High-Stakes Bounty Hunter

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “She’s clearly not okay, you numbskull,” he said, his voice gravelly with age. “What kind of gentleman doesn’t recognize the way a lady looks when she’s about to faint?”

  “Hey, now. Watch it with the name calling,” Noah replied, his tone lighter than his expression. “You know perfectly well I dislike being referred to as a gentleman.”

  His eyes hung on Elle, his concern evident, and he opened his mouth again, clearly intending to address her. But for the second time, the older man was faster. He stepped closer to Elle, put a hand on her shoulder, and guided her away from Noah. Then—with a firmness that contrasted sharply with his frail looks—he pressed her to a seated position on the bed.

  “That’s how it’s done,” he said. “Now. You want a glass of water? A slice of pizza? It’s actually a damn fine restaurant, even if it is practically inside a laundromat.”

  Slightly overwhelmed, Elle met the stranger’s kind gaze. “I don’t think I could eat if I tried.”

  “You might surprise yourself.” He spun away, retrieved a slice from the box, then spun back. “I’m Roget Moreau, by the way. Neighbor. Cat-for-hire owner. And pizza delivery guy, apparently.”

  He held the slice out, and Elle eyed it dubiously, sure that just the sight of the gooey cheese should make her throat close up. Instead, her stomach rumbled. A little embarrassed, she accepted the proffered food and took a bite. The lightheaded feeling eased almost as soon as she finished chewing.

  “Better?” asked Noah.

  “Much,” she admitted.

  “See?” interjected Roget. “Might be nothing but an old man, but I’m still good for a thing or two.” He swung to face Noah. “As per our usual understanding, I have zero interest in knowing what you’re up to. If I’m captured and tortured, I want a clean mind.”

  Noah’s reply was dry. “As per our usual understanding, I wouldn’t tell you even if you did want to know.”

  “So you keep saying. But here Gus-Gus and I are, serving pizza to a beautiful girl in your crappy room.” Roget grinned, revealing an enormous gap between his front teeth. “And I assume you need something else from us, or you would’ve sent us packing already.”

  “As a matter of fact...” Noah strode across the room, snapped a hooded sweatshirt from the closet, then held it out toward the older man. “I’m gonna need you to put this on, take off your pants and pretend to be the beautiful girl for about five minutes.”

  Elle just about choked on her pizza, but Roget just raised a nearly nonexistent eyebrow.

  “Can’t say that’s not gonna cost you,” he stated.

  “How much?” Noah replied.

  “A hundred bucks.”

  “Done.”

  “Dammit,” Roget muttered. “Should’ve shot higher.”

  But in spite of his grumble, he kicked off the slippers he wore, then snapped off his belt and dropped his pants to reveal a pair of plaid boxers that hit his knees. He grabbed the hoodie from Noah’s hands, zipped it up, and covered his head.

  “How do I look?” he asked. “I feel more like a rapper than a woman.”

  Elle could see that Noah’s mouth was trying not to curve up.

  “What do you think?” he asked, directing the question her way. “Can this guy and his knobby knees and hairy legs pass for you?”

  She had a hard time containing her own amusement. “I don’t know whether saying yes is a compliment or an insult.”

  Noah let out a chuckle. “Either way, it’ll have to do. Pass me the cat.”

  Elle stood up and scooped the big guy off the bed, but as she started to hand him off, she had second thoughts about using the purring feline. “He’s going to be fine, right?”

  Roget snorted, then peeked out from under his hood. “Gus-Gus will outlive us all.”

  Noah gently took the cat from her hands. “Rog and I are going to sneak around back. We’ll release our pudgy friend out there. I’ll follow Gus-Gus from a distance to make sure that your stalker takes the bait. The second after I’ve done that, Rog’ll head out. When he catches up to the beast, he’ll dump the GPS tracker right into that koi pond I mentioned. I’ll come back for you.”

  “You’re leaving me here alone?” she asked.

