Bounty (Hunted Love Book 2)

by Aden Lowe

  Bounty

  Hunted Love #2

  By Aden Lowe

  © 2014 by Aden Lowe

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Aden Lowe or his legal representative.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  **Translation: If you make a copy of this file and share it with friends, whether it is one or one million friends, you are breaking the law, even if you receive nothing in return. If you receive this file from a friend, both you and your friend are breaking the law. No readers' clubs, groups or associations are authorized to distribute this book on behalf of the authors. Amazon.com is the only authorized online distributor. If you need a different format, please contact the author.

  Author's Notes:

  This series contains scenes of sexual activity. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, by any of the characters within is entirely accidental.

  Finally, I genuinely hope you enjoy reading "Bounty" as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Acknowledgements:

  Thanks to all the members of the Aden Lowe's Huntresses Street Team, The Lowe-Down Fan Group, and all the other readers and fans who have so generously supported me with their time and effort and enthusiasm. Kathy Armstrong, thank you for naming Stags Leap, Kentucky. Thanks to a former team member for suggesting the winning name for the tavern, Rita's Rattlesnake, and Lee Ann Kanowsky, thank you for suggesting the winning name for the Brothers of Sin MC.

  Since Big Game published, I and the members of my team have gone through a, sometimes painful, transition. I ended a business partnership with another author and stepped out on my own. Like any major change, it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Heartfelt thanks to the members of my team who stood bravely at my side through it all despite the consequences. My PA, Ashley Wheels, has done a phenomenal job of putting my ideas about marketing to work, and has faithfully upheld my beliefs and principles. Thank you, rotten girl ;)

  Elyse, you know what you mean to me. That's the one thing in life guaranteed to never change.

  Chapter One

  Falon Harris tried to keep his mind from wondering, he really did, but it was a losing battle from the start. Jerry Smith had to possess the most aggravating voice in the world, leaving no option except to tune him out as much as possible. Only the coffee and donuts from across the street made the Monday morning briefings tolerable for Falon and the five other men around the table. Had Jerry given them any other option, they wouldn't sit through the hour-long meeting every week. But if they wanted to work, they had no choice.

  "Harris, up next." Jerry tossed a packet of papers on the table in front of Falon, drawing his attention back to the meeting. "You've got a genuine bad man there, since you didn't have any trouble with the dead-beat dad file. A CI got word to me last week that this one supposedly went home. Probably feels safe there, since bounty hunting isn't legal in Kentucky. You'll have to find him, catch him, and get him to another state to be legal."

  Great. He finally got to bring down something more than some jackass that wouldn't pay his child support. Except when he caught this one, he'd have no backup. Local law enforcement could easily consider him just as much a criminal.

  For the fourteenth consecutive Monday, Falon considered tossing the envelope back across the table and walking out. As before, only fear stilled his hand. If he didn't have this job tracking down fugitives for a bail bondsman, he would have time to think. Not a good thing. So he folded the manila envelope in half lengthwise and stuffed it in his back pocket, picked up his hat and coffee, and headed for the door.

  "Harris."

  Falon paused with one hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?" One more thing stacked against him on this one, and he would walk.

  "This one isn't your ordinary bail jumper. He's a real badass, and rumored to have made several badges disappear, but nothing sticks to him. He jumped on a Domestic Violence charge, and the only reason they bonded him out was that the Justice Center computers went offline. There were no active warrants, so they didn't realize exactly what he was before he walked out free." Jerry paused for a sip of coffee. "He's scary smart, and he runs a tight operation. No one rolls on him, because they're more afraid of him than they are of doing hard time. You keep your ass covered out there. You'll be working entirely without a net. Take all the time you need. Besides the bond, there's a federal reward on him. Just check in on Monday mornings."

  "Got it." Falon cursed under his breath as he went through the door. Just his luck. More bad news, and his damn back still refused to turn on the job. If anything, the guy being dangerous ensured Falon had to try. All that time picking up child support evaders, and they send him after a cop killer on his first real hunt for them. Of course, some of the Al Qaeda targets he'd brought in would probably make this real bad man look like a pussy, but the guy who assigned their cases had no idea of that. Made him wonder if he'd pissed someone off in the big office.

  The hundred yards down the street to his parking spot seemed like a marathon, but he eventually reached it, stashed the envelope and his hat in the saddlebag and swung astride his Harley. Might as well figure out what and where, then hit the road as soon as he grabbed a change of clothes, his razor and toothbrush. He wouldn't earn that reward sitting on his ass and wasting time.

  By the time he turned off the main road a few miles from town, he'd started making a mental list. This would require a more complex plan than he'd needed previously in this job. His heart started to pound, just like back in the day when orders came down for a new target. Finally.

  At last, maybe something had found a way through the stone façade of pain he'd built around himself. Perhaps he had found a way to keep his heart beating and his lungs working a little while longer. He pushed the morbid thoughts aside as he slowed and leaned the bike into the turn to his driveway. He had no time for such bullshit. And he sure as hell couldn't afford to get sucked into the past and all the hurt and betrayal that went with it.

