The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  “You’re going to leave? Just like that? In the middle of…of…? Hell, Vega.” Butch punched the bed again just as Vega leaned under the kitchen table to grab her panties.

  “Jack expects all his hunters to do local jobs when we’re in town. It’s good PR.” She stood and slipped her black t-shirt over her head. The word “Goddess” blazed in gold letters, letters that strained across her chest thanks to a malfunctioning coin-operated washer in New Mexico that shrank an entire load of shirts by practically boiling them. The small shirts had worked to her benefit, though, by giving her fugitives a distracting view while she cuffed them.

  She gave her lace panties a little shake before stepping into them, and then wondered where her skirt had landed.

  “Jack takes advantage of you. He sends you on all the high-profile hard-to-find cases. That’s good enough PR.” He pulled himself from the bed. He was a good seven inches taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier. He liked to use his size to his advantage. “You don’t need to do this local shit for him, too.”

  She laughed and gave his washboard stomach a light slap. “Don’t be a jealous ass. Jack’s my uncle.”

  She found her skirt on the sofa under Butch’s jeans. “The longer I wait.” She inched the supple leather over her hips. “The harder it’ll be to find my quarry.”

  Butch growled but tugged his pants on. He hastily buttoned them, and then straightened his cowboy hat. Sometimes the guy could put on quite a show.

  “Look.” She gave him a hard kiss square on the lips. “This shouldn’t take all day. I can get back by six or so.”

  “Maybe I won’t be here.” His rough expression hardened into a stare frightening enough to melt any woman into a quivering mass of nerves. But Vega wasn’t just any woman. She thrived on tangling with dangerous men.

  It was her job.

  She was a bounty hunter.

  “Guess I’ll have my fun without you tonight, then.” She checked the clip on her Glock 9mm semiautomatic pistol and snapped it back into place.

  Sure, he could do things to her body that made her wonder if she might explode. That talent didn’t make him indispensable.

  Butch was her lover. A convenience. Jack was family. In her life, family came first. She shrugged on her leather jacket, quickly braided her hair into a cord that hung down her back, and made a straight path to the apartment door.

  “I hate your hair like that,” he muttered. He leaned his head against the doorjamb and frowned. He looked almost endearing.

  For a moment, she felt guilty about leaving him and his bed. “Look,” she said, “I promised Jack I’d help him out.”

  “I know. I know. You always keep your promises.” He sounded pitiful. “Call me?”

  Outside, snow fell in those large globs that stuck together, promising that the streets would soon get muddier and icier. She let the damp bite revive her. She’d always loved how the winter and the cold could clear her head and make her feel acutely alive. It invigorated her and made the chase all the more exciting. Her jeep, an ancient four-wheel-drive she’d revived from a pile of rust, took her down a bumpy street deep into one of Detroit’s forgotten neighborhoods.

  The depressed area, with its sprinkling of abandoned and burnt-out shells of houses on every street, would never make its way into a glossy tour book. The row houses dated back to the nineteen forties and probably hadn’t seen a repairman for decades. Several shabby characters sat on a front stoop. A few others stood on the sidewalk. For the most part, everyone ignored her.

  A twitchy little man with a permanently broken nose and missing most of his teeth gave Vega a wide gaping smile, though. He waved her over to the curb.

  Monroe.

  Just the man Vega was hoping to find.

  Monroe was a homeless drug addict. But he saw just about everything that happened in Detroit’s underbelly and would share his knowledge…for a price. He limped over to Vega’s Jeep and leaned heavily on the door.

  “Hey baby, what’cha got for me today?” Monroe rubbed his red, swollen hands on his threadbare coat, probably to warm them.

  Vega leaned forward in her seat. “Where’s the coat and gloves I bought you?”

  “Got expenses, baby, lots of expenses.” He’d traded the coat for drugs if his glassy eyes were any indication. The sharp stink of urine drifted through the window. That was a new low for him. “New guy invading the streets, you know. He’s a real expensive shit. Gotta do what’cha gotta do, you know?”

