“No television,” he noted when she reemerged.
“I prefer books,” she said. And that was true. Not that she wouldn’t have appreciated a television, too, but it was another thing she hadn’t quite had the budget for just yet.
“A woman after my own heart,” he said, placing his hand over his heart dramatically.
She found her lips moving upward of their own volition and looked away. No way was she flirting with him. That was a trap. One designed to get her guard down, get her to trust him. It would be a cold day in hell before she trusted a man again, especially one who looked as dangerous as a viper.
“Why are you here?”
“Right to the point, huh? I like that in a woman.”
She ignored his charm, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared.
He snorted. “All right, then. I’m here because your ex could be on his way, or at the very least some unpleasant people who work for him. And I’d like to help you.”
“Despite your far-too-charming attitude, Mr.…Ward?” She said, remembering the name she’d glimpsed on his ID.
“You can call me Nick.”
“Mr. Ward. Like I was saying, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. And by the looks of you, that’s not one inch.”
He grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. You look wiry. Could probably toss me a couple of feet.”
She held her glare, and finally, he let out a sigh, and his grin dissolved into a hard stare. “Look, Sophia, he's going to come for you. The only way to keep that from happening—the only way to protect yourself—is to come with me. Help me find him. And then he'll be in jail where he can't hurt you.”
Panic gripped her, holding her chest in a vice. Unable to form words, she just shook her head.
“You’ll be safe with me. I promise.”
A half laugh, half sob escaped her. “I’ve heard that before, Mr. Ward.”
“Nick.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Call me Nick.” He leaned forward, his eyes once again entreating, open. But she’d seen the hardness that was the real him. The coldness that lurked beneath the facade. “I know you don’t trust me, and I’m not asking you to. Just think logically. I don’t have any reason to hurt you. None of this is personal for me. It’s just a job. Help me takedown your ex, and you’ll be safe. And I’ll even give you a part of the bounty. Should give you enough to set yourself up in some other little town, or hell, even a civilized place.”
He was probably right. She’d never really feel safe while Darrell was free and looking for her, but the idea of going back to her old neighborhood made her chest fill with suffocating fear.
“So you won’t be coming after me, next? To hand me over to testify? I can’t testify against him. I just can’t. I mean, I don’t know anything anyway. I never saw him do anything.” She looked down at the poor job she’d done of a pedicure, unwilling to meet the bounty hunter’s knowing gaze. Anger rolled through her. Darrell had turned her into a liar now, too. Why couldn’t she testify? She’d seen what he’d done. But overriding the anger was panic so great, it was everything she could do to not run out of the apartment.
“I’m not giving you to the cops.”
She looked up when he spoke. The hardness was back in his expression. That was good. Easier to deal with his real face than his fake one.
“I don't care what you do about the courts. Besides, they don't need you. They have a witness. Which is why I've been called in. He jumped bail. I'm bringing him in. You're going to help me. There's fifteen grand with your name on it if you do. Not to mention that whole peace of mind thing I don’t think you’ll find until he’s off the streets.”
Her mind whirred. “Fifteen grand?”
“Yeah. Look, that’s not negotiable. Fifteen percent is a good cut for just having to hang out and chat with some old friends to try to pull him out of the damn hole he’s crawled into.”
Fifteen grand was fifteen percent of his take? Bounty hunters got what, ten percent of the bond? That would put Darrell’s bond at a million dollars. Surely that wasn’t possible. Unless…
“What charge did he jump bail on?” Her voice came out a wisp of its normal strength.
“First-degree murder, sweetheart. Your boyfriend's a cold-blooded killer.”
2
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sophia said, chin jutted out in defiance despite the sickly pallor that flushed her skin at his words. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Whatever, honey, get to packing. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” He resisted the urge to laugh at her gasp of outrage at his endearment, just barely. But he couldn’t resist the grin. She had grit, he’d give her that, knowing Darrell Ferry’s reputation. And considering the man she’d been with for so long, it was really something that she’d kept that spirit.
“This isn’t funny.” She pushed a chunk of blonde hair behind her ear and crossed her arms. Eyes glowing with irritation, she really was a pretty little thing. Too thin, definitely, but pretty. Regardless of her size, he knew better than to turn his back on her. Small and pretty didn’t mean weak.
And he’d half expected her to be spineless and malleable.
Hell, the little background information he’d dug up on her suggested she had to be tough to get through what she had without breaking. A dead father at eleven. An alcoholic mother who the girl couldn’t get away from fast enough. Then right into the arms of a criminal.
No. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for her. She was the one who’d chosen to spend years on the arm of the likes of Darrell Ferry. He’d known women just like her—one far too well—and they couldn’t be trusted. The memory closed his heart to the bit of sympathy trying to slip in.
“You’re right. It’s not funny. It’s dead serious. Now get your shit.”
“Bite me.”
“It’s your funeral, sweetheart.”
She shot him a glare and then turned and disappeared into her bedroom. He surveyed the apartment again while he waited, listening for the off chance she might try to take off out a window. Not likely. They were three stories up, and she didn’t have a fire escape out her bedroom window. He’d checked.
