Bounty Hunter Honor

by Kara Lennox

  “There’s a trap range on the other side of that earth barricade, and also a forty-yard tin-can range.”

  They walked a little farther until they reached a small metal shed near a gate. Andy led them toward it and opened the door. “We keep reflective vests stored in here for the members’ convenience. We recommend you wear them. The wilderness area is over four hundred acres, and you never know who might be out here with a gun. You don’t want to be mistaken for a wild pig.”

  They donned the neon orange vests and walked into the wilderness as Andy explained about the bountiful dove, quail, ducks and pheasants the members bagged. “Rabbit and squirrel are fair game year round,” he added with a grin that set Rex’s teeth on edge. “Good eatin’.”

  They tromped farther out. Rex kept looking for an opening, a way he could casually ask about Peter, but he didn’t trust Andy, who seemed far too friendly, so he had to proceed with caution.

  Andy pointed out the crumbling old mansion. “Game likes to hide in there,” Andy said. “One time during a javelina hunt, I cornered something in there with red eyes, and I thought I had me a pig. It turned out to be a possum.”

  “They make a good stew,” Rex said, trying to get into the spirit of the conversation, though hunting animals had never appealed to him. He found it much more sporting to hunt something with an equivalent level of intelligence to his.

  “So, who referred you to the Payton Gun Club?” Andy asked conversationally.

  “Ace McCullough,” Rex answered. “He’s been a member a long time.”

  “I’ve heard of him, of course,” Andy said. “He’s kind of a legend. Never met him, though.”

  “I know another guy who’s a member here,” Rex said. “Peter Danilov?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, I know Peter. He’s out here a lot.”

  Was there just the tiniest hesitation when Andy answered? “You know, I tried to get hold of that guy recently, and the number I had for him was no good. I thought maybe he’d moved away. Has he been around lately?”

  “Yeah, I saw him a coupla weeks ago,” Andy said. “When I see him again, I’ll tell him to get in touch with you.”

  “And that friend of his, Vlad—ah, hell, I can’t remember his last name.”

  “I know who you’re talking about. I couldn’t tell you his last name, either—all those Russian names sound alike to me,” he added in a good-ol’-boy twang that didn’t fool Rex.

  Andy made a show of checking his watch. “Oh, hell, I gotta go. Y’all just take your time, have a good look around. Freesia, we’d love to have you on our team. You too, Dennis,” he added as an afterthought.

  Yeah, right. Maybe Rex would join the club after all. With some practice he could at least learn to shoot a paper man with some degree of accuracy, even if he couldn’t shoot a real one.

  “So,” Nadia said as they scuffed their way along a faint path that wove through an open field of tall prairie grasses, “Peter’s been here recently. If we had Vlad’s last name…”

  “We might be able to weasel it out of the front desk guy,” Rex said, just as something whizzed by his left ear.

  His reaction was instinctual and instantaneous. He threw Nadia onto the ground and fell on top of her. The distant report of a high-caliber rifle reached his ears before he’d finished falling.

  Chapter Four

  “Crawl,” Rex ordered, easing his weight from her so she could push up to hands and knees. He positioned himself next to her, between her and the old house, which was where the bullet had come from. Somehow he dragged the gun case along with him, grateful he’d obeyed his instincts and not let Andy talk him into stowing the gun in a locker.

  “We need cover,” he said. “We need to make those trees.”

  Nadia didn’t question him. She crawled, and she did it quickly. Rex hoped the tall prairie grass would conceal their movements, but if their marksman was any good, he would see the grasses rippling in their wake.

  If he’d been the sniper, he’d have fired into the grass. But no more shots came.

  Then Rex realized why. The gunman had been shooting at Rex. He couldn’t risk shooting at grass because he might hit Nadia—and Peter needed Nadia.

  They were thirty yards from the nearest trees. But Nadia was agile and covered the distance quickly. They plunged into the woods several yards before stopping to catch their breath.

  “Is there a very stupid hunter out there?” Nadia asked in a hoarse whisper. “Or was someone shooting at us on purpose?”

