High-Stakes Bounty Hunter

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “It’s not a fight unless you refuse to honor Trey’s end of the bargain. The bottom line is, I’m not getting in until I’ve spoken to her,” Elle told him. “And we both know that if I cause a scene out here or if you hurt me without your boss’s permission—”

  “He’s not my damn boss.”

  She met the protest with a wordless stare. She knew his and Trey’s history well enough to be sure that their bond wasn’t one of friendship, or even one of mutual respect. The two men had been childhood friends. United in their destructive behavior. Somewhere along the line, though, Detective Stanley—back when he’d still been just plain, old Jimmy—had started to take a turn for the better, if it could be called that. At the same time, Trey had gone the other way. But years later, Jimmy had come back. Needing something. Begging. That’s what Trey had called it. Elle didn’t know the specifics, and she didn’t want to. But she was certain it was nothing legal. And she was even more certain that whatever it was that Detective James Stanley owed to Trey, calling it a boss/employee relationship was probably the nicest way to put it.

  After a few more moments, the detective let out a string of muttered curses, then violently yanked his cell phone from his pocket once again.

  Elle didn’t let herself heave out a relieved breath. The fact that she was about to hear Katie’s voice again was the only sliver of light in the current situation. She could barely believe it’d been only hours since she’d last seen her. It felt like a million years. And when Detective Stanley pressed the phone to Elle’s ear, and the familiar voice carried through the line, it took all she was worth to hold back her tears.

  “Momma? Is it you?”

  Elle closed her eyes. “Hi, baby. It’s me. Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m scared,” Katie admitted, sounding unashamed of the announcement. “But I’m okay. I had some popcorn for dinner, and I want to come home.” She paused. “Momma?”

  “Yes, my little love?”

  “Can I say something that’s not very nice?”

  “Sure, baby. Go ahead.”

  Katie dropped her voice to a whisper. “There are some men here...and I think they might be bad guys.”

  Elle bit back a ragged breath. Her mothering instincts told her to deny it. But her brain told her that it would be a mistake to let Katie think that the men in question could be trusted.

  “Are you being brave?” she asked instead.

  “Yes,” Katie replied proudly.

  “I need you to keep doing that, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to be there soon.” The unwanted tears couldn’t be held in anymore and her next three words came out sounding choked. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Momma,” Katie said. “But can you hurry up? Please?”

  Before Elle could clear her throat and reply, Detective Stanley ripped the phone away again. He tapped it off without a word, and it was almost enough to send her heart over the edge.

  Katie’s alive, she told herself. That’s all that matters right this second.

  Not that she’d let herself truly consider a situation where anything else might be true. But that didn’t stop the relief from making her limp. And when the detective put his hand on her head this time, Elle didn’t protest. She let him push her none-too-gently into the back seat, where she leaned her head on the window’s cool glass and counted the minutes in silence.

  * * *

  The first thing Noah became aware of was the throbbing in his head. His pulse pounded hard against his skull, and his brain felt...swollen. Too big for the meager size of the bone that surrounded it. It made him want to keep his eyes closed. To sink back into whatever oblivion he’d just been dragged out of. But the next bit of awareness was a man’s voice. He couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was insistent, impatient, and undoubtedly trying to pull him from his stupor. And if nothing else, that stopped Noah from giving in to the urge to let his mind drown all over again. Not because he cared that some stranger probably wanted him awake, but because the words brought in a rush of recent memories.

  Elle.

  One moment, Noah had been standing in the hall, trying like hell to make sense of what was happening. Was Elle a criminal? Was she a cop? Why, in God’s name, was she negotiating with the man who’d kidnapped her daughter? For all his experience, he couldn’t come up with an answer. Before he could even really try, the sharp prick on his neck had drawn his attention away from the scene in front of him. Too late, he’d realized what the pain meant. He’d only had time to lift his hand to cover the sting of the needle before the world swam.

  And now...

  The world was swimming again. Or maybe he was swimming. Pulling himself up from under the groggy current, pushing past the pressure in his head and straining to understand what was being said. He tried his hardest to open his eyes, but all he saw was a blur of darkness. So he dropped his lids again, trying to focus on his next best sense—his hearing. And at last he caught something.

  “Don’t know what the hell’s taking so long,” said the same voice that Noah hadn’t been able to understand before. “The shot wasn’t that potent.”

  Another man replied, issuing a curt expecting-obedience order. “Give him a shot of the other stuff.”

  Footsteps shuffled across the room, then back, pausing somewhere near Noah. Fingers closed on his forearm, and an instinct to fight off the intrusion reared up. Except his limbs were leaden.

  Why the hell can’t I move?

  His pulse smacked hard against his veins, and he willed himself to fight. And he must’ve succeeded at least a little, because the hand on his arm tightened, and the first voice grumbled for him to hold still.

  “You can relax, Mr. Loblaw,” added the second voice. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This is just a shot of ADHD medication to counteract the propofol.”

  Propofol.

