S*x on the Beach

by Delilah Devlin

Chapter 10

  The next morning, Carson watched as Gina walked nonchalantly past the house they believed their target was hiding inside. They’d parked behind shrubbery in front of a neighbor’s house, but he was able to observe their target’s girlfriend’s house across the street through the branches. When Gina passed the front door, she moved quickly to the garage and peeked inside one of the two windows at the side of the building.

  As she strode back to her pickup, there was an extra bounce in her step. Which surprised him. After the night they’d spent, he would have thought she’d move a little slower. Maybe exhibit a wince or two. Not his girl, though.

  Gina gave him a thumbs up then came around the side of the vehicle and slipped inside. Immediately, she reached for the radio. “Hey, Kid!”

  “Yeah, Trip.”

  “Girlfriend’s car’s in the garage, sitting right beside his bike.”

  “Woohoo! Headed your way.”

  A few seconds later, Kid’s SUV pulled up behind theirs. Carson and Gina exited their vehicle and went around to open the back gate. She reached for her “go bag”, and he unzipped his, which he’d been issued early that morning.

  They donned Kevlar vests with their badges already pinned to the front and web belts adorned with pepper spray and tasers. Carson slipped his HK45 into the holster on his belt then reached for the plastic case holding the earpieces. He slipped one his into his ear and held the box out to Gina.

  “You ready for your first takedown?” she asked, grinning.

  “I’ll feel overdressed if he greets us at the door in his pajamas.”

  “Remember, you’re in training, so hang back and let us do our thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting.

  She shook her head. “The only reason you’re packing today is because Fetch approved it. I didn’t get to carry a weapon for weeks. And then it was a shotgun loaded with beanbags.”

  “We’ll be in close quarters. A pistol makes better sense.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just come on.”

  Sam and Kid strode up, also “geared up” with Sam carrying a battering ram. They’d met Carson in the dark parking lot in front of the office early that morning. Unbeknownst to Carson, who’d been sleeping like a man who’d been wrung out and hung up dry (her description), Gina had texted the pair to arrange the meeting. She had a bead on Palmer’s location from a post on his girlfriend’s Facebook. Something she’d read in the middle of the night while Carson had been snoring, or so she’d said.

  Carson eyed the ram. “That necessary?”

  “If they don’t open the door, yeah,” Sam said grinning.

  “You guys don’t pick locks?”

  “What’s the fun in that?” Sam said, slapping his shoulder. “Let’s go pop this hunter’s cherry.”

  Gina grimaced. “Dang, Sam.”

  “Oh, pardon me, Trip,” he said, tipping his cowboy hat.

  The smirk that curved one side of his mouth belied his apology.

  Not that Gina seemed to mind. She’d warned him that they didn’t work in a PC world. So long as they respected her abilities, she didn’t care about the fact their language was “relaxed” around her. Carson smiled ruefully, telling her he hadn’t taken much offense either.

  They headed toward the house, moving quickly to surround it.

  “I’m at the back door,” Kid said in his ear.

  “I’m at the front door,” said Sam.

  Gina and Carson watched the windows at the side, Gina taking up a position below the windows, while he stood at the corner of the house. He watched as Sam pounded a fist on the door.

  “Jason Palmer, Fugitive Recovery Agents! Open up!”

  Sam stood back, one hand on the weapon he wore on his hip as he waited.

  Carson watched as Gina moved closer to the side window.

  “There’s movement inside,” she said. “I hear two people talking—one male, one female.”

  “I gave her a chance to save her dang door,” Sam muttered. He grabbed the handle atop the battering ram with both hands and swung it against the door, smashing the lock. Then he dropped it and pushed open the door to step inside. “I’m in the house. No one in the living room.”

  Gina drew her weapon, signaled to Carson to follow, and then moved quickly past him toward the front door. Once inside, she pointed to Carson. “Back door.”

