“I did consider it, and that’s where the apology comes in. I’m sorry I make you miserable.”
“You don’t make me miserable, but you do scare me a little. I need you to tell me those bullets were meant for you, that I’m safe in my own home. I know I was a bitch a few days ago, but I’m not used to getting shot at. I told you what I need, and if you didn’t come to offer me that, then honestly, why are you here?”
Holt hadn’t realized how frightened Isabelle was and instantly felt bad she had spent three days debating how best to get back in her good graces, even if she was still having the house watched and knew she was safe. “I came to invite you out. To a party. With me. Tomorrow?”
“A party? You do remember I’m an accountant, right? We’re math nerds, paper pushers, bean counters. I’ve been to a bounty hunter party exactly never. Boring people tend to date their own kind. Will there be strippers and orgies? I get most of my information from movies. Aren’t most mob parties in strip clubs?”
“You need to watch different movies,” Holt said. She was hurt and didn’t try to hide it. She didn’t say another word. She simply turned and slammed out the front door. If Isabelle wanted to think of her as the kind of scum who took advantage of people, there was clearly no common ground for them to work from. She was tense with anger, making her gait jerky as she stormed down the street in the direction of her truck. She couldn’t believe she had tried to invite Isabelle to her godson’s party. Even worse was how upset she was over Isabelle’s joking about it being slimy. She was more upset at her overreaction to the joke than the joke itself.
Most of the people she considered family would be at this party, and Isabelle had inadvertently sullied the goodness she felt when in their presence by questioning the nature of the party. She was by no means celibate, but she didn’t sleep around as much as her reputation suggested, and strip clubs had never been her thing. But being a supposed Casanova was actually good for business. It was amazing what women would tell her while trying to get her in bed. Although she did have a weak spot for blondes, she hated that Isabelle thought so little of her. What kind of insensitive monster would use Isabelle’s fear and vulnerability to get her in bed?
“Holt, stop. I’m sorry. What did I say wrong?”
Holt stopped, but she didn’t turn around. Isabelle had to come around to face her.
“Why did you walk out? I was only joking.”
“Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole? I mean, I know you don’t like me, and fine, you have your reasons, but you think I’m that much of a dick? Really?”
Holt knew she wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her hurt, and Isabelle looked taken aback by the display of emotion.
“I don’t think you’re an asshole. The last time I saw you I kissed you, then slapped you. Today, you show up and ask me to a party. You’ll have to excuse my confusion. I don’t understand what bounty hunters do. And I don’t fully understand why you make me act like a crazy person.”
Isabelle looked supremely frustrated, but she never broke eye contact with Holt. It felt like Isabelle was searching for every last kernel of Holt’s makeup, maybe hoping to find some redeeming aspects. It was unnerving. Holt felt even more exposed and vulnerable.
She could feel the muscles in her neck bunch as she tried to get control of her emotions. The unintended effect was to distract Isabelle completely. Holt had a tattoo that started on her chest and snaked its way up her neck in thin, delicate vines, and she had been told that when she got angry, the vines rippled and danced with the movement of her muscles. Isabelle seemed to be enjoying the show. She also looked a little intimidated by Holt, but mostly, she looked like she wanted to trace the vines with her tongue. Holt took a step closer. Isabelle didn’t step back.
“My neighbor is really nosy, Holt. If she’s not wrapped up in something on TV, you’re going to make her worry her rosary beads down to sawdust. I’m going to take a step back so I don’t do something rash. Why don’t you tell me what I did to make you look so incredibly sad?”
Holt let Isabelle take a step back, but what she really wanted to do was kiss her. So far, they had kissed twice, at totally inappropriate times, and it was sort of fun. Isabelle was certainly not predictable. “First, you didn’t give me much time to explain my invitation before you jumped to conclusions. Second, exactly what kind of things do you think bounty hunters do? Rape and pillage? Sleep with every woman in the village, sow our seed, create an army of bounty hunters? I was asking you to an adoption party. For a two-year-old. If you can make that sexual, then skip bail sometime and I’ll be happy to show you how I feel about it.” Holt stepped around Isabelle and continued toward her truck.