  Noah was acquainted with the quick-acting anesthetic and its knockout effects. Two years earlier, he’d sustained a major break in his arm while chasing down a mark. A bit of reconstructive surgery had required that the doctors put him under, and propofol was their drug choice. There hadn’t been any adverse reactions then, and with the exception of the loss of an unknown amount of time, there likely wouldn’t be any now. That didn’t mean he liked it. Or accepted that these men could just do whatever they felt like. He tried again to move and got the same result. He was immobile.

  “Stop shaking your damn arms,” snapped the first voice.

  Noah was momentarily triumphant, and thankful that however sluggish his brain might be, his body was still doing its damnedest to avoid getting dosed with an unfamiliar substance. Except the battle didn’t last long. Another set of hands abruptly clamped down on his arm, and the grip was far rougher than the first.

  “Do it now, Lee,” commanded the other voice.

  With that came the jab of a needle. Then several seconds of silence before the second man spoke again.

  “How long until he’s lucid?” he asked.

  “Not long,” replied the first man. “He was already coming to anyway. Give him ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes I’d far rather spend doing something else.”

  “Just the messenger, boss.”

  There was a barely audible sigh, presumably from the second man. “You can wait outside, Jack. I’ll make sure you know if I need you.”

  Feet obediently hit the floor, and a door closed.

  Noah gritted his teeth and peeled his eyes open once more. The dimness made him want to panic, but after a few forceful pounds of his heart, he clued in. He wasn’t going blind. The world wasn’t a blur. The issue was simply that something covered his eyes. The realization was enough to ground him again.

  Ten minutes, he said to himself. That’s how long you have to figure out anything that might help you.

>   Careful to keep his breathing even and slow, he began a physical inventory. The first thing he noted was the fact that he’d been strapped to a chair. His wrists were bound to the chair’s arm, and his ankles were bound to its legs. Which at least explained the earlier perception that he couldn’t move. He didn’t let himself feel any relief; he just moved on, trying to catalog the rest of what he could figure out.

  The air was a little stale, and it was also warm, confirming the fact that he was inside, possibly in a smallish space. Aside from that, it was also impossible to discern anything about his surroundings. There was the odd shuffle of someone else in the room. A small click that might’ve been fingers hitting a phone screen. A little cough. And a bit of concentration brought in the vague sound of something that may or may not have been traffic in the distance.

  Great, Noah said to himself. For all I know, I’m trapped in a giant fish tank. Except as sarcastic and unhelpful as the thought was, it was immediately followed by another, more hopeful one. Even if it really is a fish tank...it’s a fish tank with a door. And that means potential for escape.

  He adjusted his focus to his own body, stealthily searching for a weakness in his bonds. There was the tiniest bit of wiggle room between his wrists and the rope that held them. Had it been caused by his attempt to fight off the needle? Or was it what had let him fight in the first place? He wanted to find out, but he didn’t dare try to loosen them. Without knowing where his captor was, he couldn’t take the chance. What he needed was a distraction. Except he had no clue how to create an effective one while sightless, sore and tied down. Frustration set in, and the slight fuzziness that hung on to his brain didn’t help at all. But then an idea popped to mind. One that could possibly turn all of the disadvantages into the perfect ruse. Or maybe not perfect—but workable.

  It’ll have to do.

  First, Noah let his fingers go extra limp. Then he counted to five and spread them out, assessing the width of the arm of the chair. He had plenty of room to get a good grasp on the wood. Satisfied with that fact, he moved on, trying to get a better feel for the chair itself. It was hard to truly measure its stability without moving around, but if he had to guess, Noah would say it was right in between rickety and stable. He hoped it leaned toward the latter, but whatever the case, he was sure it could be tipped. He exhaled a light breath and started to count again, this time down from thirty. Finally, as he reached the number five in his head—and with his nerves on high alert—he prepared to send himself and the chair to the ground.

  Four... Three... Two... One.

  But a heartbeat before Noah was set to fling the chair over, the unseen man’s voice cut in and stopped him.

  “You can stop playing dead, Mr. Loblaw,” he said, his tone dry. “And whatever you’re planning...stow it. I’m going to give you the chance to earn your way out of here.”

  Noah didn’t bother to keep up the pretense that he was only semiconscious. “Like hell you are.”

  His angry words didn’t appear to faze the other man, who replied in an even tone. “I don’t usually allow people to swear at me, but we’ve barely gotten acquainted yet, so I’ll let it slide this once.”

  Noah wished his eyeroll was visible, but he settled for a snide response instead. “Your idea of meeting someone is clearly different than mine. But I guess I’ll let that slide, too.”

  “The blindfold isn’t to keep you from seeing me, Mr. Loblaw. It’s about power. Control. I’m sure you already know who I am, even under the haze of the propofol.”

  Noah started to argue that he had no idea who his captor was but stopped before he spoke a word. If he could’ve kicked himself, he would’ve. The other man’s identity was beyond obvious.

  Trey Charger.

  Noah didn’t realize he’d spoken the name aloud until the man himself answered.

  “That’s right,” said Charger. “I’m sure our dearest Elle gave you an earful about me.”