  But as soon as the words were out, Elle realized how ridiculous they were. She was entirely capable of being alone. She’d fought hard for self-sufficiency, and she had zero interest in giving it up. On top of which, she’d met Noah all of an hour ago. And she’d hired him to do a job. So even if the other bits weren’t true, she had to let him do what she’d asked him to do. But she didn’t get a chance to retract her question. Noah pressed the cat into Roget’s arms, then stepped directly in front of her and closed his hands around her wrists. And the contact made it harder to regret asking the question in the first place. His hands were warm, his gaze reassuring.

  “Eleven minutes,” he promised. “Twelve, tops.”

  “You don’t want to round that up to an even fifteen?”

  “Pretty sure fifteen is still an odd number,” he said teasingly.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  He smiled, gently squeezed her wrists and replied, “Yeah. I do.”

  For a strange moment, Elle thought he might lean in and kiss her. She tensed, expecting the light brush of his lips. Maybe on her cheek again. But maybe more. A long moment hung between them. Weighted with oddly heavy anticipation. And when Roget interrupted and broke the spell, more than a small part of her was disappointed.

  “Okay, okay,” said the pants-less man. “Let’s get outta here before I keel over from old age.”

  Noah released Elle’s hands. “Eleven to twelve minutes,” he repeated. “Don’t forget to stay out of sight. We don’t need our friend in the car to get suspicious before he gives chase, okay?”

  Elle nodded, but didn’t quite trust her voice to not come out with a little crack, so she watched silently as the two men and their accompanying cat slipped out the door. When the latch clicked shut, she expelled a stinging breath. And she realized something. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be alone—it was that she didn’t want to be alone with her fear for Katie. As little as she might know the big bounty hunter, he had been an undeniable buffer between her and her fright-filled thoughts since the moment his hand first found her elbow. Without him, the questions crowded in.

  Was her little girl too scared to act brave?

  Had she fought back when she was taken?

  Had she been physically harmed?

  How far away was Trey, right at that very second?

  The last question sent a chill through Elle as something else occurred to her. Trey could be there. He could be somewhere in town. Maybe renting a room at the quaint B and B near the highway turnoff. Or he could’ve leased the top floor of the only apartment building in town. The same place where she and Katie had rented a suite at the bottom.

  No, Elle told herself. If he’d known we were there, he wouldn’t have bothered with the park. He likes to play games, but he prefers a guaranteed win.

  She paced the room a few times, trying to keep her mind from taking a darker turn. She eyed the door several times, wondering just how long eleven to twelve minutes could feel. Her gaze swept the room in search of a distraction. The book on Noah’s bed caught her attention, and she paused in her restless striding to pick it up. The spine was cracked to the point of floppiness, and some of the pages were just barely hanging on. It was obviously a favorite, and it made Elle curious about why. It also made her wonder what other personal things were hidden throughout the space.

  Glad of something else to think about, she let herself peruse the room in a soft search. She didn’t want to open any drawers or rifle through any belongings, but she figured anything in sight was fair game. Her first scan left her disappointed. There were no trinkets or souvenirs. Even Noah’s wardr
obe—on display in all its folded glory—was nothing more than basic. Jeans and T-shirts. Denim and black or white cotton. But as Elle took a second look, a flap of paper sticking out from under the bottom of the nightstand drawer made her pause. What was it?

  She threw a slightly guilty glance back to the door, but she didn’t really waste time hemming and hawing about taking a closer look. As her fingers found the edge, she realized it wasn’t paper at all; it was a photograph. Any protests her conscience might’ve continued to make were swept away by curiosity. And she grew only more interested once she’d pulled the picture free.

  The shot was of a pair of kids, one a boy with a buzz cut and the other a girl with a shoulder-length mop of strawberry blond curls. Seeking an explanation, she quickly flipped over the picture.

  “Baby Greta, three years old,” read the back.

  Intrigued and puzzled, Elle ran her finger over the words, then turned it right side up again. She studied the picture a little more. There was clearly no baby in the picture. The older girl was grinning at the camera, a visibly mischievous look in her eyes. The boy, on the other hand, had his attention angled down.

