The Chase

by Jesse J. Thoma

  Synopsis

  What happens when the woman of your dreams lands in your swimming pool at the same time that buckshot riddles not only your back deck, but also your comfortable, orderly, safe life?

  When bounty hunter Holt Lasher splashes into Isabelle Rochat’s swimming pool, Isabelle assumes the shotgun blast was meant for Holt. After all, who would want to shoot a corporate CPA when a bounty hunter is standing in front of her? The answer forces Holt and Isabelle on a perilous journey through an underworld of drugs and underhanded deals, from the Rhode Island House of Representatives to a methadone clinic. Compelled to protect Isabelle by a sense of duty and an attraction neither of them expected, can Holt catch the assailant in time, or will her commitment to the chase leave the idea of happily ever after impossible?

  The Chase

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  The Chase

  © 2013 By Jesse J. Thoma. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-898-8

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: March 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Victoria Oldham and Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is an odd solitary pursuit in that it requires a huge number of people to get a simple idea to become a book. The story, words, and work may be mine, but The Chase would still be a nice little tale I told myself from time to time were it not for the wonderful people, both new and old, who have had a hand in this book’s creation. First and foremost, without the wonderful Bold Strokes Books and Radclyffe’s leadership, this novel would not be. That thank-you extends to everyone at Bold Strokes, authors and those working behind the scenes alike. I feel a special debt of gratitude to my editor, Victoria Oldham. She was a joy to work with, and I can honestly say this book would not be worth a darn without her insight, guidance, cajoling, and encouragement. A warm thank you to Cindy Cresap for her copy editing and Sheri for a beautiful cover.

  I have an outstanding group of friends and family who support and encourage me unconditionally. Thanks especially to Patty, Martha, Alli, Deb, Claire, and Amanda. And Meg, who knew handing me a Bold Strokes book and saying “These are really good, you should read one,” would have led to this?

  I especially have to thank my parents and my wife’s family for being proud of me no matter what I pursue.

  And finally, a thank you to my wife. Without you, writing about romance would be impossible.

  Dedication

  For Alexis

  Love Rocks when we’re together

  Love Rocks, gonna love you forever

  Love’s got me rockin and I only wanna rock with you

  Chapter One

  Peanut zigged as Holt zagged.

  Holt was incredibly adept at catching her man, but Peanut was smart. And fast. When judges determined flight risk, they didn’t consider the hazard presented by a pair of sneakers on the right feet. She leapt over a short garden fence, crossed the lawn, and jumped the fence on the opposite side. They’d been running for blocks, and it didn’t look like the teenager she was chasing had any intention of slowing down. At least her gym membership was proving useful.

  No one paid the least bit of attention to the baggy-panted teenager running like hell, pursued by a scruffy looking woman. This was Providence, Rhode Island, after all, and there were other things to worry about than the trials and tribulations of two people sprinting down the sidewalk of a busy street.

  Holt cursed. Peanut was fearless, and she knew the direction his thoughts were going the moment he glanced across the street to the residential neighborhood on the other side. There were hiding places all over that area, tucked in among the basketball hoops, lawnmowers, and patio furniture of the perfect suburban enclave.

  Peanut chose an opening the duration of a blink and darted into traffic. Holt hesitated only a second before charging after him. All around her, car brakes screeched and horns blared, but she kept her eyes on her prey, despite the sweat streaming down her face.

  The roadbed was much warmer than the sidewalk, the heat from hundreds of roaring engines turning an otherwise pleasant day into a scorching, paved torture chamber. Peanut was ten feet in front of her and slowed to avoid a speeding car. Holt picked up her speed, hoping she wouldn’t need to tackle him in the middle of the street. She saw the BMW speeding toward her and saw the driver yelling at the driver in the car next to him. He turned back and saw her just in time to put his car into an impressive skid. She crouched, knowing she didn’t have enough time to get out of his way. His momentum had slowed enough by the time he reached her that she wasn’t thrown over the windshield when she leapt onto his hood. Her quads reloaded as she landed and in one motion sprung onto the BMW’s roof. A long, striding step brought her to the trunk and she leapt safely to the ground. With so much adrenaline pulsing through her body, she was pretty sure she could run through a brick wall and not feel a thing. James Bond, take that.

  Peanut stood openmouthed on the curb, looking like he was about to applaud. His amazement was short-lived, however. Holt hit the ground running, determined to get her man before he could elude her in the tree-lined neighborhood directly behind him. With a lunge, she grabbed Peanut’s shirt, but the material slid through her fingers as he bolted toward the residential area. She planted her right foot firmly to push herself into a tackle when her left foot unceremoniously collided with the back of her calf. She scraped her hands on the uneven cement, only narrowly missing a total face plant, and Peanut pulled ahead of her again. So much for James Bond.

  “Fuck! Peanut! Slow your skinny ass down. I’m tired of chasing you.”