“Did you grow a penis in the past three days?” Isabelle asked.
She had to raise her voice since Holt was a few feet away. Holt figured the nosy neighbor had probably just dropped dead.
“Excuse me?”
“A penis. Have you acquired one that I don’t know about? ’Cause without one, sowing your seed would be a tad bit difficult.” Isabelle walked into Holt’s personal space, stopping just short of locked lips. “The pillaging part, now that’s another matter. I could imagine you quite capable in that area if you put your mind to it.” Isabelle ran her hands up and down Holt’s biceps, squeezing her still tense muscles.
“So I’m not a sex fiend as long as I don’t have a penis, but I’m still a Neanderthal brute because of my job?” Holt couldn’t remember why she had been so angry.
“Are we still fighting, or have we switched to dirty talking foreplay?”
“I have no idea,” Holt said, blowing out a breath.
“Is the offer of a party still on the table?” Isabelle asked, backing up a step.
Holt figured she didn’t want to once again confound the issue of adoption party and sex. She appreciated it. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. And this time I’ll ring at the front door.”
Chapter Five
Isabelle felt ridiculous. She had already burned through three outfit options getting ready for a two-year-old’s adoption party. She was confident he wouldn’t care what she was wearing. The problem was Holt and how much she had thrown her world into chaos. What if Holt thought this was a date? Clearly, casual Sunday afternoon attire was out. But if gunfire erupted, she was not interested in being shot because her high heels prevented her from hauling ass.
She decided over breakfast to call Holt and cancel, but procrastinated long enough that by midmorning she had changed her mind. She had wished over and over since Holt asked her to the party that she could rid herself of the specter, real or imagined, of potential violence oozing from every aspect of Holt’s life. She had lived like that for long enough, and had sworn to never go back. Once again, the problem was Holt. In the time Isabelle had known her, Holt had not once done what Isabelle expected her to. She was effectively refusing to be placed in the neat box Isabelle desperately wanted to cram her in.
When the doorbell rang an hour later, she chided herself for jumping. Her heart was racing as she let Holt in. Her fifth and final outfit choice matched Holt’s casual, yet well put together style. Holt kissed her on the cheek by way of greeting and held the door for her as they headed for the truck.
Isabelle thought this was probably one of the crazier things she had ever done, but when Holt smiled at her, she was happy she said yes. She worked all the time, hadn’t been on a date in months, and had spent most of the time since the shooting frightened out of her mind. But Holt was quite possibly the hottest woman she had ever seen outside the movies, and they were going to a party for a two-year-old. She doubted the child’s mother would have invited Holt if gunfire were a regular part of her days.
At least for today, Isabelle was content to take advantage of the only positive she could see in Holt’s job—airtight security—and Holt’s smoking looks. If it turned out she really was a jerk, at least Isabelle would know for sure. Her sister was constantly telling her that her standards were too h
igh. Two weeks ago, Isabelle wouldn’t have stayed through a first date with Holt, even if they’d been speed dating. Her sister was going to be very proud.
*
On the way to the party, Holt’s phone rang. She held up a finger to keep Isabelle from commenting when she answered it. “Now? After four days, you pick right now to finally bring him in? No, Max, it’s fine. Be there in ten.”
Holt sighed when she hung up. “Do you mind if we make a quick pit stop? I wanted to forget work for today, but one thing you should know about bounty hunters, we’re always on the clock.”
“Doesn’t your phone have an off button?”
“Not if you own the company,” Holt said, looking at Isabelle apologetically.
Isabelle was surprised to hear Holt owned her own business. For some reason, it didn’t seem to fit with how she imagined her life. “Where are we going?”
“My office. You don’t have to come in. I’ll just be a minute, as long as you promise not to bolt while I’m inside.”
