffling in the opposite direction and trying, without success, to raise the neckline of her dress. She took one shuffle too many and slipped off the couch, landing on the floor with a dull thump.

  “Shit!” she muttered, but then yelped as Michael landed on top of her. “Get off me!” she squawked as her flamingo flew into an agitated frenzy.

  Michael pressed his, not exactly impressive, erection against her and she almost gagged. She wriggled against him, but if anything he only enjoyed that more. She was no match physically for a hyena shifter, and he seemed to be the sort of deviant who went around saying ‘I like a woman with spirit’.

  When she finally gave in and sagged in an annoyed heap on the ground, he sighed. Her flamingo was still panicking, but Francine was calmly trying to assess her next move.

  “Francine,” he said, wearily. “We both know why you’re here, so let’s not play games. Getting a part this way is virtually a tradition.”

  “I never…” she objected in flut
tering outrage.

  He sniggered a dirty, hyena snigger. “Come now. Why else would I invite you to my house? What did you think this was about?”

  “I thought because of my talent…” she started, weakly.

  He howled with laughter as his eyes morphed to the deep dark brown of his beast. He gave her a hungry look that had they been animals out in the wild, would have said, ‘I’m going to eat you up’. Ugh, he was enjoying this far too much. “Oh yes, your talent. I’m looking at both of your talents right now.” He ogled her breasts and Francine let out a disgruntled warble that came straight from her bird.

  “Settle down. If you relax, you might actually enjoy this. Either way, I don’t care. But I will get what I want…”

  The dirty bastard moved in for a kiss and Francine screeched in rage…

  Chapter Eight

  “Boo! Bring back the stripper!” howled a particularly aggressive she-wolf. She appeared to be the spokesperson for the rowdy she-wolf bachelorette party. The members of which were sporting feather boas, silver plastic cowboy hats and were louder than a group of football fans whose team had just lost.

  “Sorry ladies,” he called giving them a devilish grin. The grin made most women go weak at the knees. These were not most women. They were drunk wolf shifters, and most of them were women who were mated and not given to cheating on their mates. This was the only opportunity they had to look at another man’s wang without it being weird. They were not going to let this opportunity go to waste.

  “We want the stripper!” sobbed another, verging on the teary phase of drunkenness.

  Stone finished cuffing the pouting cougar and was now fielding comments, insults and various things being thrown at him. It had started with women throwing food at him, then progressed to their shoes and now seemed to have descended into bottles of alcohol.

  He roared with the full force of his rhino as he deflected a bottle of whisky. That thing was full – it was a terrible waste of whisky. They quieted and looked like a mixture of petulant and pouting schoolgirls.

  “Look, ladies,” he started.

  “Boo! Let him finish his act!” called the loudest one of the group. She was also the oldest and was sporting a t-shirt that said ‘grandmother of the bride’. Yeesh.

  Sadly some of the other she-wolves picked this up and started chanting ‘let him finish’. Leslie, the blonde stripped with a Farrah Fawcett do, flicked his hair and scowled.

  “Ladies,” said Stone, patiently as his rhino prepared to bolt. He could stay and fight, but they were women – they’d probably tear him apart. “This guy missed his court date. You wanna explain what you’re on trial for?” he asked blondie.

  The man huffed and looked at the ground, sullenly.

  “He’s on trial for stealing money from the women he strips for. Whenever he does a bachelorette party, he waits until his clients are passed out, and then he robs them.”

  The she-wolves stopped chanting and glared at the stripper with murderous intent. Okay, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Best he make it to the exit quickly.

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” he explained.

  “Ooh!” they all chorused as one.

  “And I…”

  “You’re hot!” called one woman.

  Stone smiled almost modestly. “Thank you, but…”

  “Take your top off!” called another.

  “No take your pants off!” screamed another.

  “Show us your muscles!”

  “Show us what rhinos hide in their pants!” cackled the grandmother.

  Stone gaped at the advancing women while his rhino sucked in a breath

  *

  “You bitch!” snarled Michael.

  “I told you to get off of me,” said Francine coldly. In her defense, it was his own fault for leaving such an ugly, and sharp award statue on his coffee table in the first place.

  He came at her, determined to ravish her and she struck. Now he had the Playa Lunar Filmmakers’ Society Award for Excellence sticking out of his shoulder. In her defense, who makes a statue that is basically a small replica of a sword? What’s that about?

  Michael wobbled around the room, the statue indiscriminately still attached to his shoulder. “I’m bleeding you fucking whore!” he growled.

  Francine smoothed out her dress. “See, if I were a whore, this wouldn’t have happened,” she said with a lot more calm and confidence than she felt. Flamingos were arty, attention-grabbing types, and in a crisis, they tended to flap about and panic. Her inner bird was doing just that, and Francine was having a hard time keeping it together. It was a good job she was an actress. She hoped he couldn’t see her trembling. Thankfully, he had bigger things to worry about.