  The little house he rented stood at the end of the narrow drive, half-concealed from the road by three massive oak trees. In another lifetime, the place might have served as a refuge, a quiet place to spend time with those he loved. These days it was just another torture chamber, a place where he couldn't get away from memories best left buried. The nightmares sought noise and crowds, forcing him to find quiet solitude to keep them somewhat at bay.

  Inside, the place resembled a monk's cell more than a home. Falon hadn’t bothered to try and make it comfortable or welcoming. He wasn't there enough to worry about the niceties, even if he'd cared. The little bedroom held only a mattress and springs on a Hollywood frame, with one pillow, a sheet, and a thrift store blanket as concessions to comfort. A cheap laundry basket in the bottom of the little closet stored socks and underwear, eliminating the need for a dresser. Less than five minutes later, he finished packing by dropping his zippered shaving kit into the beat up old leather duffle bag.

  In the living room he dropped into the threadbare recliner he'd bought from a thrift store, and turned the mostly black-and-white television on to a twenty-four hour news channel. A green strip held the center of the screen, catching his attention for a second, before he turned to open the manila envelope. Time to learn all he could about his quarry.

  Falon read through the packet several times, then used the web browser on his smartphone to study maps of the area
where the wanted man was suspected to be hiding out. With as much information as possible committed to memory, he turned everything off and locked the house up. Less than forty minutes from the time he turned into his driveway, he gunned his bike out of it.

  The weather was perfect for travel, warm but not hot and Falon enjoyed the feel of the miles falling away behind him. He stopped for lunch and to stretch his legs in a little town at the side of the interstate. The little diner he chose was quiet in the middle of the afternoon, the only other customer a young mother riding herd on two rambunctious little boys who stared at his bike with open-mouthed awe.

  When he finished and left, the mother was in the parking lot, trying in vain to convince the kids to get in the car. Instead, they stood looking at his bike, dodging her attempts to get her hands on them, and talking in their excited childish voices. Each apparently knew some important fact that the other disputed vehemently, from the bits and pieces of their conversation Falon could make out.

  He watched for a moment, then inspiration struck and he approached the mother. "Ma'am? If it's okay with you, they can sit on my bike for a minute. You can help them up." Damn, he was a fool. Should have just shooed them away and hit the road and never looked back.

  The lady looked at him in surprise. "Uh, yeah, if you're sure."

  Too late, he was stuck now. No getting out of it. He nodded and approached the boys and squatted down to their level. "Hey, li'l men, I'll make a deal with you."

  The boys stared in wide-eyed silence and inched closer to their mother.

  "You can get on my bike for a minute, sort of try it on for size, if you agree to listen to your momma and get in the car for her when you get off."

  Broad grins spread across chubby little faces and the little boys nodded eagerly while their mother looked on in relief.

  He pulled his helmet off the handlebar and held it up. "First rule of motorcycles, always wear your lid. Who's first?" The smaller boy stepped forward. Falon glanced at the mother and when she nodded permission, put the helmet on the child and fastened the chin strap. Again with the mother's permission, he lifted the boy and set him astride the bike and showed him how to hold the handlebars.

  He stepped back a moment, while the happy child made various engine noises and squealed pretend tires. A vague ache settled somewhere in the middle of his gut. He'd figured he'd have one of those by now. If Chelsea hadn't betrayed him, he might have. He clenched his jaw and pushed the pain away forcefully.

  "Alright, li'l man, time to give your brother a turn." He repeated the helmet routine with the other boy and lifted him onto the bike. The first child gripped his mother's hand, face glowing with excitement.

  "Sir, I can't thank you enough." The mother's soft voice barely carried above the little biker's engine noises. "Their daddy's gone and it's hard to give them the guy things they need."

  "No thanks necessary, ma'am. Kids need stuff like that." He turned to the little biker. "Okay, li'l man, time to go to your momma. I've got to roll. I have a lot of miles to put down before night." He lifted the kid off the bike and when he went to his mother, squatted again to talk to both of them. "You li'l men want to be real bikers?" The kids nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling. "Okay, here's the most important part of being a biker. You always respect your momma, and other ladies, and you always help other people. Think you can do that?" More excited nods. Falon held his fist up and showed them how to fist bump. "Alright, get in the car for your momma and take good care of her."

