Bounty

by J. D. Cunegan

  "Perfect."

  "I'll say." Roger flipped up the viewfinder on the camera directly in front of Jill. "You've got me scared shitless, and I'm on your side!"

  Crossing back to the computer, Roger's fingers danced furiously over the keyboard as he worked to override the broadcast signal. With just a few more keystrokes, WJZ's regularly-scheduled programming would be pre-empted by the vigilante known as Bounty.

  "In three," Roger began, his fingers a blur, "two, one."

  His fingers stopped. A red light on top of the camera illuminated.

  "I guess a million dollars doesn't buy what it used to." Jill allowed a faint smile to tickle the edges of her mouth. "David Gregor, the first of your hired punks has tried -- and failed. I hope whatever you paid her up-front was worth it, because I don't think you'll be getting back the safety deposit."

  She waited a beat, her eyes never leaving the camera. Jill took a step forward, bathing even more of her face in shadow.

  "I know the truth, David." She cocked her head to the side. "I know why you're after me. I know all your dirty little secrets, just as I'm sure you know all of mine." She smirked, her infrared eye flaring red. "So here's the deal. Whatever this is between you and me, it's gonna stay between you and me."

  She saw Roger give her a thumbs-up, but ignored it.

  "You put a price on my head again, or you try to get the BPD involved, or you so much as think about going after anyone even remotely affiliated with me, and there will be hell to pay." Another dark grin played across her features. "You come at me from the side again, the whole world discovers who you really are." She shrugged. "Otherwise, you and I have some business to attend to, and I will not let you terrorize my city in the process."

  Jill stepped even closer to the camera, moving so only her eyeplate was in view. The infrared sensor flickered and pulsed. "You leave my city -- my people -- alone, do you understand me? Because if you don't, then believe me when I tell you that no amount of money or influence will save you from my wrath."

  She stepped back to her original spot, on the yellow 'x,' raising her chin.

  "To the people of Baltimore: you've probably heard of me by now. Chances are, what you've heard isn't good. If that's the case, then it's a lie. I am Bounty. I protect this city, every day and every night. This place is my home, as it is all of yours. You have no reason to fear me. You have no reason to doubt me."

  Chapter 44

  The screen went black. David Gregor stood and crossed his penthouse suite to the window, staring out over the sprawling metropolis below him. The vigilante's message played over and over again in his mind, but he was most overwhelmed by the fact that his most trusted assassin, the beautiful and talented Yuki, was dead. Perhaps Gregor had underestimated Bounty. He had assumed that there were lines she wouldn't cross, things she wouldn't dare do. Clearly, that was not the case. Bounty was formidable and unpredictable – in his experience, a dangerous combination.

  Gregor finished off the scotch in his hand with a hiss. He set the glass on an otherwise empty end table, turning to the darkness that was his suite. In the pitch black, Gregor thought he could see Bounty. Feel her, even. He crossed back to the bar with a sigh, pouring himself another glass of scotch, swirling the amber liquid.

  "I was wondering when Andersen would make a move."

  Gregor looked over his shoulder in time to see Joel Freeman emerge from the shadows. "She's bold, I'll give her that."

  Freeman sat across from Gregor with a weary sigh, shaking his head. "More so than I thought."

  The business mogul was putting up a front, acting as if Bounty's message hadn't fazed him. After all, a strong poker face was a requirement in his line of work. If he wore his emotions on his sleeve whenever dealing with suitors -- savory or otherwise -- he wouldn’t have amassed near the fortune he had. Gregor swirled the scotch again before downing the drink in one gulp, sliding the glass across the table and watching as it fell off the edge, dumping ice cubes onto the carpet.

  "She's also desperate." Gregor shook his head.

  "Well, what the hell did you expect, David?" Freeman's voice dripped with indignation. "I told you what she was like. The kind of person she was even before Project Fusion. Did you really think she'd be timid now that she has superpowers?" The commander stood, pacing behind Gregor before leaning over the back of the couch, his face inches from Gregor's.

