Bounty Hunter Ransom

by Kara Lennox

  Thinking about it made her head hurt, and she realized she was hungry. Not just light-headed from lack of food, like earlier, but truly ravenous.

  “Do you want to get a cheeseburger at Stubby’s?” she asked. “My treat.” It was the closest she was going to get to an apology for giving him a hard time. She wasn’t ready to admit she was wrong about him, not by a long shot. But she was ready for a truce, at least long enough that she could digest some empty calories in peace.

  Beau didn’t answer, but he turned the car toward Stubby’s, a greasy burger joint that had been around since before anyone could remember. Generations of high school kids had hung out there—bobby soxers and beatniks, hippies and urban cowboys, flash dancers, punk rockers and the latest kids that hadn’t yet found their niche in history. Stubby’s onion rings, in particular, were beyond compare, and whenever Aubrey ate here, it took her back to her giddy teen years.

  She and Beau slid into a booth, one they’d sat in countless times before with Gavin, David, and sometimes Patti when she was old enough to hang out with them. She recalled one time in particular when about eight kids had squeezed into a booth here, and she’d ended up sitting next to Beau by accident. She could remember how he smelled, and how he’d put his arm behind her on the back of the booth to make more room, and how it had almost felt like he had his arm around her. She’d been so paralyzed with excitement, she hadn’t been able to open her mouth all evening for fear her words would come out in a shriek.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here, she thought, knowing her face was now flushed, and knowing Beau would notice.

  If he did, he said nothing. But she thought there was something knowing in the way he looked at her and almost smiled.

  Had he suspected her monumental crush back then? She’d taken great pains to conceal it. Even now, she’d be mortified if he knew.

  Aubrey wolfed down a cheeseburger and half an order of onion rings before she slowed down. “I guess terror builds up an appetite.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Aubrey just shook her head. He had an inflated view of his abilities, she decided. A God complex. He decided who lived, who died, who went to jail and who got away. Or he thought he did. All it took was one punk with one gun to finish off either one of them. But she could talk until she ran out of breath and he wouldn’t get it.

  “When did you become a bully?”

  He laughed. “A what?”

  “You just assume you’ll get your way, that everyone will fall in with your wishes. And if someone doesn’t see eye to eye with you, you push until they do.”

  He pulled back in surprise. “Where did that come from?”

  “Taking that child from his mother. How do you know he wasn’t better off there? His father probably has lots of money for lawyers and bounty hunters. He probably plays golf with the family court judge. If the mother turned around and offered you enough money, would you kidnap the kid back?”

  He was suddenly not amused. “Understand this, Aubrey. First, Shelley is a prostitute and a drug addict. She was a neglectful, abusive mother and she had no business anywhere near a child. Second, I don’t break the law. What I do is completely legal. I’ve had plenty of people try to hire me to snatch kids away from their legal guardians, and I turn them down flat. That would make me a criminal, and I’m not a criminal.”

  “You don’t ever break the law?”

  He thought about that for a few moments. “I won’t go that far. Searching someone’s desk without their permission is technically breaking the law. Exceeding the speed limit by a couple of miles is breaking the law. I doubt even you, Squeak, could claim you never broke the law.”

  She took a long sip of her iced tea. “I tried marijuana once.”

  Finally she earned a grin from Beau. “I dearly wish I could have seen that.”

  “But I only did it once.”

  “Once is all it takes, sometimes.”

  They both went silent, and Aubrey knew they were both thinking about Gavin. At his sentencing, he’d claimed once was all it took to get him hooked on crack. He’d been working undercover, and undercover cops were never supposed to use drugs. But he’d gotten into a bind, and if he hadn’t smoked crack, the dealers he was infiltrating would have known he was a cop, and they’d have killed him. But once he crossed that line, it was easier the next time. And the next and the next. And then he had a habit, and stealing drugs from the evidence room had seemed like such an easy way to get a fix.

  But Aubrey hadn’t believed much of what went on at Gavin’s sentencing. He’d worked some kind of deal with the prosecutor, and he said whatever they wanted him to say.