  Strange.

  Elle tried to follow his sightline. But he just seemed to be looking at nothing. Thoughtfully—with an idea bubbling up—she slid her thumb along the edge of the photograph. The material was just jagged enough to not feel right. Someone had cut off the bottom half of the picture. Her spine tingled unpleasantly as her musings solidified. Someone hadn’t just cut off the bottom of the picture. They’d cut out Baby Greta, age three. And the words that would’ve identified Noah and the other girl, too.

  “Why?” she murmured.

  She couldn’t think of any good reason for the hack job. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to consider any of the bad reasons that tried to spring to mind. Resolving to find some way of asking Noah directly—and sure that she had to be nearing the eleven-minute mark now—Elle slid the photo back into the skinny space under the nightstand drawer and turned to the door once more. And sure enough, the moment her eyes landed on it, it opened. She started to let out a relieved breath. But it was sucked away quicker than it could be expelled. Because instead of Noah standing on the other side, it was a three-hundred-pound man with a barbed wire tattoo wrapping around his neck and a gun in his hand.

  * * *

  As Noah approached the street that ran along behind the motel he called home, he found himself having to force his feet to keep from breaking into a run. Not because he didn’t still feel an urgency to get back to Elle, but because he was questioning the source of the urgency. His job often required him to work under a tight deadline. He knew how to hurry, and when. A missing kid was definitely a reason to rush. Even if the case in question hadn’t involved a dubious character like Trey Charger.

  But that’s not it, is it?

  It wasn’t thoughts of getting the job done that had propelled him to tuck his smart-mouthed neighbor under his arm and drag the old guy out to the path behind their mutually crappy accommodations. It sure as hell hadn’t been the promised paycheck that made him lift Rog through his bathroom window to get back into his room, either. There wasn’t enough money in the world to make it worth gripping the skinny butt of a ninety-year-old man. Especially when that very same man chortled about getting more action today than in the last two decades. So, yeah. There was definitely something more going on in Noah’s head.

  You sure it’s your head that’s interfering here, Loblaw?

  He wanted to argue against the thought. To point out that any body part other than his brain had zero business getting involved in his interactions with a new client. Even if that client was particularly attractive. And yes, he could acknowledge that fact without losing any professionalism. Because really, professionalism was all he did.

  Noah put in long hours whenever possible. Took jobs that ate up days at a time. By design, relaxation wasn’t a big part of his life. Leisure activities left too much room for mulling over the past. Yeah, that also meant sacrificing some of the more pleasurable bits of life that free time afforded. Like pretty women with blue eyes, soft hands and a hint of steel under their perfect lips.

  Uh-huh, said that same obnoxious voice. When was the last time you went on a date, anyway?

  He tried to brush off the question as irrelevant, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Mostly because there was no denying that his dating life could only be described as desolate. At best. He didn’t do the online stuff. He didn’t frequent bars. When he grocery shopped, it was for the sole purpose of—get this—buying groceries. His friends were few, and Rog could hardly be counted on for introductions to potential women. The thing was, though, Noah didn’t normally care. He enjoyed solitude. When he encountered female clients, he noticed only in the most surface-level way whether they were plump or thin, old or young, tall or short. Yet when the word date had cropped up in his mind just a few moments earlier, he pictured one.

  Elle, across from him in a simple black dress. Hair in a tidier ponytail, still makeup-free, but with no pinch of worry around her blue eyes.

  It was ridiculous to even think about it. Possibly idiotic. The current situation couldn’t be less of a call for romance. He didn’t know anything about the woman. Not even a last name. Yet somehow, he was sure that what pushed his feet to move faster again was the want of the vision to come true.

  Frustrated with the way his mind refused to cooperate and not go there, Noah scrubbed a hand over his stubble and sighed. He’d reached the rear corner of the motel property now, and he honestly wasn’t sure if his deliberately slowed pace had done any good. In fact, it might’ve made things worse. It’d given him some extra time to mull it over and get halfway to admitting that he was tempted to let go of the ever-present professionalism. Either way, he’d run out of the allotted eleven to twelve minutes.

