Reaper (Montana Bounty Hunters Book 1)

by Delilah Devlin

  For a few moments longer, Reaper sat in the kitchen, rolling his sore knuckles on the bag. He didn’t like the direction his brother was heading, and he placed the blame squarely on Sammy’s association with his bike club. The roadside bar didn’t exactly attract the most upstanding citizens. They were a brawling, boozing bunch of ex-cons and misfits. As an ex-con himself, Sammy should have known better than keep that kind of company. Many of those losers worked at McNally’s garage, Sammy included. The few times Reaper had dropped in, he hadn’t liked the seedy atmosphere.

  More than once, Reaper tried talking to Sammy about dropping his membership and finding another job, but Sammy remained stubborn. He didn’t want his advice. Didn’t need it, he’d said. The last time Reaper asked him about the club, they’d ended up fighting and hadn’t spoken for a month.

  If Sammy wasn’t the only family he had, he might have let him learn some more hard lessons on his own. As the situation now stood, he was enabling his kid brother to continue his downward spiral. Tonight, he’d picked up the tab for the splintered furniture, broken glasses, and the six-foot mirror behind the bar.

  Sighing, he lifted his hand and balled his fist, wincing at the tug of bruised muscles stretching over his knuckles. Well, hell. Tonight was clusterfuck. Tomorrow, he still wouldn’t catch a break—not with an overeager ride-along asking questions and getting in his way. If he ignored her, he wondered how long she’d last.

  His lips twitched. Yeah, he’d have Brian find the dirtiest, low-down target on their list and make sure she got muddied along the way. Nothing too violent, but something to make her reconsider hanging out with him for the rest of the week. Then maybe, he could talk his brother into riding shotgun and let him see what happened when dirtbags made stupid mistakes. Maybe he could rattle Sammy hard enough to help him see his current path would only lead to shit.

  Reaper let out another deep sigh. With his adrenaline crashing, he was ready for bed. Feeling better about the next day’s challenge, he tossed the thawing peas back into the freezer and smiled, which caused him to wince. Maybe he should have iced his cheek.

  Nah. Maybe his face would make the author-ess think twice about sharing his SUV.

  Chapter 2

  Carly Wyatt arrived early at the Montana Bounty Hunters office in Bear Lodge. She would have been content to wait in her car until the appointed time, enjoying the view of the rugged Salish Mountains in the distance, but the office manager, Brian Cobb, appeared on the porch and waved her inside.

  She hadn’t really minded losing her “alone time.” Brian was an interesting man, for more than the simple fact he wheeled around the office at breakneck speed. The loss of both of his legs wasn’t slowing him down. Built lean—and maybe a little too skinny—he had a sharp edge to his cheeks and jaw, and a sparkle in his eyes. It wasn’t hard to see that he loved his work.

  After he poured her a cup of coffee, he invited her to sit beside him as he pulled up a database of available bounties. One by one, they clicked on the bench warrants. “Other than verifying with Fetch that he hasn’t sent out any of his crew to round up these guys, we can pick and choose. We start with the highest-paying—usually for the most dangerous criminals, because judges don’t like to make getting bail easy.”

  Not anything she didn’t already know, but she was making mental notes about Brian, thinking he’d be a great character for the series she planned about a group of Rocky Mountain bounty hunters. “How’d you get into this line of work?” she asked, unable to still her curiosity.

  A slight blush crept across his sharply etched cheeks. “A friend of mine, Jamie Burke, went to work for Fetch. She was pulled in to work on a case involving the FBI. A manhunt for a terrorist who escaped from jail—”

  “You’re talking about Mohammed Nazari? I read about that.”

  Brian nodded. “Anyway, I volunteered in the search team’s command center. After the team captured Nazari, Fetch offered me a job. When he asked Reaper and Jamie to head up this office, I asked to come as well.”

  Impressed, she whistled. “Wow. Nazari was big news.”

  Brian snorted. “To hear the FBI tell it, they took down the bastard all by themselves.”