  “Are you finished?” Beau said abruptly. “I’m gonna call Lori and see what she can come up with in the way of disguises.”

  BEAU LOOKED at his watch and silently cursed. He sat in Lori’s living room, decked out in his most bad-ass clothes, which included his jeans and motorcycle boots, a muscle shirt with a black denim, studded vest and a do-rag on his head. Lori had added an earring and a huge fake tattoo on his arm of a skull and a bleeding rose.

  It had taken little time to outfit him for a visit to Kink. But Aubrey was taking forever, and Beau had his doubts about whether he should have suggested she come with him to the S&M club. No matter what she wore, she would stand out as someone who didn’t belong.

  Lori emerged from the bedroom, smiling faintly. “She’ll be out in a minute. She just has to put on the clothes.”

  “Did you give her a tattoo?”

  “Three of them. And a couple of fake piercings, too.” A faint rumbling in the distance caused both Lori and Beau to pause and listen. “Do you think that was thunder?”

  “Probably.”

  She peeked out the curtains at the gathering dusk. “There are some dark clouds on the horizon. Maybe we’ll finally get some rain.” Texas wasn’t officially in a drought, but rain was always welcome this time of year.

  “It’ll just get more humid if it rains.”

  “Pessimist.”

  The bedroom door cracked open. “Lori? I’m not sure this is right.”

  “Well, come on out and let’s have a look.”

  The door opened slowly and Aubrey eased through it. At least, Beau thought it was Aubrey, though not even in his wildest fantasies had his childhood friend worn a leather bustier, a miniskirt, fishnet hose and thigh-high boots. A blue-green snake tattoo coiled around one slender arm; on the other was some kind of esoteric symbol, vaguely occult. He didn’t even want to think about where the third tattoo might be.

  A studded collar, a long black wig and generous makeup gave her a slightly Goth look, completing the image.

  Beau whistled as his body responded viscerally. This was one undercover job he was going to enjoy—pretending she was his plaything for the evening.

  “I can’t go out in public like this!” she almost wailed. “What if one of my students sees me? Or worse, one of my colleagues?”

  “If your colleagues are hanging out at Kink,” Beau pointed out, “they would hardly call attention to themselves. Anyway, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you, so don’t worry.”

  “You look fabulous,” Lori said, adjusting the wig slightly. “Now hold your head up, throw your shoulders back, and look at every man you see as if they’re worms. You definitely want to give them the idea you’re the boss—not the other way around.”

  “Huh?”

  “Aubrey, honey,” Beau said, trying to sound deadly serious, “if you act submissive in this place, someone’s liable to put you over their knee and spank you.” He had to admit, the thought had already crossed his deviant mind. Was she wearing a garter belt?

  Aubrey turned a pretty shade of pink, but her hands, now sporting long, red nails, bunched into fists. “They better not try it.”

  “Good,” Lori said. “Keep that sneer in place. Hopefully the lights will be low, so no one will notice if you blush.”
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  Aubrey raised a hand to her face self-consciously. Beau just grinned. “Ready, Squeak?”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “No, ma’am, Mistress Aubrey. Sorry.”

  Aubrey made a strangled sound as they headed out the door.

  Chapter Five

  It was dark by the time Aubrey and Beau left for Kink. They’d considered stopping by Beau’s house and getting his motorcycle, but Aubrey vetoed this idea.

  “It’s going to rain,” she said confidently. She could smell it in the air, and the thunder, a distant suggestion of stormy weather a few minutes ago, was louder now. “Anyway, if I tried to ride a motorcycle in this skirt, we’d be arrested for indecent exposure before we even got to the club.”

  Beau conceded, and they took his car. But he parked it several blocks away, explaining that his souped-up black Mustang was distinctive enough that it might be noticed. If his presence were noted, it could put a damper on the free flow of information they were hoping for.

  “Let me do the talking,” he warned her. “Remember, you’re there to make me look authentic so the other patrons will open up to me.”