  She pressed a twenty into his freezing hands. “Buy something warm with this.” She peeled a second twenty from her money clip but held onto it. “Tell me, Monroe. Who’s The Great Wall seeing lately?”

  He eyed that second twenty like a kid would a forbidden sweet. “She’s not some ho. Not this time. He’s getting it for free this time, the lucky bastard.”

  Vega drew the twenty back when Monroe reached out to grab it. “Where can I find her?”

  “Some apartment in the West Vernor area. Don’t know the street, exactly.” His hand was snaking out for the twenty again. “It’s in one of them brick buildings. Can’t go anywhere near there anymore. Rich bastards invaded the area. The cops hassle the hell out of me whenever I step foot on one of those streets.”

  She held tight to the money. “Her name?”

  Monroe had to think for a moment. He kept his swimmy gaze trained on the twenty. “Lila…Lila Crafter, I think.” He snatched the money and hobbled away.

  Still parked on the side of the road, she made two quick phone calls while keeping an eye on a group of young kids wearing gang colors who had suddenly taken an interest in her.

  The first call was to Officer Ford, a local cop she trusted. With a little prodding, he agreed to pick up Monroe before that forty dollars of hers could be used to purchase heroin. Ford was pretty sure there was a charge pending against Monroe somewhere, which was good. Monroe would get a warm bed and a solid meal tonight.

  With that handled, she punched in the phone number for Fiona, her younger sister. Much to hers and her mother’s alarm, Jack had recently hired Fiona to work for Skip Tracers.

  Of course Fiona had thrown the fact that Jack had offered Vega a bounty hunter position at Skip Tracers four years earlier in their faces as a defense. But that was different. Vega had been a cop at the time with the Detroit PD. And unhappy as hell.

  Fiona was the family’s golden child. An innocent. Fresh out of college. She didn’t know the world of violence and crime like Vega did. And Jack had no right to put her in their world.

  Vega was only still speaking to him because he hadn’t let Fiona do anything more than serve as research assistant to the team of active bounty hunters, much to Fiona’s chagrin. As long as he kept her tucked safely behind a desk, Vega was forced to admit having her sister around was proving useful.

  In less than a minute, Fiona had matched an address to a Lila Crafter living in the West Vernor area.

  Number forty-five B on Green Street, Fiona had said. It took five minutes to navigate through the snowy streets and find a parking space across from the three-story brick apartment building.

  Vega watched from her jeep while a bleached blonde, wearing a frilly flower print skirt and a pink coat with a white fur trim, climbed out of a shiny new Mercedes SUV and hobbled across the icy sidewalk in three-inch heels. Each step turned into a painful lesson in patience for Vega as the woman took her time, testing the concrete for slick spots.

  Get on with it, Vega could barely keep herself from screaming. This woman, clad in her fashionable Prada helpless-wear—spiky shoes and matching leather handbag, couldn’t really be Lila Crafter? Surely, a fashion-conscious woman like that wouldn’t slum around with some gruff, occasionally dangerous criminal like Lionel Wahl.

  Vega exhaled a long breath. The woman fiddled with her keys a moment before unlocking the door marked forty-five B.

  That pink powder puff was Wahl’s new girl. Go figure.

  Vega stepped out of the jeep and cros
sed the street. A passing patrol car slowed. West Vernor was becoming trendy. Just down the block, a popular Mexican restaurant’s parking lot looked like a luxury car sales center. The cops wouldn’t appreciate a commotion with a takedown, not in this neighborhood. Great.

  After circling the building and checking all the exits, Vega knocked on the front door. The powder puff answered.

  Vega took it nice and easy, giving Lila a gentle smile. A girlfriend harboring her fugitive was always considered dangerous, and she had no interest in getting sucker punched by this one, powder puff or not.

  “Miss Crafter?” Vega said, making no attempt to step into the apartment. “I’m looking for Lionel Wahl. I’ve got a package for him. Is he around?”

  Lila’s eyes sparkled with confusion. She started to push the door closed. “I don’t know who you mean.”

  “The Great Wall?” Vega stuck her boot in the door. “Your man, Lila?”