  Carly grinned, excited that she might get the inside scoop. “What was the real story?”

  Brian smiled, but the moment he opened his mouth to continue the story, the office’s front door slammed.

  Carly jerked around her head to watch as a very tall, very muscled man approached. Dear Lord, Fetch had described him as a “big Swede”, but a more apt description would have been a Viking. Or Thor, the god of thunder.

  And Fetch hadn’t mentioned how...arresting...his appearance was. Her heart fluttered, and her palms grew moist. Long blond hair was pulled back from his face, likely held in a ponytail. His face was bruised, which oddly only added to his rugged good looks of high cheekbones and a granite jaw. His lips pressed into a thin line, so she couldn’t tell whether they were naturally thin. Didn’t matter. His glacier-blue gaze pierced as it settled on her, and then swept over her body, before that razor-edged jaw tightened another notch.

  Carly cleared her throat and pushed upright from her seat to move closer, her hand extended. “Carly Wyatt,” she said. “You must be Reaper.”

  His gaze narrowed then dropped to her hand. With some reluctance, he reached to capture her hand.

  Hers was swamped inside his large, hard grip. Again, her heartbeat soared. He’d make the perfect hero for her stories. While she’d planned to feature different members of the agency in each novel, now she reconsidered.

  He still hadn’t said a word. His gaze darted to the monitor and the list of bounties. He leaned past her, close enough she had to edge back to avoid them colliding. Well, that’s rude.

  He tapped a line on the screen. “That one.”

  His voice was deep and graveled, which sent a shiver down her spine. By his biting tone, he was already irritated.

  “You do know today’s his wedding.” Brian’s eyebrows rose. “Saw the notice in the paper.”

  Reaper’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s local. We won’t have to go far. And we know exactly where he’ll be. Print it.” When he straightened, his gaze dropped to her, once again, scanning her body. His frown deepened.

  She drew a sharp breath. Although she’d been warned about his “rough edges” and un-PC behavior, his perusal now bordered on insulting. What was his problem? She’d dressed appropriately in a long-sleeved, waffle-weave Henley shirt, her oldest, most comfortable Levis, and well-broken-in hiking boots. Oh.

  His gaze centered on her holster.

  “I have a permit.” She hated the fact she sounded a little defensive...and breathless.

  Beside her, Brian snorted. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “Don’t care,” Reaper said. “You won’t need it.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m qualified.”

  Reaper’s hands fisted on his hips as he leaned over her.

  She refused to back down—or even retreat an inch. Instead, she leaned back and met his scowl with one of her own. “I’m qualified. I’ve fir—”

  “Still don’t care. I’m not getting my ass shot when you get nervous.”

  The nerve. She narrowed her gaze. “If I shoot your ass, it won’t be because I’m nervous.”

  Brian snorted, and his shoulders shook.

  Both Reaper and Carly aimed dark frowns his way, which only made him choke with laughter. Brain reached for the warrant on the printer and handed it to Carly.

  Reaper gave her one more look then turned on his heel, heading for the door.

  “Better not let him get to his vehicle before you do,” Brian said in an overloud whisper. “He might leave you behind.”

  She reached for her knapsack and her lined, flannel jacket then hurried after the tall man. The front door nearly slammed into her face, but she pushed through and scrambled behind him, heading straight to a big black SUV that hadn’t been in the
parking lot when she’d arrived. “Did I do something to piss you off?” she shouted at his back.

  He didn’t answer, circling to the driver’s side and hitting the remote on his key chain. The lights blinked. The door locks snicked.

  She grabbed the handle and tugged it upward, then quickly slid into the seat beside him, knowing if she’d hesitated a second, he would indeed have left her behind.

  He paused to give her another ice-cold glare. “Seatbelt.”

  “Yeah...right.” She pushed her carryall down on the floorboard and fumbled for her belt. Then she straightened, took a deep breath, and stared straight ahead as he hit the ignition button and worked the gears to back from the space and pull out of the parking lot.

  Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a church. Reaper parked across the street, behind a bush that overran the corner of its yard, for cover, and then killed the engine. Already, cars were in the parking lot beside the church, mostly delivery vans. A woman wheeled a cart laden with flowers up the ramp to the side of the double doors. Another woman with a clipboard stood there, talking into her cellphone.

  Not willing to let his rudeness continue unchallenged, and because she had a job to do, she gathered her pride and turned in her seat toward Reaper. “If the florist is just setting up, we have a while to wait.”

  Reaper reached and tipped open a pocket above the rearview mirror. He plucked a pair of sunglasses from the pocket and slid them up his nose.

  Again, she drew a deep breath. “How did you get into this line of work?”

  Reaper hit a button beside his door latch, and his window rolled down.

  Now, she knew he was deliberately ignoring her. “Are you still pissed about my Berretta? I can assure you—”

  The quick turn of his head locked her throat. But she wasn’t intimidated. Not really. His reactions were fascinating. And she was beginning to enjoy the way he communicated. His silence spoke volumes. Fingers itching, she bent to her pack and drew out a notebook and a pen. “That’s okay,” she said, her tone even. “You’re already giving me more than I could have asked. You know, I’m thinking about patterning my hero after you. So, your attitude is all good.”

  Yes, she was teasing him. The way his shoulders bunched, and his jaw tightened, almost made her smile. “Of course, I’ll have to give him an issue. Something personal that he works out through the course of the story. Like maybe he’s afraid of women. Maybe his mother didn’t hug him enough when he was a kid—”

  Reaper’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and then they stretched and wrapped around it.

  “When my heroine saves his ass, he’ll realize he had nothing to fear...”

  He shook his head. “Do you ever shut up?”

  “I’m told I’m a great listener,” she said with an innocent smile.

  He issued a snort.

  “Maybe he’s a virgin.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  Carly couldn’t help it. She snickered, and then had to press her lips together to keep from outright laughing. He was making this ribbing way too easy. “My heroine can be a Dominatrix...teach him how to embrace his submissive nature...” She didn’t write that genre of books, but the thought did tantalize, now that she’d met her hero. “Once she has him bound, she can start his lessons—”

  Reaper shot out a hand and mashed a finger against her lips. “Your hero isn’t submissive,” he bit out. She made a noise behind her smushed lips, but he only pushed harder. “The only lessons you need to be concerned about are those I’ll teach you. We are on a stakeout. Which means we need to keep out an eye for our target. No distractions.”

  She frowned but gave a nod.

  He removed his finger and turned to stare at the church.

  With the pressure gone, she pouted her lips and stretched them. They felt a little swollen where the rough pad of his finger had pressed. Funny, her nipples tingled while she thought about what the scrape of those pads would feel like there. No distractions, huh?

  Reaper resisted the urge to wipe his finger on his jeans. Anything to erase away the feel of her soft lips. He’d woken in a shitty mood that morning, one made shittier when he’d realized his brother hadn’t slept on the couch. He’d walked back into town to get his bike.

  Now, he had to put up with the jabber mouth beside him.

  Didn’t matter she was cute, with bee-stung lips and rounded cheeks, and a tiny chin he just wanted to cup and lift... A muscle near his eye jumped. The fact he’d noticed straight away how good-looking she was irritated the heck out of him. The moment he’d entered the office to see her cozied up beside Brian, he’d nearly tripped over his own two feet. What was Fetch thinking putting her with him? Number one, he’d already been put through the grinder getting used to riding with Jamie. That she’d proven herself capable was a miracle in his eyes. Number two, attractive women were distractions, and he needed all of his attention when he chased after dangerous targets. He’d gotten over his attraction to Jamie, and thankfully, she was off the market…but this woman?

  He tried not to look her way again. Her brown eyes were large and round, brimming with humor at the moment—at his expense. Her silky brown hair was caught up in one of those messy buns that begged a man to loosen it. She wore a long-sleeved shirt that hugged her chest, which looked full and round, and made his fingertips tingle because he wanted nothing more than to ruck up her shirt and have a peek. That her waist was the perfect, well-indented “handle” for a man to grab when he made love to her—well, he better not think too long about that because he was already semi-hard. And he hadn’t yet got a good look at her ass, but her legs? Fuck. They were long and nicely shaped. And again, his mind wandered to its predictable conclusion.