  He trotted to the back door and unlocked it. Once Kid was inside, she signaled to Sam and Kid to search upstairs. “Carson, you stay here. No one goes out the front door.”

  He nodded, his hand on his weapon, but so far, he didn’t see a need to draw.

  From above, he heard a feminine screech. A moment later, a blonde with her hair in a ponytail on top of her head came running down the stairs, her bathrobe flapping around her legs. When she stopped, her short ponytail waved stiffly. “You fuckin’ broke my front door!” she shouted.

  For a second, Carson was afraid she was going to attack. Her face was nearly purple with rage, and her fists were clenched at her sides.

  Feeling as though he should say something to calm her, he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we’ll be out of your hair after we finish our search.”

  In his ear, he heard the men upstairs begin to chime in. “Bedroom, clear.” “Nothin’ in the bathroom.”

  “You have no right to search my home,” she said.

  “Actually, as it was explained to me, since you bailed him out and listed your house as his home of record, we have every right to search it. We don’t need your permission to enter.”

  She huffed, and her gaze nervously roamed around the room. She didn’t seem to pause on any one object for very long, as though she was trying not to stare at the thing that really bothered her, which raised his suspicions.

  Then he saw it—something small and pink dangling from the chimney standing against the far living room wall. Watching from the corner of his eye, he saw pink toes slowly rise out of sight. “Um, Gina,” he whispered.

  “Garage clear. Yeah, Carson?”

  “I think we’re done here,” he said, giving the woman a smile so she didn’t realize he knew.

  “Probie, we’re far from done here,” Sam said, “We still got the shed outside to search.”

  He gritted his teeth. “No, I think we’re done here.”

  “On my way,” Gina said.

  He nearly sighed his relief she’d caught on. They really did need to work on a code. Not that he was too worried about what might happen. Palmer’s girlfriend was scary looking, but so out of shape he knew he could pin her with his pinkie.

  Bootsteps clomped down the stairs, and Sam and Kid came into the living room.

  “Didn’t find a thing upstairs,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes on Carson.

  Kid chuckled, clearly gleeful over Carson’s clumsy alert.

  Gina entered the living room and locked gazes with him. His glance darted to the fireplace, just as a stream of soot drifted to the grate.

  “Nah,” Sam said. “I know he’s a skinny runt, but you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

  “He pulled a reverse-Santa?” Kid laughed, bending at the waist.

  “That’s a thing?” Carson asked.

  Gina shook her head and holstered her weapon. “You watch the girl,” she said to Carson.

  He sighed. Clearly, his life would be grunt work for the foreseeable future.

  Gina walked to the fireplace while the girlfriend began to cry. She bent to look up, then quickly jerked back. “Um, Kid, maybe you should handle this.”

  Kid frowned then moved closer to look inside. When he drew back, he wheezed with laughter, bending at the waist.

  Carson stared at the girlfriend.

  She shrugged. “We were havin’ sex when you knocked on the door.”

  So, Palmer was nude. Carson pressed his lips together to keep from grinning.

  “Gina, this bust is yours,” Sam said, shaking his head, his smile so wide every tooth was visible.

  “
Damn.” She bent, took a deep breath, and looked up again. “Hey, Jason. We know you’re up there. You can’t escape. Why don’t you get on down here, so we don’t have to drag you out. The way you are…uh, I wouldn’t want to scrape anything.” She made a face as she stared back at the men, who were all grinning.

  “You gotta go away,” came a voice sounding like it was coming from a deep well.

  “We can’t do that. We’re here to take you to jail.”

  “I’m naked. Can you at least turn your backs?”

  Sam cleared his throat. “No can do. No tellin’ what you might be hidin’.”

  Kid raised a hand to give Sam a high-five.

  “Shit,” came the disembodied voice.

  Then more soot filtered downward, and a foot, and then another foot descended, followed by the scrawniest pair of legs Carson had ever seen. When Palmer bent and backed out of the chimney, all the hunters groaned.