  “With us in these orange vests?” Rex whispered back. “I doubt it was an accident. Anyway, bird hunters use shotguns, not rifles.” As Rex spoke, he pulled the Magnum from its case and loaded it with a fresh magazine. “Maybe I should give this to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Shooting at a target is a lot different than defending against a live shooter.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. If she had any idea of his history, she’d yank the gun out of his hand so fast…

  “Someone must have been watching for me to show up,” Nadia said. “That kid at the front desk, do you think?”

  “My guess is Andy Arquette.”

  “He did seem a little…insincere,” Nadia agreed.

  “Did Peter have any contacts in law enforcement?”

  “He used to get a speeding ticket at least once a week, and he never had to pay them,” she said.

  That was all Rex needed to know. “I’m willing to bet Peter’s power base is right here. We guessed right.”

  “For all the good it will do us if we don’t get out alive.”

  “We’ll get out. But we need to move—as quickly and quietly as possible. And we need to get rid of these damn vests.” The neon orange, designed to prevent hunting accidents, could have the opposite effect in their case. They shed the vests.

  They couldn’t get out the way they came in. That path involved too much open prairie, and Rex wanted to avoid the old mansion, which afforded their shooter an excellent bird’s-eye view.

  Rex knew approximately where they were on the property, based on a map he’d seen near the front desk. He also knew the only way they were getting out of this place alive was over the fence—unless they killed the person hunting them, and Rex didn’t want to think about that. He’d had more than his fill of killing.

  They cut through the woods, which was thick with undergrowth. It offered good cover but made for slow going. Tree branches and mesquite scrub scratched them as they blazed a path.

  At one point they stopped to listen, as they’d been doing every few minutes. Before, they’d heard nothing. Now, Rex discerned two sounds that concerned him. One was a barking dog. It was a good bet some of the hunters who hung out here had tracking dogs. The other sound was unmistakably running water. Rex had seen a stream or river on the map, but he couldn’t remember now precisely where it had run. They would probably have to cross it to get to the perimeter fence.

  “Dogs,” Nadia whispered.

  “Let’s keep moving.”

  Rather than avoiding the water, Rex headed for it. If they waded or swam in the steam, the dogs might lose their scent. Of course, they might freeze to death. It was maybe fifty degrees out, not terribly cold, but the water in streams around these parts came from mountain springs way up in Colorado and would turn them blue in no time.

  When they reached the stream, it turned out to be a very shallow, fast-running creek. They scrambled down the limestone bank as the dogs’ baying—definitely more than one dog—grew louder.

  Rex grabbed Nadia’s hand. “Let’s run along the creek. Maybe the dogs won’t be able to follow our scent. At least it might slow them.”

  “Do you have the slightest idea where we are?” Nadia asked. “Because I don’t.”

  “I know exactly where we are.” It was an exaggeration, but he needed Nadia to be optimistic and confident. He couldn’t afford for her to fall apart in despair.

  They splashed along the stream for maybe a quarter mile, until the
water got deeper and they couldn’t move quickly enough. They climbed out on the opposite bank, using protruding rocks and roots and small bushes to pull themselves up. Then they started running again, shoes squishing with water.

  “I can still hear the dogs,” Nadia said, panting slightly. He was amazed at her stamina and wondered what she did to stay in shape.

  “We can’t be far from the fence now.” And they weren’t. He saw it looming ahead, and his heart sank. He’d been hoping to discover a chain-link fence with some sort of baffling behind it to prevent stray bullets from escaping the gun club’s grounds. What he saw was a sheer sheet-metal wall, ten feet high and extending as far as he could see in both directions. With razor wire at the top.

  Nadia stopped and stared at the fence. “Bozhe moj, we’ll never get over that.”

  “It seems excessive for a hunting club,” Rex observed, wondering why the Payton Gun Club needed this degree of fortification. It called to mind some crazy cult, preparing to barricade itself inside a fortified compound with lots of weaponry and await the revolution. But there was no time to ponder the gun club’s motives. The dogs were getting closer—Rex could see them now. The foray into the creek hadn’t fooled them—they were probably tracking their prey on the wind anyway.