  "She will find a way to connect Trent's murder to you, and she will come after you."

  Gregor smirked and shrugged. "And she'll do the same to you."

  "I know." Freeman straightened again, his hands in his pockets. "I got nothing left to lose. I made my peace a long time ago. But you? Lost fortunes, a reputation in shatters, long-time associates turned enemies, no influence whatsoever. That doesn't even account for the jail time you'd be facing."

  Gregor scoffed. "I'll never see the inside of a cell."

  "Maybe she'll just kill you, like she killed Yuki."

  Gregor laughed out loud. "She would never do that."

  Freeman stood in silence, taking in the other man's remarkable sense of self-worth. If David Gregor had one vice, it was being too wrapped up in his own legend, too high on his own bullshit, that he couldn't see situations as they actually were. Freeman had noticed that the day they met, and he had been convinced in all the years since that would be the businessman's undoing.

  With a nod, Freeman walked out of Gregor's suite.

  "You sure?"

  Chapter 45

  Ramon had a hunch.

  It was a longshot. It was actually the longshot among longshots. But when he had been tossing and turning the night before, the image of his partner plastered all over the news and social media stuck in his head, he got to thinking. If Nelson Blake had served with Jill in the military, then there was probably some record of him in a federal database.

  That record probably wouldn't tell Ramon where Blake was now, but maybe it would give him some other insight that could eventually lead to the police tracking him down. Blake felt like the first solid lead in this case -- a lead they could actually pursue in an official capacity -- and if it panned out, then maybe Ramon could go back to sleeping and not worrying about his partner at all hours.

  When Jill first told him her secret, Ramon had been worried he would accidentally reveal it to someone. Now, his biggest fear was losing her. Ramon hadn't realized just how dangerous her double life was. He wasn't about to abandon her, but Ramon would have been lying if he said he didn't worry about her.

  The receiver to his landline phone was trapped between his ear and his shoulder. Ramon had been on hold with the FBI for almost twenty-five minutes now, and he was half-tempted to hang up. He was about to do just that when the line reconnected with a click, a gruff, smoky voice announcing its presence.

  "I can't access that file, Detective. It's beyond my clearance."

  Ramon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fantastic...

  "However,” the voice added, “I have a contact over at NCIS who may be of some help."

  Ramon blinked, jotting down the letters on his notepad. "NCIS?"

  "Naval Criminal --"

  "I know what NCIS stands for, but... why would they have a file on someone who was in the Army?"

  Silence hung on the line for what felt like minutes. Ramon thought they had been disconnected, but before he could check, the voice returned.

  "That's a question for them, don't you think?"

  Chapter 46

  Two and a half years ago...

  Jill had saved three months' worth of paychecks for the leather bodysuit, custom-made to her specific measurements. She wasn't terribly thrilled with the concept of skin-tight outfits, but truth was, loose-fitting clothing had the potential to be deadly in the world of vigilantism. Sure, capes looked cool in comic books and on the silver screen, but in the real world, they just weren't that practical. The less fabric there was to get caught on anything, the less likely Jill was to suffer an embarrassin
g death as her alter ego.

  The outfit was laid out on her bed. It would cover her from her neck to her feet, with cutouts for her arms. There were matching gloves that went up to her elbows, as well as a pair of combat boots she picked up from a local Goodwill and spray-painted until they matched the rest of the outfit. The first time Jill slipped on those boots, it felt like she was back at Fort Eustis.

  Black lipstick. A black hairband for her ponytail. Her eyeplate. Mesh armor for her arms that matched the eyeplate. The katana. Her transformation was almost complete.

  This hadn't been the idea when she first volunteered for Project Fusion, but in hindsight, Jill supposed this outcome had been inevitable. After all, how could she take advantage of all of the perks her operation provided if she didn't become a costumed vigilante? Bruce Wayne had billions of dollars and unchecked psychosis. Jill just had her grit, determination, and a shiny titanium skeleton.