The apartment actually looked lived in, although meticulously clean. A few small knick-knacks adorned the counters, and a small vase with fresh flowers sat on the center of the sad little kitchen table. Floral-patterned oven mitts sat on the stove. Nothing looked new or expensive, but they were carefully chosen. Not one piece was dark or gray. Everything was bright, and flowered or simply designed. And he couldn't help mentally comparing it to his own Spartan-like decor. She decorated better on the lam than he did after years in the same apartment.
“We don’t have all night,” he called out.
Muttered curses were her only reply, and he had to force away another grin. He shouldn’t be happy about this. She was a complication, a potential fuck-up. Yeah, he needed her to track down her snake of an ex-boyfriend, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Working with people gave them an opportunity to screw up, or to screw you over.
A few minutes later, she emerged from her room with a medium-sized, old gym bag that was filled to the brim.
“About time,” he said. Not that time was really against them, except that it was a long drive back to the city. But goading her was too entertaining.
She dropped the gym bag, and it hit the ground with a loud thump. Her eyes were bright with anger again, and her cheeks flushed. It was better than the pale pallor of fear, at least. “Look, we’re going to need to get something straight before I go anywhere with you.”
“Oh? What’s that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“If we’re working together on this, then that’s what we’re doing. No ordering me around like I’m your prisoner or have to answer to you. You need me.”
God, she had spirit. “You need me, too. If you want to get out of this alive.”
She shook her head and pointed at him. “I’m not entirely convinced of that. I cou
ld just disappear again.”
She looked down at the floor, and he had to suppress the sudden urge to reach out. And do what, he wasn’t certain. Touch her? Comfort her? No way.
“You could. But he’d find you.” And so would Nick. He wasn’t letting a bounty that high get away from him. Besides, Ferry was a piece of shit, and the part of him that had pushed him to join the police department back before he knew better relished the idea of putting men like that behind bars.
She shivered and tried to cover it by crossing her arms and turning away. A wave of anger rolled through him. What the fuck had Ferry done to her to make her so obviously scared of him? Oh sure, she tried her damnedest to hide her fear, but the emotion had coated her ever since he'd knocked on her door. And it was made all the more evident every time he mentioned her ex's name.
“I don't really want to do that, anyway.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “But that doesn't mean I won't if I don't think you can keep me safe. Or if I believe that you're trying to screw me.”
“Oh sweetheart, if I try to screw you, you’ll know.”
She pointed at him, her face suddenly blazing. “And no flirting!”
He grinned then, and a small smile touched her lips in response. “I’ll do my best. But I’m afraid I’m a natural flirt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Trees alternating with rows of corn flew by her window, and the hours passed too quickly. Her gut wrenched as they drew farther and farther away from the place she’d started to think of as home. But it hadn’t been home, not really. The small town had never felt permanent enough for the title. She’d always had that niggling itch in the back of her head. The knowledge that someday, Darrell would find her there. Force her to leave.
And he had. Well, kind of. Maybe it wasn’t the big man with his slicked blond hair, movie star good looks, and dead eyes who’d found her. But he’d certainly brought disaster to her door.
Sophia eyed the man who had disturbed her happy little pretend-life. He drove with both hands on the wheel and kept his eyes on the road for the most part. A cautious driver. Very different from the man she'd left behind, but at least as dangerous.
“So, bounty hunter, do you have a plan or are we just going to wander around my old neighborhood and hope he notices me?” She clapped her hands together. “Oh! Maybe I can wear bright colors and walk around with a boom box on my shoulders, blaring some 80s music to get his attention. It'll be so John Cusack of me.”
A muscle clenching in his jaw was the only indication that her attitude irritated him. “Don’t tempt me. You’re moving into an apartment. You’ll get your old job back at the video store. And you’ll pretend that you’re just trying to get back to your old life.” His hands rolled around the wheel as if he gripped motorcycle bars. “He’ll come looking for you. Might take a little time, but I’m betting not long.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” She didn’t disagree with him, but it was a good way to see if he was just hopeful, or if he’d really done his research on Darrell.
“Because you left him without a word. My guess is after seeing something you shouldn’t have.”
Her stomach clenched at his words, but she kept her expression mild even though his eyes were still pointed firmly at the road in front of them.
“That’s not something a wanna-be big honcho can just let go, even if he wanted to.” He gave her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. “And my guess is that he doesn’t want to let you go. Not even a little bit. Men like that…they don’t let things that belong to them go until they’re well and ready to, or until they break them.”
“I’m not a fucking possession.” But nausea rolled through her at his words. He was right, and that was the hell of it all.
“You think he agrees?”
She turned and looked out the window, no longer confident she could school her expression enough to fool the bounty hunter. He was too close to the mark. Darrell viewed her as his, and she couldn't argue with Nick's assessment. It had taken her far too long to realize how Darrell thought of her, or at least, too much time to finally admit it to herself.
No. Darrell wouldn’t just let her go. Nick’s plan was sound. The second Darrell heard she was back in the neighborhood, trying to get back to her old life, he’d be there to take her back.