  Rex looked up and down the fence line until he spotted something promising. “How good are you at climbing trees?”

  NADIA WAS ACTUALLY VERY GOOD at climbing trees, or she had been when she was twelve. She’d been something of a tomboy as a child. Her American grandfather in Michigan had owned an orchard, and she’d spent many a fall day climbing high into the branches to snag apples the pickers had missed. When she saw what Rex had in mind, she didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her athletic shoes and socks and climbed barefoot, gripping the old pecan tree’s trunk with her feet like a monkey, using the barest of handholds. The skill came back to her without effort. She even remembered not to look down.

  Rex was right behind her—and the dogs right behind Rex. No sooner had he cleared the ground than two enormous black-and-tan hound dogs leaped through the underbrush toward them. Moments later they were at the bottom of the tree trunk, baying loudly. Fortunately their human counterpart—the one with the gun—was far behind.

  Nadia headed for one high branch in particular that reached out almost over the perimeter fence. She could walk out onto it a short distance, holding on to a branch above her for balance, but soon she lost her handhold and she had to sit on her branch and scoot. Unfortunately, the branch bent lower and lower with her weight. By the time she reached the wall, she was below the top. This wasn’t going to work.

  But Rex had the solution. He had grabbed on to the sturdier branch above and was working his way toward her, hand over hand, as if he were on playground monkey bars. “Grab on to my leg!”

  It seemed reckless, but she didn’t have any alternatives. She grasped his leg. His calf muscles were rock hard beneath the denim of his jeans. As he maneuvered farther out on the branch, she had to lift her legs to prevent getting snagged on the razor wire. Then, amazingly, she was clear of the wall.

  “Jump!” Rex called.

  During the split second she hesitated—the ground was a long way below—a shot rang out. That was all the urging she needed. She let go, plunging to the hard earth. Rex fell with amazing agility right next to her, dropping and rolling.

  “You okay?”

  She wasn’t. She’d twisted her damn ankle. But she told him she was fine, and they got up and resumed running. They could hear the dogs running at the fence, barking furiously and banging into the metal in frustration.

  “The road’s this way,” Rex said. “Give me your cell phone.”

  Her cell phone! All this time, she could have called 9-1-1 for help. But if that Andy Arquette was part of the conspiracy, what kind of story would he have told the cops when they arrived? Probably she and Rex would have been arrested for trespassing or something equally ludicrous. She handed the phone to Rex.

  They slowed to a brisk walk as he phoned someone at First Strike and relayed their approximate location. Five minutes later, they emerged from the woods onto a gravel road. Five minutes after that, they saw a car heading for them. Nadia’s stomach tightened.

  “Beau’s Mustang,” Rex said. Nadia realized they were going to live after all, and she almost dissolved with intense relief.

  They climbed into the back seat of the black muscle car. Beau was driving, and Gavin was in the passenger seat, holding a gun. Beau pulled a U-turn, gravel popping and flying, and he left a rooster tail of dust behind them. Nothing was said until they reached a main road.

  “What in hell was that all about?” Beau finally asked.

  Rex told the story, and Gavin gave a low whistle. “Sounds like those guys weren’t kidding around.”

  “No, they weren’t.” Nadia rubbed her sore ankle. It wasn’t too bad. Then she noticed that Rex was holding his right hand over his left arm. She pulled his hand away. It was covered with blood.

  “Oh, Rex! You’ve been hit! You need a doctor.”

  “It’s just a graze,” he said, acting the typical macho male.

  “You’re bleeding all over everything!” She tried to examine the wound, but his leather jacket, with a neat bullet hole in it, was in the way. “Take the jacket off.”

  Just then, Nadia’s phone rang, temporarily halting the argument. The car went very quiet. Nadia fumbled in her windbreaker for the phone and showed Rex the Caller ID display. It was a blocked call.

  “Answer it,” Rex said. He leaned close to her so he could hear both sides of the conversation.