“No, I want to come in,” Isabelle said. “I want to see where you work. I really don’t have a clue what you do day-to-day, except manually remove the off button on all your employees’ cell phones. And push teenagers in pools.”
“Just don’t expect guns blazing and bad guys lined up in rows. The reality is nothing like the movies.”
Isabelle laughed and was quiet for a moment. “Are you sure your friend won’t mind the extra person? At the party?” Isabelle asked.
“She won’t mind at all. The more hands on deck to keep the kids entertained, the better. Hope you like rugrats.” Holt grinned as she opened the door and led Isabelle into her building.
Max jumped to attention when Holt burst through the door. Most of the crew had left for the day, but Max was still manning her desk. A few other people were spread out around the room, but it looked like a skeleton crew. If Max was caught off guard by the presence of Isabelle, she didn’t let on. “Uh, ma’am.”
“Max.” Holt stopped her, putting her hand up to keep her from continuing. “Stop calling me ma’am. You make me feel like my mother.”
“Or course ma—boss. Peanut is in your office. I’m sorry he’s a few days late. We also got a new jumper. This one’s big.”
Holt raised her eyebrows. “Max, I chased Peanut across half the county. Where the hell did you find him holed up? And who’s the new jumper?”
“State Rep. Parker Caldwell is our new jumper, boss. And I found Peanut at his cousin’s house. The idiot can’t help buying things for his truck. Next time he should use cash.”
Isabelle and Holt looked up sharply at Max’s news. Isabelle was surprised to hear the well-known and, until recently, well-respected state representative hadn’t shown up for his court date. His handlers must be going crazy. There was a time he had aspirations for the governorship.
Holt looked annoyed. “Max, he’s not in court until Tuesday.”
“Yes, ma’am…sorry, yes, H, I know. Seems he wants to give you a head start.” She held out an envelope, bright red, like the previous one taped to Jose’s shop door.
She grabbed the envelope, ripped it open, and looked at the scrawled message that looked like it had been written in crayon. It simply said, I won’t be in court, find me if you can. P. Caldwell.
“No return address I see. Think anyone will answer this time if I leave a response?”
Max shook her head.
Isabelle was fascinated by Holt’s business headquarters. If she didn’t know better, she would mistake it for any computer or paperwork based business. Except that anyone sitting in front of a monitor had biceps that could crush metal.
“If that little shit has anything to do with this…” Holt said as she strode purposefully to her office, swung open the door, and slammed it loudly behind her, making Isabelle cringe.
Max and Isabelle could hear her yelling from where they were. Bits and pieces drifted out to them, mostly cursing. They both jumped at the large bang and leaned toward the door at the silence that followed.
“She has a bit of a temper,” Max said.
Isabelle nodded mutely. The anger from Holt was startling. Isabelle wasn’t sure if she should be anxious. She had guessed that an angry Holt was terrifying, but when she slapped her, Holt had laughed. Isabelle knew if she worked with the kind of violence and depravity she imagined Holt did on a daily basis, she would be full of rage. Thinking about the violence she experienced as a child usually angered her for hours.
“Doesn’t she scare you?” Isabelle asked. Max looked a little afraid.
“She used to,” Max said. “Sometimes she still does, I guess. The thing is, I’ve never seen her get mad at anyone who doesn’t deserve it. She went ballistic once because a cop tried to feel up one of the female staff here. It was my second or third day, and she was just screaming at this cop. I thought there was going to be a fight, or she was going to hit him. Now I know better. She never loses it like that, you know? She was plenty pissed, but she wasn’t out of control. Me, I probably would have hit him and gotten shot since he was the only one carrying a gun, but not H. She knows if she goes down, there’s no one to run this place, keep doing the work, take care of all of us.”
Isabelle wanted to ask if Max checked her drinks for mind-altering worship powder but figured it wouldn’t do any good. It did help to know that Max seemed to have no fear of Holt or her temper. Although she was still aware of what was transpiring in Holt’s office, Isabelle was curious about the rest of the space. She looked around, gathering information, trying to put together the puzzle that was Holt.