  The kids scrambled to do his bidding, chattering once more while their mother gave him an appraising look, including a glance at his left hand. The lack of a wedding ring there seemed to give her courage. "Maybe if you're going to be around later…"

  Falon shook his head and swung onto the bike. "Nah, I'm just passing through. You take care of those little boys. And don't be selling yourself short just because you're tired of being alone." He started the engine, not waiting to hear what she might have to say. He didn't want to know. One hand lifted in salute to the kids, he rolled the bike out of the space and took off. The sooner he got back on the road the better, before temptation made him take that lonely lady up on her not-so-subtle offer. That just would not be good all the way around.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Falon rolled into the little town of Stags Leap, Kentucky, consisting of one main street with a half dozen lesser streets intersecting it to create a business district of a dozen blocks. He took the last left before the main street merged into what looked like a rural two-lane road that snaked along the ribs of a steep hillside before disappearing over the opposite side. The grocery store that took up the corner gave way to a parking lot it apparently shared with the church on the next lot. The small park on the other side of the church served as a transition to a residential area.

  A big Victorian sat on the corner in the midst of carefully maintained gardens, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. On down the block, homes of similar style and, presumably, similar status, occupied slightly smaller and less elaborate yards. An adolescent impulse to thumb his nose at such affluence tempted Falon to rev the Harley's engine to an intrusive roar, but he managed to grit his teeth and resist.

  Keeping an eye on his speed, Falon rolled down the street, paying close attention to both sides. To the right, the homes were decidedly less prosperous, but still well-kept and nice. The further he went down the street, the less impressive they became. By the time he reached the end, where the only option was a left-hand turn, the residences were solidly settled into disrepair. Broken down cars sat blocked up in the driveways, and lawns were littered with broken toys and discarded furniture.

  He made the turn and found himself immediately back in the business area, although the shops were strikingly different from those on the other end of town. A liquor store, a tattoo parlor, a pawn shop, and a convenience store lined the left-hand side of the street. The other side was taken up by a large metal building set a hundred feet back from the street and surrounded by a dusty gravel parking lot. The hand-painted sign on the front of the building declared that the place was called Rita's Rattlesnake. Interesting name.

  A dozen or so vehicles, from a beat-to-death pickup and an aging sedan with the passenger door hanging at an odd angle and wired in place, to a brand new Escalade with custom rims, sat in the gravel parking lot. Off to one side, four Harleys stood proudly with a straight shot to the street for a quick getaway.

  Falon went on past, and explored down several side streets, just getting a feel for the town. A surprising variety of businesses called Stags Leap home: a high end art gallery, several antique shops, a couple of craft shops, a florist, hell, even a smoke shop. And three funeral parlors. How the hell did a town that size support three funeral parlors? Stags Leap must have a high death rate.

  The homes in the residential areas ran the full gamut of dwelling possibilities too, from spacious new mini-estates on the north side of town in a gated subdivision and well-preserved historical homes, to shacks remaining upright on sheer imagination, and a trailer park full of rundown mobile homes with broken out windows and busted doors. A low-income housing project occupied a big chunk of the south end of town, stretching in a sort of elongated apostrophe shape back into the narrow valley where two hills intersected. Falon didn't spot any indications of a homeless population, surprisingly.

  Satisfied with his exploration of Stags Leap, he looped back around to the tavern, where the sign out front proclaimed meals were served daily until eight o'clock in the evening. It appeared to be the only place in town to get an actual meal. Given the choice, he'd take that any day over deep-fried sweepings from the slaughterhouse floor. Decision made, he rolled into the parking lot and walked his bike back into a slot facing the road out of town.

  Knees just a little too loose to move fast, Falon took his time climbing off the bike and making sure everything was secured. No need to walk in on an outlaw supper feeling
less than his best. The leisurely walk to the door provided a good opportunity to look over everything in the parking lot, too. With rare exceptions, a building's occupants could usually be fairly well assessed by examining the vehicles parked outside.

  Just inside the double doors, the old habit of never leaving his back exposed in a potentially dangerous situation kicked in, and he stepped to the left to put his back the column supporting the entrance into a dark little alcove set up as an arcade and removed his sunglasses. He could have removed them outside, of course, but waiting until he came inside meant less adjustment time for his eyes. Tantalizing aromas from further inside made his stomach growl.

  Two kids, around twelve, currently occupied the arcade, battling it out on some sort of race simulator. Falon had no desire to spend a few minutes re-acquainting himself with arcade games. Sure, they'd come a long way since he'd spent time playing games, but he preferred to spend his time productively. Few pursuits seemed less wasteful of that precious commodity to him.

  He moved forward, into full view of the main part of the tavern, with no choice but to make himself a target for anyone who might object to being hunted down. Fortunately, no one knew him there, and no bullet came to greet him.

  With an inner shrug, he threw off the eerie feeling, and headed for the bar occupying the whole end of the building beyond the arcade. Very clever design. The position of the arcade sheltered the bar, and the cash register where all the patrons paid their tabs. Behind the bar, the kitchen occupied a sizable addition to the building, invisible from the front and side of the building.

  Falon headed for the middle of the bar, where a woman with striking black hair rolled table utensils into napkins and stacked them neatly into a bin. Smooth ivory skin along her jaw and down the length of her neck made his fingers tingle with want. Damn, he really had gone too long without getting laid. Have to see about fixing that before it became a major distraction and liability.