  “Wally?” Lila flicked a nervous glance over her shoulder. Vega would lay good odds that Lionel was hiding inside.

  One of the perks of being a bounty hunter rather than a cop was that she could go anywhere she believed her fugitive to be hiding. No warrant needed. No worry about civil rights. Lionel gave those up when he signed his bail bond. By not showing up for court, he was officially an escaped prisoner. And fair game for any means necessary to bring him back.

  “Look, I’m a bail enforcement officer,” Vega said, wanting to avoid strong-arm tactics. Though is was perfectly legal to force her way into the apartment as long as The Great Wall was inside, she didn’t like to scare the civilians, like Lila. In fact, she’d called herself a bail enforcement officer, hoping it sounded more benign than a gun-slinging ‘bounty hunter’. “Your Wally didn’t show up for court today. I’m here to take him to the police before the cops get testy.”

  “That’s impossible. You’ve got the wrong house.” Lila threw another glance over her shoulder. “My Wally has never been arrested.” She tried again to close the door.

  Vega slipped inside the warm foyer before the door could snap closed. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I had a quick word with your Wally?”

  Lila’s hands trembled as she brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “I suppose not.”

  Vega followed Lila up the stairs, into a living room furnished with a brand new tan and white sofa and matching overstuffed chairs. Lionel was sure moving up in the world. The last time she picked him up, she’d found him sleeping on a broken bed in an abandoned fleabag motel used by the really cheap hookers. A rat had been crawling across his bare back.

  “Wally, tell this woman she’s mistaken about you.”

  His eyes met Vega’s. He rose from the sofa. At nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders to match, he lived up to his name, The Great Wall. Seated, he’d taken up nearly the entire sofa. Standing, he dominated the room.

  “This is a nice place, Lionel. Don’t ruin what you’ve got here. Just come with me peacefully.”

  He sucked in a quick breath. His pricey sweater stretched, his tailored pants rustled. “Didn’t know you were back in town, Vega.” His low voice rumbled. “Heard you were in New Mexico chasing some gun smugglers the feds couldn’t keep their hands on.”

  “Caught them three days ago. It was all over the news. Sorry you missed it. You going to come with me downtown, right?”

  “What does she mean?” Lila’s voice grew shrill.

  Lionel shrugged. “It’s okay, Lila. I gotta go out for a while.”

  Vega eased out a breath. Another easy pickup, she thought. She was congratulating herself too soon, though. An explosion from downstairs shook the room and wiped the smugness from her face.

  Shit.

  Fate seemed to hate it when she got too full of herself.

  She drew her gun and spun toward the foyer stairs just as Butch, cowboy hat jammed low on his head, charged into the room. A nasty short stock shotgun was locked in his grasp. “You’re under arrest! Move a muscle asshole, and I’ll blow your ugly head off!”

  Lila started screaming.

  Vega nearly dropped her Glock. “What the hell?”

  Butch swung around, his shotgun aimed squarely at her chest. “Vega?” He lowered the barrel.

  “Damn.” Vega jammed her gun back into the hostler. “This is the second time the Tyler Bonding Company has contracted with two agencies.”

  “It’s the new secretary.” Butch locked the shotgun’s aim on Lionel again. “I said don’t move!”

  Lila’s screams grew louder.

  “She can’t keep her records straight.” Butch kept his gaze trained on Lionel whose face had closed down into a blank street-tough hardness. “Wait a minute. What in the hell is Jack thinking? This scum is five times your size.”

  Telling Butch that size didn’t matter would be a waste of breath. “I was here first,” she said instead. “This is my pickup.”

  “Hell no, it’s not.”

  Lionel backed away from the both of them. Vega didn’t blame him. Arguments and guns…the combination had a funny way of turning dangerous.

  “No you don’t, asshole.” Butch cocked the shotgun.

  With surprising grace for such a large man, Lionel hurled a nearby lamp at Butch’s head. Butch ducked, but the heavy lamp still smashed against his skull. A string of vile curses came spitting out his mouth.

  Lionel gave a shout of his own and tossed himself through a diamond-paned window. The glass shattered, and he was gone.