  Jill stood in front of the body-length mirror propped up against the closet in her room. The scar on her chest, and across her collarbone, was fading -- as was the matching mark running down her left arm. The scars and eyeplate aside, there wasn't much remarkable about Jill Andersen. She was just a young woman, in shape because of a childhood playing soccer, a stint in the Army, and her Police Academy training.

  Jill grabbed her right glove, sliding it on and keeping her gaze on the mirror. A chill ran down her spine. She took off the glove, tossed it onto the bed. Jill drew in a ragged breath, grabbing the hairband and moving to pull her hair into a ponytail before thinking better of it. If she wanted to mask her identity, keeping her hair down was the way to go. She could see the room reflected in her eyeplate, and Jill couldn't help but smile.

  It was now or never. She had worked up to this moment for the past six months. When she wasn't working a case, when she wasn't sneaking looks at her father's case files, she was gathering, studying, working. Several times over the past six months, Jill had second thoughts. Maybe being a vigilante wasn't such a good idea. Maybe the risks outweighed the benefits. Yet every night, she saw what had become of her city. The Baltimore she grew up in love with had decayed. It was clear within a month of graduating from the academy that simply having a badge wouldn't be enough. No, if Jill was going to truly commit to doing everything she could to make a difference in this city, if she was going to commit to finding out the truth about her father, she had to do more than just holster a badge and carry a gun. She had to become someone else. She had to become something else.

  The mesh armor for her arms actually protected her chest as well, and it took some effort for her to slide her arms into the material. It was heavier than she had expected, but the vendor she got it from had told her that it was the lightest of its kind. Something about the fine line between protection and maneuverability.

  Grabbing the bodysuit, Jill stepped into it with her left leg, then her right. The material caught against her skin at first, but with a few more tugs, she pulled the garment up over her shoulders and zipped it up all the way to her neck. Amazingly enough, the leather came up over the armor without much problem.

  Jill then slid her hands into the gloves, before sitting on the edge of her bed and lacing up her combat boots. She threw a silver makeshift utility belt around her waist before hoisting the sheath containing her katana over her shoulder. Just like that, her transformation was complete. When Jill caught the first glimpse of herself as a vigilante in the mirror, she momentarily lost her breath. The reality of her choice, the reality of the kind of life she had now signed up for, hit her all at once.

  Jill sat on the edge of the bed again, letting the enormity of the moment overwhelm her. She couldn't tear her gaze off her reflection, particularly the way the black outfit went with her eyeplate. This wasn't just a concept or an idea anymore; Jill was really doing this. To her surprise, doubt crept in once again. Did she really know what she was doing? Had she really put the right amount of thought into this?

  What if she got caught?

  What if she got killed?

  What if she made Baltimore a safer place?

  What if she finally proved Paul's innocence?

  A picture of Paul sat in a gold frame on top of her dresser. It had been taken on her first day of high school; despite her half-hearted protests, Paul drove her to school in his squad car, making sure to wear his uniform and get out of the car when it was time to drop off his daughter. Jill had feigned embarrassment, but in reality, she loved that he was showing off. She also liked to think that was why boys largely left her alone her freshman year. None of them wanted to risk crossing the policeman.

  Jill crossed the room to her dresser, grabbing the frame and studying the picture. They were both smiling ear-to-ear, the worries and tears of future years unknown to them. She trailed a finger over her father's face, taking in a deep breath before placing the frame back on the dresser.

  "This," Jill’s hands curled into fists, "this is for you."

  Chapter 47

  Present day...

  Getting a search warrant was out of the question. Jill had enough evidence to execute the order for one, but if she were to show that evidence to implicate David Gregor in Dr. Roberts' murder, then she would also be providing evidence to incriminate herself in vigilantism. With that being the case, all of said evidence would be inadmissible in court, and Jill would’ve handed Gregor’s well-funded defense a slam dunk victory.