  He paused for just long enough to double-check that the stalker’s car was still gone—it was—then hurried around the building toward the front gate. Except as he approached it, his hackles rose, and his gut told him something was off. For the first time since turning around from the koi pond, his pace eased up on its own.

  What was it that caught his attention and filtered in a drum of worry? Noah flicked his gaze over the courtyard, searching for an answer.

  The gate was shut. So was the door to his unit. A light breeze tossed a prematurely dropped leaf into the air. No one was in sight. Most rooms had the blinds drawn. Then he heard a faint groan, and he realized he wasn’t looking for something; he was listening for it.

  Moving quickly again—but infusing his steps with caution, too—Noah made himself as small as possible and edged along the fence. The metal slats were spread apart, and only four feet high. They offered little coverage, but he took what he could get. When he reached the gate, he unlatched it and gave it a push, then waited. There was no responding movement or sound from the other side, so he stepped the rest of the way through.

  What he spied next was like a shot to the gut. Rog was sprawled out on the concrete, his already shrunken form looking frail and broken. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, a gash marring one cheek. How the hell had the man managed to get into that state in under ten minutes? Noah rushed to his neighbor’s side, and he was relieved when Rog opened his eyes and greeted him with a clear gaze.

  “The girl,” he croaked.

  For a second, Noah thought the old man meant Elle had done this to him. Then he clued in that Rog’s words were an expression of concern. No. With his heart pumping hard with worry, Noah lifted his eyes back to his own door. It was still closed. Thank God. He dropped his attention back to his neighbor.

  “She’ll be okay for another minute or two,” he said. “We need to take care of you. Why did you come back out here? I thought we agreed that you’d wait in the room until Elle and I were gone.”

  “Because I had no choice, dummy.” Rog rolled to hi
s side and managed to sit up. “The girl is gone. Don’t think she wanted to, but she left with some big guy—even bigger than your ridiculous self. Had a stupid tattoo, too. Tried to stop them, slipped on the damn concrete before I made it three steps.”

  Noah’s mind and gut both churned. Damn, damn, damn!

  He knew exactly who his neighbor meant. The “stupid tattoo” description gave it away. A need to chase after them like a madman pushed him to his feet before he realized he couldn’t just leave Rog lying there bleeding. His legs practically itched with a desire to bolt.

  “I’ll get the EMTs lined up,” Noah said, pulling out his phone to call an ambulance. “Which direction did they head? How long ago?”

  “Two minutes, maybe. Headed out the gate. Don’t know what direction, but I’m guessing the opposite of where you came from. And don’t you dare place that call,” replied Rog. “Paramedics’ll want an explanation. I’m a terrible liar, which is why I never ask about your business. The police’ll wind up here, and you know them and me don’t mix.”

  Noah’s impatience to get to Elle battled with his need to help the old man. “You need medical attention, my friend.”

  “So I’ll call Nancy. You know that old kook is always looking for an excuse to check up on me. You’re wasting time with me when you could be going after the girl.”

  Noah tapped his thumb against his thigh. Rog was right. On both counts. The retired nurse who lived a block over doted on the man and would be pleased to come over and patch him up. And time was most definitely wasting.

  “Fine,” he said, pressing his phone into Rog’s hands. “I promise I’ll be following up to make sure you actually placed the call.”

  “No interest in dying out here by myself,” his neighbor replied, pushing a finger to the cell. “See? Already dialing.”

  As satisfied as he could be under the circumstances, Noah nodded, swung south, and started to move. He paused again, midstep. Then he spun back and bolted toward his room. Trying not to think about losing precious seconds, he flung open the door and dashed in. He yanked open his closet so hard that one of the hinges on the top came free. Splinters flew, and Noah ignored them. He sank down, slid away the laundry hamper and punched the sequenced code into his safe. The unlocking mechanism buzzed an error.