  “I thought you said I was good at getting people to drop their guard.”

  “An insurance agent is a little different from the folks we’re dealing with tonight. If you blow your cover with the wrong person, it could get ugly.”

  Aubrey thought Beau was exaggerating. Still, she would keep his warning in mind.

  It was almost nine o’clock by the time they reached the front door of the club, which was up a flight of rickety stairs. The entrance was unassuming. All the windows were blackened, with only one small neon sign indicating this was a club at all. There were no beer signs or drink specials being touted to draw in patrons.

  But apparently Kink didn’t need more customers, Aubrey thought after Beau paid an exorbitant cover charge and they walked inside. The place was packed, even at this relatively early hour.

  Aubrey remembered Lori’s advice. She pushed her shoulders back and stuck her chest out, though she wasn’t accustomed to showing off her own cleavage, which the silly bustier enhanced to a ridiculous degree. She assumed a haughty expression and walked with a confident gait.

  Beau, on the other hand, just looked like Beau wearing a do-rag and sunglasses.

  Aubrey had feared her extreme costume would make her stand out, but now she wondered if she should have gone even further. It almost seemed as if the S&M crowd competed to see who could have the most piercings or cover the most square inches of flesh with tattoos. Some of the costumes were ridiculous. One man wore a full suit of medieval armor. A woman was a dead ringer for Xena, Warrior Princess, and there were several gladiators in the crowd. Some merely looked rough-edged and grungy. But none looked like college professors. Beau was right—she probably would have created a panic if she’d entered as she’d been dressed earlier.

  A young man wearing tights and—yes, a codpiece—approached her. “Is my mistress accompanied this evening?” he asked, his eyes averted.

  “Er…” Okay, what would a proper dominatrix say? “You’re too pathetic to waste my spit on.”

  The young man dropped to his knees and cowered. “Oh, please, mistress, what have I done to earn your disfavor?”

  “You were born.” She stepped over him and headed for the bar. The stupid boots were already killing her feet, and she saw an empty barstool.

  Beau was right behind her. “Are you sure you’ve never been in here before?” His voice held a grudging respect.

  She decided not to answer. A slight air of mystery wouldn’t hurt her reputation any. Squeak, indeed.

  Beau ordered a beer for himself. “And the lady will have a—”

  “Excuse me?” she interrupted disdainfully as she cocked one hip onto the barstool. She realized she was showing the top of one stocking and resisted the urge to pull down the hem of her skirt. “The lady can order for herself. She would like…” Not her usual white wine spritzer. “…a bloody Mary. And you, worm.” She looked down her nose at Beau. “You may pay for it.”

  “I think you’re enjoying this,” Beau said under his breath as he pulled a wad of bills from his jeans pocket and peeled off a ten. “Just remember what we’re here for.”

  His words blunted her momentary enjoyment. Someone in this bar might be the one who’d attacked her and threatened Patti, who was still missing. As of a few minutes ago, when Aubrey had checked her messages on the cell phone, Patti hadn’t checked in.

  Aubrey corralled her inner dominatrix and focused. She looked for any man who might have a wound on his right forearm, where she’d bitten her attacker. Almost all of the men went sleeveless, the better to display their bulging biceps, and she saw no suspiciously jagged cuts or bandages.

  “You’re new here,” the bartender said as he placed her drink on the bar in front of her. He was a slight man, perhaps five-foot-eight, with curly blond hair and a soft, cherubic mouth that made him seem childlike. But there was nothing childlike about his costume. He wore cowboys’ chaps—with no pants underneath, just a pair of tight red bikini underwear. And no shirt. But both his nipples were pierced with silver rings, and he wore wide straps of studded leather on both forearms.

  “Just moved to Payton,” she said, trying to find some place she could look that wouldn’t be embarrassing. She settled for his eyes, which were a pale blue. “A friend told me about this place.”

  Beau stood beside her, tense, watching. She knew he wasn’t happy about her chatting up the bartender. But what was she supposed to do? He’d asked her a direct question. To ignore him might arouse suspicion.