  So if she was going to search his penthouse, Jill was going to have to do so unofficially, which again meant donning the black leather. That was fine -- truth be told, being Bounty was fun. Of course she took the responsibility seriously, and she was under no delusions about how dangerous this was, but there was an adrenaline rush every time she caught a glimpse of herself in her outfit. Whenever she hopped from rooftop to rooftop. Whenever she went one-on-one with a bad guy. Let Batman and the others have their angst; Jill always made sure to protect Baltimore with a smile on her face.

  Gregor's penthouse suite sat in the Transamerica Tower on the fortieth floor, providing a breathtaking view of the city. Jill was tempted to take a moment to appreciate that view -- no matter how many times she saw the skyline, it never got old -- but she knew the penthouse only appeared to be empty. Chances were, Gregor somehow knew she was here, even though she had just broken in, and some lackey was on their way.

  Jill spotted a file cabinet near the bar on the far side of the main room. Careful to take slow steps, not wanting her boots to make a lot of noise against the floor, Jill pulled open the bottom drawer, crouching and thumbing through manila folder after manila folder. Crammed in the drawer the way they were, one folder seemed to bleed into the next, and Jill had to force herself to take her time, lest she miss anything. Scribbled handwriting was the only thing differentiating one folder from the next, and that only added to the challenge.

  Near the back, she found a folder labeled Project Fusion. Her heart skipped a beat, and Jill yanked the folder out of the drawer before setting it down in her lap and pulling it open. Invoices, copies of checks, records of wire transfers funneled through phony accounts all across Europe -- everything confirmed Jill's theory that David Gregor had bankrolled the entire project. Yet when she turned to the next page and saw a medical chart with her mugshot in the top left corner, Jill dropped the folder, ignoring the papers that fluttered to the floor. Gregor had known who Jill was the entire time. He had to have known, because that picture of Jill was from when she was still in the Army.

  For the moment, Jill no longer cared if Gregor had Dr. Roberts killed. All that mattered was that he was an integral part of the project that led to Jill's enhancements, and that he seemingly knew that she was Patient Zero. Jill shuddered at the thought of what that possibly meant. Had he known she was Bounty before all of this started? Was the plot to kill Dr. Roberts a ploy to get her to come out of hiding? Was it some power play designed to show everyone, once and for all, who really controlled the city?

  The sound of a gun being co
cked broke Jill's concentration. She raised her arms, her hands open on either side of her head, as she slowly got back to her feet and turned around. A stocky male figure stood before her, dressed all in black, face completely obscured by a ski mask -- trite, yet effective. The figure held a pistol pointed at Jill's forehead.

  "Oh good," she quipped. "The help's arrived."

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  The voice sounded familiar. Even slightly muffled by the mask, Jill could swear she had heard it somewhere before.

  "Oh, you know,” Jill shrugged, “general mischief and tomfoolery."

  The man holstered his gun before charging Jill, swinging his right fist. She barely ducked out of the way just in time to see him lunge at her again. Jill ducked under his clenched fist, her left leg jutting out so the heel of her boot crashed into the back of his right knee. His pained howl obscured the sound of his kneecap popping out of its socket. Despite the obvious pain, the man got back to his feet, drawing a dagger from the sheath on his back. Jill answered by pulling out her katana, grabbing the weapon with both hands. He swung at her, and she easily parried the blow before he ducked and swiped at her midsection. The blade was just short of her leather, and Jill back-flipped to give herself some space.

  This is no lackey. Jill tightened her grip on the blade.

  If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I just walked into a trap.

  He lunged at her again, and her sword clanged against the armor around the figure's right forearm. The man took the opportunity to knee Jill in the chin, sending her careening over the sofa, but Jill regained her footing and placed the weapon back in its sheath. If they were going to do this, she wanted it hand-to-hand. Jill took a defensive posture, her weight on her back foot as she caught her breath. "You're good."

  The figure peeled off its mask, and Jill was stunned motionless. Lieutenant Colonel Joel Freeman stood before her, favoring his right knee, disdain and pride on his wrinkled face. "So are you, Andersen."