  “If you’re fishing for her opinion of you, there’s no need,” Noah said evenly, ignoring the burn in his chest at hearing the other man say Elle’s name. “All she told me was that you’re the kind of man who locks kids in closets. Which is more than enough for me to come to my own conclusions about you.”

  Charger chuckled. “Her memory is slightly faulty. I only put naughty kids in closets. Then again, she always did prefer to pick and choose how to interpret our life together. She happen to share any other glorious tidbits with you?”

  “None,” Noah replied through gritted teeth. “Thank God.”

  There was a pause. “Lucky for you, I believe that’s true. And before you say my ruling on the validity of your ignorance doesn’t matter...it’s the only thing that’s keeping you alive right now. She was smart not to tell you anything else.”

  “Should we celebrate by having you untie me?”

  “Not quite yet.”

  “What are we waiting for? The clowns and the balloon animals to arrive and make it a real party?”

  “Control, Mr. Loblaw. I need you to understand that I have it.” The words were arrogant, but Charger’s voice contained nothing that suggested his statements were overblown.

  It sent an uncomfortable chill straight through Noah, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Just tell me what the hell you want and get it over with.”

  “It’s very simple. I want to be utterly certain that you’re not going to come after Elle.” Charger paused as if to let the demand sink in, then added, “I know that’s going to be no small feat for you, so I’m going to give you some incentive to go along with it.”

  “You don’t have anything I want.”

  “But I do. I have the truth about Elle.”

  Noah’s chest burned even hotter. He couldn’t quite muster a believable lie about not caring. Charger seemed to realize it.

  “You’ll feel differently about it when I show you what I’m about to show you,” stated the other man.

  Noah tensed as he heard Charger approach, and he barely managed to fight what would’ve been a futile and embarrassing urge to try to kick him, too. But the only thing the corrupt man did was yank away the blindfold.

  Noah blinked at the sudden onslaught of yellowish light, and while he waited for the bleariness to fade, he took a look at his surroundings. As he’d surmised a few minutes earlier, they were in a musty, gray-walled space, and though it might’ve been labeled as a living room at some point, it wasn’t much bigger than a box. Aside from the chair where he sat, it was devoid of furniture. In fact, as far as could tell, there were only four things in the room at all. Himself and the chair. And the other man and the laptop that he held open in his hands.

  Noah gave Charger a quick onceover. He had a fake tan, an expensive suit and artificially enhanced gray temples. His eyes were the same as Noah remembered from the news broadcast all those years earlier—cold and lacking in humanity. More important than the man’s looks, though, was the gun on his hip. The weapon Noah was going to need to procure if he stood a chance of getting out of the room alive.

  Yeah, he said to himself. But how can you get it without getting shot yourself?

  “Don’t like what you see?” Charger asked.

  Realizing his forehead had folded in a frown, Noah lifted an eyebrow at the man and ran his gaze over him once more, this time slowly. “Yeah. A bit disappointing. I was expecting you to be bigger.”

  Charger smirked, but his voice was still cool. “You’re clever. I can see why Elle doesn’t want you dead.”

  Noah did his best to shrug from his tied-up position. “I can’t help the effect I have on women.”

  “Speaking of which...” The other man reached over the laptop’s screen and gave the spacebar a quick tap. “Make sure you watch right until the end. Just so there’s no mistake about what you’re seeing.”

  As much as Noah didn’t want to obey the order, his eyes were a
lready glued to the video playing across the screen. It was obvious from the angle that the feed had been pulled from a security camera of some kind—higher up and pointed down, which offered an unobstructed view of a blond ponytail, bobbing along as the person attached to the locks scurried through a courtyard.

  And Noah didn’t have to see her face to know it was Elle. He’d spent enough time looking at her—running his fingers through that same silken hair—to be sure. Unease crept in. For no pinpointable reason, he wanted to stop the playback. He forced himself to keep watching anyway.

  As Elle and her ponytail disappeared from view, the screen switched from the courtyard to a concrete path that led to a set of stairs on the side of a house. There, she paused to toss a glance over her shoulder before running up them and disappearing through a door.

  “There’s a thirty-second delay here,” said Charger. “If you’re wondering why she wasn’t smart enough to know she was being recorded, let me assure you that she did her best to disable the cameras the previous morning. She tore out one of the wires that powered the whole system. Clever, really. She knew just which one would disable the operation without setting off an alarm. Too bad she didn’t also know that my security team had a previously scheduled service tech there later that same day. He noted and fixed the problem. He thought it was rats that had done the damage, actually.” He smiled. “And I can’t say he was wrong.”

  Noah opened his mouth to tell the other man where he could shove his opinion, but the words stuck in his throat. Elle was back on the screen, this time running back down the stairs. She had a large bag slung over one shoulder, and a small bundle tucked against her chest. She had her hood up now, but there was still no mistaking her. Especially since she paused at the bottom of the stairs to stare at the camera for a moment. The video quality was surprisingly good, and in those two seconds, Noah could easily read the surprise—then fear—in her gaze.

  “That was the moment she realized her plan had encountered a huge problem,” Charger stated. “And in case there’s any doubt about what she was stealing...”