  “Are you after any particular action?” the bartender asked.

  “Not really. Just checking the place out. Though if something catches my eye…” She ran one red fingernail up Beau’s muscular arm. His nostrils flared, but he remained silent.

  “Yeah, well, a word to the wise,” the bartender said. “You’re not the only new face I see in here tonight. Better check with me before you go to the dungeons with any strangers.”

  He gave Beau a meaningful look.

  The dungeons? Aubrey had noticed a sign for “Dungeons” pointing down a staircase, but she’d thought it was just a clever way of pointing out the rest rooms.

  Beau leaned close to whisper in her ear. “The dungeons are private rooms where you can act out your fantasies away from prying eyes.”

  A shiver crawled up Aubrey’s spine. She could think of a few fantasies she’d like to act out with Beau, but they leaned more toward feathers and whipped cream than whips and chains. She shook off that unwelcome thought, though her face felt warm again. Thank goodness for the low lights.

  Thunder boomed outside, rattling the liquor bottles behind the bars. “Sounds like the storm is for real,” she said to the bartender, wanting to prolong the conversation. But he’d turned away from her and was loading up the tray of a waitress who was, in fact, all but topless. She wore red leather shorts, which didn’t completely cover her bottom, and the only thing covering her breasts were a pair of wide elastic suspenders. She didn’t even blink when a drunk biker-looking guy snapped her back with one of the suspenders, then gave her rump a hard slap.

  Had Patti actually worked in this place? Aubrey thought, less amused than she’d been a moment before. Had she let strange men grope her?

  “So, who’s the friend who sent you here?” the bartender asked, suddenly attentive to her again.

  Aubrey sipped her bloody Mary, which was so strong she almost winced. Beau had left her side, she noticed with some alarm. But then she spotted him only a few feet away, talking to an older man with a grizzled beard and an improbably huge beer belly peeking out from under a dirty T-shirt.

  “Her name’s Patti,” Aubrey said. “I don’t know her too well, but she said she worked here, or used to work here or something.”

  The bartender’s pale blue eyes suddenly sparkled with interest. “Yeah? I know Patti. She used to be hot, till
she had a baby. Then she got fat. Some of the guys here like that, I guess, ’cause she still makes the tips.”

  Fat? Patti? It was on the tip of Aubrey’s tongue to argue that Patti had been an anorectic junkie before Sara. But she’d just said she didn’t know Patti well. Her lies were going to trip her up if she wasn’t careful. No wonder Beau hadn’t wanted her to try to get information on her own.

  Still, this guy knew Patti, which meant he might know to whom she owed money. She didn’t want to discourage the flow of information.

  “So where is Patti, anyway?” the bartender asked. The question had an edge to it, though the man was trying to act like it was no big deal. “I thought she was working tonight.”

  “She told me she quit. She’s heading out west. San Francisco or someplace.”

  The bartender slammed down the glass he’d been washing. “When did she tell you this?”

  “When I saw her. Yesterday, or maybe today. I lose track of time.” Now she was getting into hot water, making up the lies as she went along. Her gaze flickered to the bartender’s leather armbands. They could be covering a bite mark. Was it remotely possible that almost the first person she’d talked to in this club was her attacker?

  No, she was being paranoid. He’d resumed washing glasses, but he kept a close watch on her. “Does she know someone in San Francisco?”

  Aubrey shrugged and hopped off the bar stool. “I don’t know. I met her at a Burger King and we talked for a few minutes. She didn’t tell me her whole life story.” She started to leave, but the bartender reached over the bar and grabbed her arm.

  “Wait.”

  She wrenched her arm free. “What do you think you’re doing, jerk-off?”

  Just then a particularly loud boom of thunder rattled the whole building like an earthquake, and the lights went out. It was black as a cave. A few women squealed, but mostly there was nervous laughter.

  “Group grope!” someone shouted.

  A hand reached out and grasped Aubrey’s breast, while another reached under her skirt and helped himself to a handful of her bottom.