  Finally, he turned to face them, both hands cupping his crotch. Which wasn’t the most remarkable thing about his appearance. His skin and hair were covered in black soot.

  “It’s a little too late, now,” Gina muttered, looking at his hands.

  “Jesus, Gina,” Kid said, “You don’t diss a man’s junk.”

  Sam chuckled while her face turned red.

  “I was not dissing his…junk,” she said. “I was just sayin’ it was a little…” She wrinkled her nose when she figured out what she’d said that they’d found so funny.

  The hunters led Palmer on a “walk of shame” to their vehicles, passing neighbors standing in the doorways or on their lawns.

  “What about my goddamn door?” the girlfriend screamed behind them, but they didn’t respond.

  At the vehicles, Gina took charge. “Kid, give him a blanket and put him in the back of your vehicle.”

  “Ah, come on, Gina. He’s filthy.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Cuff him after you have him inside. He needs his hands right now.”

  Sam clapped her shoulder. “Wish I’d filmed it. Bet that would’ve gone viral. You should have seen the look on your face after you looked up that chimney.”

  Gina shook her head, watching until Sam and Kid drove away with Palmer. Then she turned to Carson, who’d watched everything.

  “You know,” he said, “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun on a job.”

  She frowned. “You do know that most of our work is pretty boring. It’s lots of calls. Lots of interviews. Sure, occasionally, we have to draw our weapons, but that’s rare, and incidents like that?” She paused, and then she shook her head. “Hate to say it, but shit like that happens all the time to me.”

  Carson chuckled at her morose tone and pulled her against him. “You think that’s your bad luck at work?”

  She nodded, the motion moving her face against his chest.

  Carson tucked a finger under her chin to lift her face. “I think I’m damn lucky I get to share days like this…with you.”

  “Really?”

  He bent to kiss her. Just a quick kiss, but her lips parted beneath his. He sighed and kissed her again. “I’m assuming we have reams of paperwork to fill out back at the office.”

  “Reams and reams… And Fetch will want to hear all about it.”

  “Then he better hear our version first, huh?”

  She laughed. “I think I like having you for a partner.”

  “I’ll always have your back. And I promise I’ll never laugh at you.”

  “Hmmm. I could get used to this,” she said, slipping her arms around him to give him a hug.

  “So could I, sweetheart. So could I.” As he let her go to climb into her truck, Carson knew he didn’t need to kiss any old medal for good luck so long as he had Gina.

  If you loved getting a glimpse inside Montana Bounty Hunters, be sure to check out these books:

  * * *

  Montana Bounty Hunters

  Reaper (#1)

  Dagger (#2)

  Reaper’s Ride (#3)

  Cochise (#4)

  Hook (#5)

  Wolf (#6)

  About the Author

  Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published nearly two hundred stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Entangled, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

  You can find Delilah all over the web:

  WEBSITE: http://www.delilahdevlin.com/

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  FACEBOOK FAN PAGE

  PINTEREST

  * * *

  Subscribe to her newsletter so you don’t miss a thing!

  Or email her at: delilah@delilahdevlin.com

  Cochise

  A Montana Bounty Hunters Story

  New York Times and USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  * * *

  DELILAH DEVLIN

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Cochise Mercier, the new hire at Montana Bounty Hunters, took a deep breath to force his heart to slow its pace. A trick he’d learned as an Army sniper to make sure a jerking breath didn’t mess up a shot. The trick worked in most situations when he needed his mind to slow and for his focus to home in on a target or a situation. Clearing his mind meant he was able to take in more of what was happening around him and enabled him to discard the things that weren’t important—like the way the wind beat a tree branch against the side of the house, a steady thump that sounded almost like clomping footsteps. Instead, he concentrated on the way the light, beaming through the tall arched windows at the front of the house, flickered whenever his target paced left or right, telling him where their mark was. An important fact, because in minutes, he’d have to breach the oak front door and be ready to take him down—with his weapon or his body, depending on whether Randy Pinter was armed. A fact Cochise would have to ascertain in a split second.

