Hot on Her Tail

by Karen Anders

  He’d have to trust her

  Austin hated and loved the thought all at once. His heart contracted. He sighed heavily. Maxie was exquisite, lying next to him, in wild, naked abandon. Her smooth arms were poised over her head, her sweet lips parted slightly and her golden blond hair so silky to his touch.

  He reached over her and under the bed, where he’d secreted the key. Very gently, he unlocked the cuffs and set her wrists free. Then he moved over her, and as if her mouth were a beacon in the dark, lonely night, he took it. Her lips were hot and wet, and held a hint of more pleasures to be revealed. He kissed her mouth roughly, opening her lips with his tongue only to be met by her eagerness and hunger.

  Maxie acted on her own feelings of possession when she took his face between her hands to draw him closer, deeper.

  He groaned, a dark sound full of craving.

  For her.

  She whimpered, an impatient song filled with need.

  Of him.

  Dear Reader,

  How far would you go for your sister?

  That’s what my characters have to decide in Hot on Her Tail. Sexy bounty hunter Austin Taggart must collect on his latest bail jumper to give his gifted, artistic sister a head start on her career. Unfortunately, he has a weakness for damsels in distress and for this knight in shining armor, he’s tortured between doing his duty or following his heart.

  Francesca “Maxie” Maxwell also is in quite a tight situation—besides being handcuffed to her sexy captor. She must stay on the run until her name is cleared in an embezzlement scheme or she and her sister could lose their hip new nightclub, Firecrackers, along with their life savings.

  I really enjoyed pairing this free-spirit heroine with my by-the-book hero and watching the sparks fly. Please let me know what you think. You can write to me at P.O. Box 1929, Centreville, VA 20122 or visit me at karenanders.com and drop me an e-mail.

  Enjoy!

  Karen Anders

  P.S. Don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com!

  Books by Karen Anders

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  22—THE BARE FACTS

  HOT ON HER TAIL

  Karen Anders

  To my supportive, loving sister Donna.

  I would go on the run for you

  or should I say, Kar-run!

  Thanks for always being there!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  1

  AUSTIN TAGGART WAS A MAN who knew trouble when he saw it.

  The picture of the woman burned his hands, made his breathing quicken and his hormones hop like Mexican jumping beans. Her skin was that pale porcelain that seemed to glow from some kind of inner light. Even in a photograph, her eyes were a deep mesmerizing blue and seemed to suck at his soul with the power of a tornado.

  “Ah, damn, Manny.” Austin sent the file flying across the desk, wiping his hands on his jeans as if in danger of catching a disease from the photograph. “Is this all you have?”

  Manny Santana, Austin’s source of income and one of Sedona’s few bail bondsmen, looked up at Austin, his eyes narrowing. “How many years have you been doing this job?”

  “Three. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “In all the three years that you’ve been in this job, you aren’t going to find an easier skip for such a huge payoff.”

  “She doesn’t look easy to me.”

  “What are you talking about, amigo? I saved Francesca Maxwell for you. The bank where she worked is offering a reward of ten percent if the money she embezzled is recovered. I’m telling you. This is a cakewalk.”

  “She’s trouble.”

  “How can she be trouble?” Manny looked down at the file and laughed. “Francesca Maxwell’s never been arrested before, weighs all of a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, and looks like an angel.”

  “I can tell. She’s no cakewalk.” A woman who looked this good was big trouble in Austin’s book. Besides, she was blond. Just the thought of touching that spiky, silky-looking, windblown hair made his fingers tingle. She was nicely curved, with huge innocent-looking baby blues that could make the devil himself ask God for a favor. He wondered what her voice sounded like. Husky, he guessed. He felt a stirring of panic deep in his gut. No way was he going after this woman. In any way.

  Manny looked perplexed and then his face cleared as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “Is this the blond thing, amigo? Damn you with your Indian hocus-pocus spiritualism. Just because it happened to you once doesn’t mean you’ll do it again. It’s easy money.”

  “Don’t scoff. My gut instinct has never let me down. Shelly? You remember her?” Yeah, look at what had happened with Shelly. He’d been all moon-eyed about the blonde and she had kicked him really hard in his pride. It still smarted. She played him for a fool and he fell for it hook, line and sinker. He leaned on the desk and looked Manny straight in the eye. Shelly had hurt him deeper than any woman he’d ever known, because he thought he had loved her. “Count me out.”

  “Look. I’m telling you. This is easy money.” Manny picked up the photo and held it out to him. “She’s a little Pollyanna who’ll probably faint from your big, bad attitude.”

  Austin felt his gut tighten and a sixth sense whisper across his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck. Austin hardened his features and decided that his gut pulled rank over Manny. He wasn’t going anywhere near the woman.

  “How much did she embezzle?”

  “A cool million.”

  “A million?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did she get caught?”

  “I think somebody turned her in. But hey, I don’t ask questions. When someone skips out on me and I stand to lose greenbacks, I get cranky.”