  Of course, he ignored her; she hadn’t expected anything else. Fuming at her clumsiness, she scrambled back to her feet and sprinted after him.

  The neighborhood they’d entered was standard cookie cutter, the different gardens the only thing to set them apart, and high fences around the yards made it difficult for anyone to find a quick escape route. Holt knew she could react to any trick Peanut tried to escape, though she was less than ecstatic when he settled for fence climbing, no doubt hoping her upper body strength wasn’t as impressive as that of her legs.

  Holt sighed in exasperation. The first fence Peanut chose to scale was wooden, with an uneven top, providing little leverage for her legs and likely to sting like hell when it came in contact with her road rash-damaged hand. She headed straight at the six-foot barrier, planting one foot against the rough boards and surging upward at the same time. With the grace of a high jumper, she pivoted her body over the top and dropped to the other side.

  Peanut obviously hadn’t landed quite as delicately and was limping away as fast as he could across a beautifully manicured lawn. Holt caught up to him and grabbed a handful of his shirt
as he skirted the impossibly blue pool dominating the backyard. She saw no reason to bring him to the ground since the fight had gone out of him. She relaxed her grip enough to let him know she wasn’t going to hurt him as she pulled them to a stop.

  Satisfied he wasn’t going to take off again, she bent double to catch her breath. Peanut twitched. Holt geared up for another chase, but when she followed his line of sight, her adrenaline surged for another reason. Just before the deafening “boom” and the spray of buckshot littered the house behind them, Peanut ducked his head and drove his shoulder hard into Holt’s sternum. They both flew backward, landing with an explosive splash in the cool, refreshing pool, buckshot peppering the water over their heads. Luckily, he had been aware enough of his surroundings to see the hooded head pop up above the fence line and level the shotgun barrel at them. If he hadn’t jumped, she never would have looked over. Peanut saved her life.

  *

  Isabelle Rochat jumped off her couch. Whatever punk had just thrown a firecracker into her backyard was going to be sorry he ever laid eyes on her. It was Saturday. She was working. And she really hated being interrupted when she was working.

  Through the sliding glass door leading to the patio, she could see two individuals splashing in her pool. One, a teenage boy, was being dragged toward the pool’s edge by a brunette woman. She knew she sounded too much like her mother, but she really did have to wonder about the lack of respect people showed for each other these days. Who in their right mind would think it was okay to take a dip in a stranger’s pool? Readying herself for a showdown, she slid the door ajar and stepped out onto her back patio.

  “What do you think you’re—”

  “Get down,” the brunette yelled before Isabelle could finish her question. “Get the fuck down! Look at your goddamned siding! Get your ass on the ground.”

  Isabelle saw the hooded figure appear over her fence at the same time she registered seeing the small holes littering her siding. She dropped to her stomach a split second before another explosion sounded across the quiet neighborhood, spraying deadly shot where her head had been. Squealing tires registered briefly before her mind was filled with a flash of white somewhere in her peripheral vision and the slap of wet shoes on concrete. The brunette was out of the pool and running in a crouch toward the back fence. The teenager clung to the side of the pool, making no move to pull himself out. The mystery woman stopped at the fence and listened before pulling herself up to look over the six-foot high obstruction. She hung there for a moment, looking around. Isabelle was captivated by the tease of tattooed skin through the shirt as the stranger was suspended on the fence. A colorful blur spread over her tense, powerful shoulders and down her spine. Isabelle had a soft spot for ink, and despite the seriousness of the situation, she felt her body react as the tattooed intruder squelched her way back to the pool and dragged the young man out of the water by the scruff of his T-shirt.

  The dripping hair and tight body were something out of a movie, and Isabelle was glad the woman’s face was hot too. It would have been a huge letdown if she were ugly. Her wet white T-shirt left little to the imagination, clinging to a dark blue racer back sports bra and a lean, muscled torso that formed an almost perfect triangle from her strong shoulders to her narrow waist.

  “Was that one of your crew, you little punk?” Her voice was gravely and a bit rough, perfectly complementing the unrefined owner.

  The teenager shook his head emphatically. “Come on, H. You know that’s not how I run. I don’t know who that guy was.”

  His face had lost all color, and Isabelle wondered if he was more afraid of the gunman or the tall woman berating him and shaking him like an empty sack.

  “You saying none of you idiots have shotguns and ski masks?” the brunette asked angrily.

  “Well, I don’t think that would be an accurate assessment,” the youth admitted carefully. “But if that was one of my guys, why the hell would he be shooting at me?”

  The brunette’s body relaxed and she seemed to let go of her anger. Her grip on the young man’s shirt loosened and she glanced at Isabelle. “Peanut, you kill me. You’ve run me across the whole damn city, and now I’ve got myself an ethical dilemma. Get your scrawny ass out of here before I change my mind. If I find out it was one of your guys though…”

  “Thanks, H. Been fun runnin’ witcha today. I haven’t forgotten your offer either. Just got to think some things through.” Peanut backed away as he spoke, glancing over his shoulder for the fastest way out of the yard.