  “Can’t see any movement in the back rooms,” came Jamie Burke’s voice through his earpiece. “I think he’s alone.”

  He still wasn’t used to hearing a woman’s voice on the comms. He’d never had a female as part of any of his missions on the ground with the Army, and Denver’s SWAT had, at the time, been all male. That voice interrupted his calm. His instinct was to protect women and children, but she was a part of this team—and his boss—so again, he drew a deep breath, pushed aside his concern, and concentrated on his target. Pinter was pacing in front of the window to the right of the front door.

  “Girlfriend’s car isn’t in the garage,” came Sky Reynold’s deep voice. “Must have gone for takeout. I’m moving around to the front.”

  “Deputies just arrived,” Lacey Jones’s too perky voice sounded. “I’ll go brief them about what’s about to go down. Make sure they know we have the owner’s permission to be here.”

  Cochise could hear the excitement in her higher pitch. Thank God, she was back at the road with the vehicles. The thought of her cotton-candy sweetness being anywhere near Pinter made him shudder. The girl might have qualified with her weapon and might be doing well with her self-defense classes, but she had no real experience going head-on with bad dudes. He didn’t want to be around the first time she was truly tested.

  “You call it, Cochise,” Jamie said.

  With his heart as slow as when he slept, he felt the familiar ice-water chill flow over him. “Ready,” he whispered and then stepped away from the bushes beside the porch. “Moving toward the door… On three. One…two…three.”

  He pounded three times on the door. “Federal Recovery Agent! Get down on the floor!”

  Then, just as they’d rehearsed, Sky popped up, used a short cudgel to break the right front window, and tossed a flashbang grenade through the opening he’
d made.

  Cochise turned his back and crouched beside the door. A split second later, he heard the explosion and a muffled shout. He stood and swung the battering ram against the thick front door. The frame around the door splintered. He tossed the ram and kicked the thick oak, waiting as it slammed forward against dark wood flooring. Then pulling his weapon from its holster, he stepped onto the door into the foyer.

  Inside, he saw no sign of Pinter. “Not in foyer. Moving to living room.”

  “I’m coming your way,” Jamie said, and then a moment later, “Mudroom, clear. I’ll check the garage.”

  Sky stepped to the right. “I’ll take the kitchen.”

  Cochise headed through the living room. “Living room clear.” Then he moved toward the room farther to the left—a study he’d peered inside earlier. He shoved open the door, stepped to the side, then quickly darted through the opening, bending low as he entered. He glanced behind a sofa, opened the closet. “Clear.”

  “Clear in the kitchen,” said Sky. “Moving toward the stairs.”

  Cochise cleared the downstairs bathroom, another hallway closet, and then ran up the stairs. Just as he reached the darkened landing, he saw Sky back out of a bedroom and shake his head. Cochise signaled that he’d head right toward what he suspected was the master bedroom, while Sky took a smaller bedroom at the other end of the hallway. Cochise unclipped his Maglite from his web belt and shone it down the darkened hallway.

  “Garage clear,” Jamie said.

  “Make sure the bastard didn’t circle around to the backyard.” Lacey and Dagger had the road and yard fence line covered, and both were quiet.

  Just as he reached out to turn the door handle for the master bedroom, Sky whispered, “Clear.” Cochise tensed. Last possible place.

  Pinter must have shot up the steps the second the window was broken. Slippery bastard. Something they’d learned talking to the cops who’d arrested him for a home invasion. The fact the judge had awarded him bail after he’d led the police on a three-mile foot race through backyards, over fences, and through busy intersections, where he’d nearly lost the cops, had the entire team shaking their heads. The $500,000 bail must have seemed an impossible goal for a two-time loser, but the prosecutor hadn’t looked closely enough at the family to raise an argument. They hadn’t known the grandfather doted on the prick. He’d willingly used his ranch to secure the bond.