  “You’ve got the wrong guy, Manny.”

  “Austin, go pick her up, bring her back and collect your paycheck. With your tracking skills, it shouldn’t take you more than a day or two,” he said firmly, holding out the file.

  Austin threw up his hands as if to protect his face. He stepped back from the desk. “No way, man. Call me if you need help apprehending a mad dog-killer or an international terrorist. I’d rather take them over this hell’s angel.”

  “You’re a sissy. Come on, Renegade.”

  Austin broke the rules when it suited him. But there was one rule he never broke. He always listened to his gut instincts, hocus-pocus or not.

  Austin stepped back, his throat closing as if the air in Manny’s little office was beginning to seep away. The look on Manny’s face was comical. It was clear he thought Austin had lost his mind, but Austin knew better.

  He got a glimpse of the photo as Manny sorted through the file. A breeze from the oscillating fan made the photo jump and, as it flattened, it looked as if she was winking at him. He backed up another pace. “I’m telling you, Manny. My gut instincts say she’s trouble. I’m outta here.”

  Turning on his heel, he tried to quell the panic in his gut. He pulled open the door and stepped into the hot, dry heat of an Arizona summer, grateful to be out of the confines of Manny’s office. This part of town wouldn’t be showcased in any tourist brochure, but, then, it wasn’t run-down either. Without being a hotbed of crime and vice, Sedona had enough lawbreakers to make him a good living.

  He dug in his jeans pocket for the keys to his sleek, black Mustang and unlocked the door. As cocky as if he had cheated death, he
took a deep, cleansing breath. Whistling a merry tune, he settled himself in the seat. Starting the car, he turned the air on full blast, trying to breathe around the dense heat in the enclosed car. Immediately he saw that the “check oil” warning light was on. He made a call to his mechanic and got an appointment for the man to look at it by the end of the day.

  The car had been his father’s and Austin took care of it like it was his child. Besides a worn out picture, it was the only legacy he had left of a father he had loved deeply and lost at too young an age.

  He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest while he toyed with the idea of stopping at Cactus Pete’s for a long pull on a cold beer, but changed his mind. His grandmother had to be at the doctor’s for her checkup at one-thirty and he didn’t have the time. He wouldn’t dream of keeping his ninety-year-old grandmother waiting or let his mother down. His stepfather had done that enough to last her a lifetime.

  The trip from Sedona to the outskirts of town took no more than twenty minutes. Although he’d grown up here, he never could get over the awe of the spectacular scenery. In the distance, the startling formations of deep-red rock structures hunched against an almost perpetual blue sky. He loved the wide-open spaces, the evidence that Mother Nature was a force to be reckoned with. Part of his heritage, he guessed.

  He pulled into the driveway of a four bedroom, two-story home with a detached guest house where he lived separate from the women in his family. With the help of his mother, who worked as a social worker, he supported his grandmother and sister. He was proud of the house he and his mother had been able to buy with their combined income. Jessica, his sister, was away at art school, honing her considerable talent. She was due back in a few days after her finals were finished.

  He turned the engine off and sat in his car for a few moments, already feeling the effects of the heat waiting for him with a smothering embrace outside the car. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and soaked into his black muscle T-shirt. The woman’s face was imprinted on his retinas and he couldn’t banish her image. He was sure he’d made the right choice. He was already obsessed with a photo. How would he react to the real thing?

  His cell phone rang as he was making his way up the walk. He pulled it off his belt and answered.

  “Taggart.”

  “You sound like a mean, tough bounty hunter, big brother.”

  Austin smiled. “Hey, shouldn’t you be studying for finals, brat?”

  “I took a break because I was so excited I had to call you. My watercolor instructor thinks I have amazing talent.”

  “You do.”

  “Thanks, Austin. Anyway, he’s encouraged me to study with him this summer in a handpicked class in France. This is a chance of a lifetime.”

  “That’s great, Jessica.”

  There’s only one drawback.” Her voice dropped an octave and an unsettling sense of dread moved through him.

  “What’s that?”

  “The cost.”

  He braced himself and asked, “How much?” When Jessica told him the amount, his stomach lurched.

  “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

  Austin couldn’t stand the sadness in her voice. His sister deserved this chance to make it. A chance he had never had. He’d been twenty-three the first time he’d seen his fifteen-year-old sister. Dirty, hanging onto his mother’s arm as if she was the only safe haven in the world. He had promised himself he would give her everything he possibly could. If this meant a little self-sacrifice on his part, then so be it. Now, he would give her Paris, because she deserved it.

  There was only one way he could get that kind of money. “When do you need it?”

  “Next week. I know it’s short notice, and I normally wouldn’t ask, but this could lead to really big things, Austin. Maybe my own show someday.”

  He could hear the hope in his sister’s voice and his heart sank. Going after that irresistible, troublesome skip went against every fiber of his being. The thought of getting near the woman made him nervous as hell, but Austin knew he would breach his one golden rule for Jessica. “Consider it a done deal. Call me later with the details on where to send the cash.”