  Butch was bleeding from his forehead and cursing up a storm. He’d live.

  But could this disaster be salvaged? Vega didn’t know.

  She grabbed Lila who was turning purple from screaming so hard, and gave her a little shake to capture her attention. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect your man.”

  Lila finally shut up.

  “I’ll get him.” Butch swung his shotgun over his shoulder and disappeared back down the stairs.

  Vega didn’t waste a moment. She leapt through the gaping hole that had once been a window and landed in a slushy back alleyway ten feet below. Glass shards crunched under her boots.

  The sun was already dipping low on the horizon. In less than an hour, Lionel was going to have the benefit of total darkness.

  Following his trail in the snow, she tracked Lionel down one alley into another. He was snaking his way back to the drug infested streets Vega knew well. Problem was, Lionel knew them, too, and would soon have access to friends willing to fight for him.

  Luckily, speed was something Vega had over those big, lumbering men. She could outrun just about any fugitive. Within a few blocks, she caught her first glimpse of him. His lungs must have been burning by now. His massive feet pounded the ground, his body swinging from side to side. One more block and she’d have him.

  “Lionel,” she yelled when she was almost within reach. “You don’t have to go down like this.”

  He stopped. His arm, thick as a log, swept a quick, deadly arc. She ducked, taking a glancing blow to the top of her head.

  His eyes were like stone, his mouth set in a firm line. There would be no calming him today. Not after Butch had pointed that stupid shotgun at Lionel’s head.

  She’d have to subdue him before he hurt someone, namely her. Getting injured wasn’t an option. She inhaled slowly to steady her breathing and focused all her energy on her attack.

  Her first blow, a swinging kick, struck his knee. He stumbled a step but was far from down. Angrier, he lunged for her. She rolled out of reach. Springing back to her feet, she considered drawing her gun. But he was in a blind rage now. The threat of bullets wouldn’t stop him. And she didn’t want to shoot him.

  Though he had a reputation for breaking people with those meaty hands of his—a real bone crushing kind of guy—lately he was just a money launderer. Been truly trying to lay off the violence. She’d seen the positive changes and, damn it, she didn’t want to risk sending him spiraling back into a life that literally crawled with rats and cheap hooker
s.

  She ducked another blow. Damn. Why hadn’t she grabbed the Taser from her equipment bag before going in after him? Hell, because picking up Lionel had never been a problem before. They’d built a relationship built on mutual fear and respect.

  Mentally shaking herself, she dodged another wild punch and tossed a series of quick kicks to the side of Lionel’s knee. She followed up with a swift blow to his collarbone, ducking and retreating before his flailing fists could make contact.

  He teetered. His growing rage made his attack unpredictable and inefficient. He swung those trunk-like arms blindly.

  She could use that. She wasn’t about to let Lionel get away. Not with Butch hot on his trail. He’d threaten to kill the guy. If nothing else, she had to protect Lionel. And despite Butch’s taunts, she knew she could handle a giant like Lionel.

  On the street, size didn’t matter. Skill did.

  Only 5’3” and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, she needed to depend on all her skills to get this guy. His freakish height would work to her advantage. Staying low, she charged and tackled his legs with a great big bear hug. Knowing he’d instinctively bend down to pull her off, she held on while twisting a kick straight up, aiming the tip of her boot for his nose.

  It crunched.

  Lionel howled. His hands flew to his face.

  Vega sprang to her feet and with one fluid move, locked a handcuff to his wrist and hooked the other side to a nearby dumpster.

  “Sorry about the nose, Lionel,” she said, while struggling to catch her breath.

  Blood trickled down his chin. He kept his free hand over his face and moaned pitifully. She carefully patted him down, searching for any concealed weapons or illegal drugs. Not that she’d turn him in for the drugs. It was just that he didn’t need anymore trouble than he already had.

  She found nothing on him but a scrap of paper in his pocket with the name “Finn” scribbled on one side along with a phone number. She pushed the paper back into his pants and plucked a phone from her own pocket to arrange for a Skip Tracers van to pick them up.

  “Get out of the way!” Butch charged toward her, his face beet red.