  She pulled out her phone, waited for it to switch on – it was an ancient flip phone model, so it took a while – and then she called for an ambulance. “You’ll be fine,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “An ambulance is on its way, and it didn’t do any lasting damage. Your shifter genes will heal that right up.”

  Michael eyed her furiously and grabbed the wine bottle. “You dumb bitch! I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.”

  Francine let out a squawk of disgust. “That’s not fair!”

  “Nobody does this to Michael St. Fontaine!” he howled, his hyena pushing to the surface. “Nobody!”

  He threw the wine bottle at her and she scuttled away. She was getting the hell out of there!

  *

  “Whoo-hoo! Take it all off!” cried the grandmother wolf shifter.

  Stone tried to envision his own grandmother acting in that way and repressed a shudder. Grandma Stone was possibly the most matronly woman ever created. Plus she was a rhino shifter, so she was big and stocky and looked like a walking chest freezer. No, if she were there right now, she’d cuff everyone’s ears and tell them to behave themselves. Then she’d give them a speech about how this kind of behavior would embarrass their creator. Shifters didn’t tend to be overly religious; they had their own customs, but a lot believed that there was some kind of deity for every species of shifter – or a creator. Some people thought that shifters were just created when humans crossbred with wild animals. But they were also the kind of people who wiggled their eyebrows lasciviously while they said this and invariably laughed at fart jokes, so they were generally ignored.

  He dragged himself away from his thoughts and wriggled his butt. “Sorry, I’m not much of a dancer, ladies,” he called while thrusting his hips. There was a collective ooh swiftly followed by giggles.

  Yes, unable to ever disappoint the ladies, Stone courageously volunteered to take the place of their stripper. He could have just let the actual stripper finish his act, but the she-wolves didn’t seem overly cordial towards the cougar shifter since they assumed he was going to try and rob them.

  So he cuffed Leslie to the toilet, took off his clothes and started dancing for all he was worth. It wasn’t like he had anything to be ashamed of – in fact, he was a step up from the stripper they hired. His rhino was snorting in disbelief, but he couldn’t deny that the attention was nice, plus, the fact that the horny she-wolves were throwing money at him didn’t hurt.

  “C’mon, baby, shake that booty!” That was one of the bridesmaids. She was practically licking her lips and winking at him. Stone give her an extra hip jerk, and she growled, sexily.

  Yeah, this was turning out better than he thought. Hell, he needed to thank Mia and Zara for this!

  *

  “Oww! Do they have to be so tight?”

  The officer grunted and ignored her protests.

  Yeah, this was turning out worse than she thought.

  One minute Francine was up for a new part in a movie. The next, a horny hyena shifter was trying to mount her. Which led to some light stabbing. Then, because she was upset, as she left, she flung her purse against his car. If she weren’t so upset and trying to deal with a flapping inner flamingo she might have remembered the fact that she kept a couple of ro
cks in her bag, just in case she were ever attacked by muggers. Which, in her neighborhood, was highly likely. However, she didn’t remember. The handbag went straight through the car window, and now Francine was under arrest and being manhandled into a pair of too-tight handcuffs. Or perhaps woman-handled, or even bear-handled. The she-bear was unbelievably butch and unrelentingly gruff.

  Francine tried to twist her hands into a more comfortable position as the she-bear pushed her into a squad car. She watched through the window as a whining and bitching Michael was hauled away in an ambulance. Yeesh, he was going to be fine. She on the other hand…

  As her flamingo whimpered, Francine considered that on the plus side, at least she was getting a ride.

  Chapter Nine

  Stone grinned and slung his arm around the lissome she-wolf, Cady. He breathed in the heady mixture of their entwined, lusty, aroused scents. His rhino grumbled in a bored way and turned his back to go to sleep. Meh, he didn’t know what he was missing.

  He’d spent a few very enjoyable hours partying with the bachelorettes, and had even been given a drunken invite to the wedding. Although the bride joked that she doubted she would be able to recognize him with all his clothes on. She then collapsed and was carried home by her maid of honor.

  Stone – still stone sober - had wrangled himself a bridesmaid, and after dumping a very angry Leslie at the cops, he was now bringing her home. Thankfully, she wasn’t quite as drunk as everyone else at the bachelorette party. No, she said she wanted to enjoy watching him taking all his clothes off again for a private party.

  Cady slipped her hand over his ass and squeezed. “Mmmm, that is one tight booty. Do you want to see mine?” she teased, dirtily.

  “Ah, babe,” he crooned. “Ah no.”

  “What’s up?” she asked, rubbing her hand over his groin, thinking they were still playing. “You don’t want to see mine?” She pouted.

  “No… I mean, yes… fuck.”

  By now as they approached his apartment door, a familiar scent was invading his senses, covering the deliciousness of Cady’s dwindling desire and really making him dislike cinnamon and nutmeg. Why couldn’t she have smelt like a pair of sweaty socks?