  Reaper acknowledged he was a horn dog. Everyone who knew him was well aware of the fact. What the hell, Fetch?

  Luckily, more cars arrived, pulling his attention from the lust-magnet sitting beside him.

  “Looks like some of the guests are arriving,” she whispered.

  Like the folks outside could hear what they said inside his vehicle. The way she whispered let him know exactly what she’d sound like in the dark...in his bed. Her whisper was almost as sexy as her regular speaking voice, which was kind of musical, like the sexiest Blues. “Just don’t talk.”

  “Again, did I do something to piss you off?”

  She didn’t sound angry with him, which he found perplexing. He’d never understand a woman’s mind. No, she just sounded curious. Would she be as curious in bed? In his head, Reaper started counting. Anything to get his mind out of the gutter.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  Without taking his gaze from the cars entering the parking lot, he said, “The plan is that you sit tight while I tag the bastard.”

  “You’re just waiting for him to step out of the car? What if he jumps back inside and tries to get away?”

  Amateur. He took a deep breath. “I’ll wait until he’s inside and too many people he cares about are around him.”

  “That’s the plan? You’re waiting until they’re saying their I do’s, and then you’ll stride down the aisle to take him into custody?”

  Hell. He’d thought it a good plan until she’d said it out loud. “You got a better idea?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, but why wreck their day? Catch them at the reception afterward.”

  “He drove drunk into a tree. I’d be doing his bride-to-be a favor.”

  She shrugged and turned her head, affecting she didn’t care what he said, but he could tell she hadn’t liked his words. “You write romances, don’t you?”

  Her chin lifted. “And if I do?”

  “Makes sense,” he mused, glad the shoe was on the other foot, now that he had something to poke and prod her about. “Bride’s gonna help him walk the straight and narrow, right?” He lifted his chin toward the people ascending the church stairs. One or two faces looked familiar. “I’m guessin’ groom’s already got friends behind bars by the looks of
all the tattoos and shaved heads.”

  “I have a tattoo, and I don’t know a soul who’s served time.”

  He almost barked a laugh. He had them all over his back, down his arms and across his chest. If she wasn’t his responsibility this week, he might have liked giving her a peek. “Well, seeing as I’ve hauled a few of them off to jail before, I know that crew’s not a bunch of boy scouts. If we don’t take him when he steps out of his car, we might be looking down a barrel or two.”

  “We?”

  The speculative note in her voice snapped his attention. He shook his head. “Me. Your ass is staying right here.”

  “I could follow at a distance.”

  “No.”

  A black limo pulled up in front of the church. The groom stepped out, wearing a tux and gripping his hands above his head like he’d just won a prize fight.

  “That’s our boy.” Quickly, he let himself out of his Expedition and circled behind to open the back hatch. While keeping an eye out for the men gathered around the groom to give hugs and slaps on the back, he donned a Kevlar jacket, slid the clip with his badge onto his belt and placed his Glock in his holster. When he slammed down the door, he found his pain-in-the-ass companion standing beside him.

  “Fetch said I could follow you through your day. I’m following you into that church.”

  “Lady—”

  “Name’s Carly, in case you forgot.”

  “Lady...” He again glanced at the church. The groom and his groomsmen were walking up the steps. “Don’t get in my way. You stand way the heck back. Don’t even let them know you’re with me.”

  “I can do that,” she said, her voice snippier now.

  Angry now, he ran from behind the bush to the manicured hedgerow that faced the road. The groom’s wedding party wouldn’t see him coming up behind them.

  When he was close enough, and all gazes were on the steps as the men climbed, he darted out of the hedgerow and ran for Winston Guidry.

  In the distance, he heard a car’s tires screech as it pulled up. He was almost within reach.