Or to kill her.
“You hungry?”
She blinked at him, trying to wrap her mind around the question. “Kind of.”
“There’s a diner about ten minutes from here. I stopped there on my way to your place. Pretty good burgers.”
Yes. A tiny bit of the pressure building in her shoulders lifted. Only a momentary reprieve, but she’d take it. Too soon, she’d be back home.
Home. The word shouldn’t elicit dread rushing through her body. It should make her feel comforted. Safe.
But it didn’t. Had it ever? Not since her dad died. She blinked back tears. Now was not the time to feel sorry for herself, and definitely wasn’t the time to fall apart. Not in front of the bounty hunter.
When Nick pulled into the gravel parking lot of the old diner, it was all Sophia could do to not yank open her door and run. Not from Nick. From her past.
From Darrell. From her old neighborhood. From the off chance, she might run into her mother.
She pushed out of the car and leaned against the door for a second until Nick's glare reminded her that his vehicle was a classic. An Impala, cherry. His look said that he might just value his paint job more than her life.
The diner looked like it stepped right out of the 1960s, and hadn’t been painted since. Sophia feared that a good wind might topple it. But the smell that surrounded her the second Nick opened the door for her removed any worry that the food would be as questionable as the building.
It neared eight o'clock at night, but eggs and bacon could be smelled amid the French fries and burgers. Her mouth watered and the nausea that had plagued her since she'd noticed Nick following her receded. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and oatmeal just didn't last twelve hours.
Nick paused in front of her and scanned the room. Then he waved her to a booth next to the window. No doubt to keep an eye on his baby. He took the far side of the booth, so the door wouldn’t be at his back.
“Do you always do that?” she asked. The booth was comfortable, if well-worn. Red vinyl covered the benches, the kind of material that would stick to her legs if she hadn’t changed to jeans.
“Do what?” He picked up a menu and opened it.
“Let me guess.” She picked up the other plastic-coated menu and frowned at the stickiness. “You were a cop before you turned to bounty hunting?”
He didn’t look up from his menu. “Maybe.”
She grinned. Ha. Strike.
Yep. She'd hit the bullseye. He was a former cop all right. Sure, a bounty hunter might have that type of tough attitude and awareness, but he moved like a cop. And was almost too wary for a man who generally only had to worry about his surroundings when he was bringing in a bail jumper.
“So, how'd you get into bounty hunting?”
He shot her an amused look over his menu. “My, aren't we chatty all of a sudden. Bounty hunting gets more chicks than police work.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nice evasion.”
“Thanks. It's one of my strong suits.” He leaned forward, grin still creasing his cheeks. “But since we're getting all personal-like, why don't you tell me why you left?”
“I like farmer's markets. Not enough farmer's markets in the city,” she lied.
He laughed and then smiled at the approaching waitress. “I'll have a cheeseburger. Coffee.”
The woman, who looked to be in her early fifties nodded and then jotted his order on her pad. “What can I get you, Miss?”
Sophia scanned the menu. Damn. She'd been too distracted by her thoughts and the annoyingly amusing bounty hunter to even look at the menu. “I guess I'll take a cheeseburger, too.
And a Coke to drink.”
“Pepsi okay?”
She nodded and looked back at Nick, his grin had blossomed into a full smile.
“Cheeseburger, huh? A woman after my own...stomach.” He waved his hand at her and his smile faded. “Of course, you don't look like you eat a whole lot of greasy fried meat.”
She shrugged and looked down at the table. No. She didn't eat a lot lately. It wasn't that she couldn't afford it, more that her nervous stomach couldn't handle much. Being on the run was anything but good for her.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which she became suddenly fascinated with the menu, and Nick alternated between people-watching and giving her the occasional hard stare when she pretended to be looking at other things.
He had a cop's eyes. And a cop's stare. She might not have been in a lot of trouble herself, but they’d been to her house when she was growing up far more than she’d care to admit. And it was that force of will that hid behind the flirtatious grins and near-teasing that made her confident she knew exactly what dwelt beneath the surface of the man. He might act lighthearted, but there was nothing light about him. She knew people like him. Even though he might work on the right side of the law, he was no different underneath than Darrell and his ilk.
And she couldn't let herself forget it.
“You don't have to be honest with me about why you left. Pretend that you have your secrets if it makes you feel better. But I think this will work best if you're straight with me,” he said after the waitress dropped off their food and drinks.
She crossed her arms and frowned. “So, I'm supposed to be an open book, while you keep your Mr. Mysterious vibe? No thanks.”
He shrugged as if it didn't matter. “Suit yourself.”
The woman was frustrating as hell. She didn't react as he'd expected her to. Most women in her position, with her background, would have flirted back with him shamelessly, hoping for either a new protector or to get just close enough to him to sink a knife in his back—and with some, the knife would be literal.
But Sophia didn't take the bait. She remained standoffish and guarded. He realized even a few more days of his charm wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
Bounty and Bait: Bounty Hunters, Book One Page 2