Though the décor wasn’t what Isabelle would have chosen, the office space seemed like a perfect extension of Holt. This was her bat cave, and she was in full command. It was easy to feel confidence in Holt’s ability to do just about anything when you were standing in her command center.
When Holt’s office door slammed open against the wall, Isabelle and Max both leapt back. It would have been comical to see Holt holding Peanut by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him from her office, his feet barely touching the ground, if they weren’t so startled and sheepish getting caught eavesdropping.
“I’m still thinking about your offer, H!” Peanut shouted as he practically flew out of the office. Clearly, spending the afternoon handcuffed to Holt’s desk wasn’t his idea of a good time.
“Wasn’t Peanut,” Holt said grumpily as he shot from the building. Isabelle felt the chill spread through her belly as reality set in. She didn’t realize she had been hoping the shots were meant for, or instigated by, Peanut. If the young punk wasn’t involved, then it was someone she didn’t have a face for. Someone who most likely wanted Holt dead, or even more terrifying, wanted her dead. Thinking it was Peanut made the whole situation less scary. Peanut seemed like a punk, but of the goofball variety, not the scare your pants off type. She needed to get back on steady ground, feel connected and safe. Her first thought was to run to Holt, snuggle against her strong, steady body, and let her protect her. Her second thought was a string of curse words her father would have been proud of. She wasn’t the weak damsel in distress, running for the cover of strong arms at the first sign of trouble. And if she were to run to anyone’s strong arms, they would be related to her, just like they always had been. Rochats took care of themselves.
“Max, I appreciate your getting Peanut in here so fast. I’m sorry I had to just let him go.”
“Couldn’t you have at least trumped up some reason to keep him a couple hours?” Max said. “I chased him all over town.”
“And you have my eternal gratitude,” Holt said, looking at Isabelle.
Isabelle appreciated the question in Holt’s eyes. She appreciated that Holt was aware enough to notice that Isabelle was upset. She wouldn’t appreciate it if Holt asked her about it. She doubted she would though. Isabelle had long ago perfected her “leave me alone; don’t ask questions” stare. It had come in handy with nosy teachers thinking they were being helpful, drunken
frat boys, and overeager women looking for a good time.
“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you, if you let me.”
Isabelle needed to work on her death stare.
“I don’t need it. I still think they were shooting at you, remember?” Isabelle said quietly.
“Me? Why would anyone want to shoot me? I sit behind a desk all day, shuffle some papers, go home. Very boring,” Holt said playfully.
“Smart ass,” Isabelle said, happy to let it drop for the moment.
“You ready to go?” Holt asked, rubbing Isabelle’s shoulder as she moved past her. It wasn’t a movement that looked natural to her, but Isabelle was grateful for the attempt, however awkward. “I need to finish up with Max, but then it’s all party, until about seven when all the kids have to go to bed and the adults fall asleep on the couch.”
*
An hour later, Holt parked the truck in front of a neat two-story house. It was a light yellow, and the yard was simply, but nicely, landscaped. The driveway was full of minivans and Subarus, and Holt’s truck looked odd next to all the cars representing a life neither she nor Isabelle led.
“You ready for this?” Holt asked.
“Just don’t leave me to the wolves or little children,” Isabelle said. “How long have I known you? Three hours? Five? A week at most?”
“Seems like longer to me too,” Holt said seriously. “Here goes nothing,” she said sounding happy as she rang the bell. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for two years.”
“HOWT, HOWT, HOWT!”
A red blur streaked into view when the door opened. Holt barely had time to brace herself before a small child launched himself at her. “Superman!” Holt yelled, scooping him up and over her head.
Superman giggled and straightened his arms flat in front of him and made loud, cute flying noises as she rocked him from side to side. The Man of Steel in flight.
“God, you spoil him.” An athletic looking woman with wavy dark brown hair just tinged with gray, approached Superman and Holt, his flying machine.
The Chase Page 5