  When he disappeared through the gate, the impressive stranger yelled after him, “And reschedule your court date.” She pulled her cell phone out of a soaked pocket, examined it in disgust, and dropped it back into her jeans. “Damn it, I hate getting fucking shot at.” Seeming to remember she wasn’t alone, she jogged over to Isabelle, who was still flat on the ground, her elbows propping her up. “Are you okay? Did you get hit?”

  Isabelle looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They were soft with concern, but she imagined they could be cold as steel when anger flashed through them. The blue stood out all the more because of the chin length dark hair framing the intruder’s perfect face. From a distance, it had looked angled and androgynous, but up close, the features were refined, almost delicate. Isabelle had been correct in her snap judgment. The woman was gorgeous.

  “What? Oh, no. I’m fine, thanks to you. Just a little shaken up. Is it safe to get up?” Isabelle hated how small her voice sounded. She didn’t like being out of control.

  The woman pulled her to her feet with an ease that gave proof to the muscled outline beneath her wet T-shirt. “Yeah, I think it’s safe. Bad guy’s long gone. I’m Holt Lasher. Sorry about the excitement.” Her eyes were still soft, but she continued looking around cautiously, probably scanning for danger.

  “Isabelle Rochat.” As some of her fear receded, Isabelle remembered she was pissed. Getting shot at hadn’t helped. Neither had being turned on by an indistinguishable back tattoo. The gunman wasn’t there to receive her wrath, which left the woman who was dripping water all over her deck. And anger, fear, and adrenaline, combined with soaring hormones, made it one hell of a wrath. “What the hell were you doing in my pool?”

  Holt’s attention snapped back to Isabelle. Given that Holt was now thoroughly taking in every part of her, head to toe, Isabelle wasn’t sure Holt had really looked at her before. Holt’s intense stare seemed to pause longest on Isabelle’s blond hair and she noticed Holt took her time tracing the line of her curvy torso. It was very disconcerting and a bit of a turn-on.

  Isabelle studied her uninvited guest, who was now rolling her eyes and pinching the skin between her temples, looking like she was resisting the urge to slap herself in the forehead. Isabelle wondered if the woman was always this impulsive. Holt Lasher—a name Isabelle suspected was a heap of crap, as it sounded like it belonged to a superhero, thus, annoyingly, making it a tiny bit sexy—had started rocking back and forth from foot to foot almost imperceptibly. If it was a nervous habit, Isabelle thought it gave her a bit of vulnerability she hadn’t shown when dragging the kid from the pool. The change in her gaze was disconcerting. Her blue eyes had gone from light and distant to focused and dark gray. Isabelle knew that look. It was probably the same one she was sending back. Some stranger was looking at her with sex eyes on her back deck, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about her response. Already, her pulse was racing in parts farther south than was polite on a first meeting. She briefly contemplated asking Holt inside and insisting she get out of her wet things. All of them.

  The soft ping from her computer reminded her she had work to do. Afternoon sex with a stranger would have to wait for another day.

  Ignoring the little voice in her head that pointed out the absence of perfectly fuckable women who’d dropped into her pool before today, she said testily, “You didn’t answer me. Why were you in my pool?”

  “Your pool…right. I was in your pool bec
ause Peanut pushed me into it.”

  “Peanut, I am assuming, is the kid who went hightailing it out of here once you let go of his neck?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Do I even dare ask why you were in my backyard taking a fully clothed dip with Peanut?”

  “I was chasing him. He missed his court date again, and I was trying to convince him to reschedule. He actually saved us both by launching me into the pool with him. He could have let me get shot. I knew he was more than just a little shit.”

  “Well, in that case, I’m really thrilled that you were able to use my pool to find out a juvenile delinquent is really a criminal with a heart of gold. Please feel free to use my home as your proving ground anytime. Maybe I should give you a key.” The adrenaline high she had been riding was wearing off, and her initial anger at having strangers in her backyard had returned. Even if the rational side of her knew Holt probably wasn’t thrilled with getting shot at either, she was so calm about the whole experience it was adding to Isabelle’s annoyance.

  “I’m a people person, so I know you’re being sarcastic, but you do have a lovely pool. And you do learn a thing or two about a person by nearly getting shot.”

  “What can you possibly learn from something like that?” Isabelle asked. “It’s happened to me once now, and I can say I never want to repeat the experience. Has this happened to you before?”

  Holt hooked her fingers into the belt loops on either side of her narrow hips and hiked her pants back up to a decent level. The water was pulling them farther and farther down the longer they talked. Isabelle thought Holt’s pants hitting her deck would be a wonderful distraction to this mess of a day. She knew she was the one looking at Holt with sex eyes now. Holt looked like she wanted to reach out and pull Isabelle close and kiss her. That sounded nice to Isabelle too, but then she recalled something Holt said.