  “Thanks, Austin. You’re the best.”

  He released his breath and entered the house as he was dialing the phone.

  “Sedona’s Bail Bonds,” Manny answered.

  “Did you give that skip away yet?”

  “No. You changed your mind?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be by to pick up the paperwork.”

  He walked into the kitchen, where his grandmother was sitting at the table, piecing together a puzzle.

  “Are you ready to go, Grandmother?”

  “Come sit with me for a moment, Austin.”

  Austin sat down at the table. “What is it?”

  She put her hand on his forearm and he could feel the heat of her wisdom seep into him. His grandmother had been a medicine woman, revered by her tribe, but after his full-blooded Apache father had died, his mother had married a white man and they had left his grandmother behind at the reservation.

  It had only been a year ago when his grandmother had gotten too old to practice the ways. He had brought her to live with them.

  In the time of old, medicine women were given the responsibility of making the warriors’ shields, for it was believed she had special powers that would give the war shields added protection for those who carried them. He covered his grandmother’s hand, bending down to hear what she had to say. “I dreamed that you were chasing the sun.”

  “Is there danger in this, Grandmother?”

  “Yes, of a kind, but one you will battle and overcome because you have the soul of a great warrior.” She turned away and picked up a handwoven bag. She rummaged around inside and pulled an article out of the bag, her wrinkled fist closing around it.

  “I will always try to make you proud of my spirit, Grandmother.”

  “One caution.”

  “Yes?”

  The hand she returned to his forearm tightened. She brought her other hand around and opened it. In her palm sat a miniature warrior’s shield. She took his hand and pressed the small object into his palm. “You cannot catch the sun without getting burned.”

  IT WAS LATER that afternoon, after he’d taken his grandmother home and then stopped by Manny’s to pick up the paperwork that he paid a visit to Dorrie and Francesca Maxwell’s soon-to-be opened club, Firecrackers.

  The place was upscale and trendy, the sign a combination of lettering and starbursts of color.

  When he entered, he passed a large mirrored wall and called out. “Hello. Anyone here?” The empty marble and glass room echoed his voice.

  “Yes. Can I help you?” A woman called out as she popped up from behind the gleaming mahogany bar, a glass in her hand. He glimpsed honey blond hair, a blue tank top tucked into a pair of black slacks, and a nice little figure. Not the angel in question, but a cherub.

  “Hi. I’m Austin Taggart from the Arizona Liquor Licensing Bureau.”

  She straightened and immediately came from behind the bar. “Is there a problem with Maxie’s application for a license?” Even though she tried to hide it, her voice quavered.

  “Maxie?”

  “Sorry. That’s Francesca’s nickname.”

  “I see. I have a few questions that I need to ask her. I was hoping to get this cleared up because I’m sure you’d like to open on time.”

  “Could I help you with that? I’m her sister Dorrie and also her partner.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need the information from the person who applied for the license. Would it be possible for me to talk to your sister?” The woman did a good job hiding her anxiety, but Austin was very observant and he caught the flash of alarm in her eyes.

  “Well, she’s not exactly reachable at this time. Could I take your number?”

  “We take these matters very seriously, Ms. Maxwell.” He wrote his cell phone number on a pad of paper sitting on the bar.

&n
bsp; Suddenly, there was the sound of shattering glass in the back and Dorrie Maxwell closed her eyes in one of the flinching, cringing ways that told him she’d had a rough few days. Through clenched teeth, she said, “I’m sure that you do. Could you please excuse me for just a moment?”

  She turned and made her way to the back where deliveries were made. He could hear her yelling.

  As soon as she was gone, Austin was behind the bar going through anything he could find. He spied a woman’s purse and looked over his shoulder. Dorrie was still haranguing the delivery guy. He opened the bag and discovered that she must have just picked up her mail from their post office box. He riffled through bills and junk mail until he came to a postcard.

  Bingo.

  When Dorrie came back in, he wished her well with the new club and exited out the door. Walking around to the rear entrance, he found the red-faced deliveryman and slipped him a hundred dollars. It was double what he had promised, but hell, the guy had taken an awful lot of abuse.

  IT WAS A TYPICAL raucous Saturday night for the notorious motorcycle hangout, Lucky Star. By midnight, Francesca “Maxie” Maxwell’s scanty barmaid outfit was beer-stained and her nerves were frayed from three hours of sidestepping slaps and tickles. She set down a mug of white-foamed beer in front of a man who couldn’t stop chuckling to himself, made a mental note that it was last call for him, at least, and glanced over at the bartender, Star Dupree. Maybe Star would let Maxie call a taxi for this fella. He was a regular, and Star, the owner and former motorcycle mama, took good care of her regulars. But Star wasn’t paying attention as she dispensed both drinks and wisdom behind the bar. She was a formidable woman with dramatic fiery red hair and stars tattooed all over the cleavage of her large bosoms. She slapped a patron on the arm, letting out the loud, honking laugh that she was famous for.