  Heat radiated from him, along with the clean, male smell from his exertion. She blocked those sensual signals from her mind as she pushed the talk button on her phone.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” were Peter’s first, outraged words. “What are you doing hanging out with a bounty hunter?”

  “I’m sorry, Peter, I—” Rex pulled the phone away from her mouth, shook his head and made a fist, reminding her she needed to be strong, forceful, not a victim. “Rex is my boyfriend,” she said boldly.

  “I told you what would happen—”

  “You said no cops. He’s not a cop.”

  “Get rid of him! If I see him near you again, so help me—”

  “After you tried to kidnap me at the mall, I thought I needed protection. And clearly I was right. Someone was shooting at me! He could have killed me, and then how would you get your precious nano?”

  He didn’t answer. Nadia felt sick to her stomach as she imagined a bullet ripping through her body.

  “Why were you at the gun club?” Peter demanded.

  “I was looking for you. Just tell me where you are, Peter. There is no need for all this cloak-and-dagger. I’ll give you what you want. As I’ve told you repeatedly, the project is years and years away from producing actual, usable results. It won’t do you any good.”

  “My sources tell me otherwise. If I tell you where I am, your boyfriend will shoot me down like a dog.”

  “Then prove to me Lily is safe. Let me talk to her.”

  “She’s safe. I’m not a monster. But she’s not here. Denise is taking care of her.”

  “Send me a video of Lily, then. Deliver it to my house.” Rex was frantically tapping his watch. “By midnight tomorrow. If I see she’s okay, I’ll give you the nano.”

  “Get rid of the bounty hunter,” Peter countered.

  “Not going to happen. And if you don’t get me that video, I’ll go to the security director at JanCo, then together we’ll go to the CIA. They’ll listen to us, Peter. Do as I say.”

  She was watching Rex the whole time. He nodded his encouragement, then indicated she should hang up. She did, then sagged against the Mustang’s leather interior, exhausted from the tension.

  “Good, Nadia, that was good,” Rex said in an almost crooning voice.

  She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out in a gusty
sigh. She’d done it. She’d actually stood up to Peter. And she’d unnerved him. She could tell by the uncertainty in his voice. It felt wonderful.

  Rex’s approval felt wonderful, too.

  Gavin was already on his cell phone to Lori, who was back at the office trying to trace the call. “Peter was calling from a pay phone,” Gavin said, relaying the report from Lori.

  “He’ll be long gone by the time we could get there,” Beau said.

  “What do we do next?” Nadia asked, suddenly energized by her own power. “Besides taking Rex to a doctor?”

  REX’S INJURY LOOKED WORSE than it was. The exertion of running through the woods had caused it to bleed a lot, but the bullet had only grazed his arm. He’d had many such wounds in his life, and he was inclined to slap a bandage over it, change his shirt and move on.

  But Nadia wouldn’t hear of it. “Do you have any idea what kind of infection you could get?” she groused as he sat on his desk back at the First Strike office, shirtless, while Nadia cleaned the wound with peroxide.

  Rex’s arm jerked with the sting. “Ow. That hurts worse than the bullet did.”

  “Stop being a baby.” But she blew on the jagged gouge, sending shivers of awareness coursing through his body to places not remotely injured.

  He actually enjoyed her fussing over him. His mother had died when he was ten, and he couldn’t recall any woman tending his cuts and scratches since then. Certainly not one this pretty. She darted in and out with her cotton balls and butterfly bandages, reminding him of a hummingbird. As she touched him with clinical indifference, his breathing became erratic and his head light. Maybe from loss of blood, but he didn’t think he’d lost that much.

  While Nadia tended him, Rex grilled the rest of the team about their progress. One of Peter’s co-workers had quit JanCo and moved to California, Lori said, but she’d caught the other one at home the previous evening. He’d claimed not to have talked to Peter in months, despite Lori’s determined flirtation and her tight, low-riding jeans. Gavin reported that Peter’s old apartment had been cleaned out, and he’d left no forwarding address. None of the neighbors knew anything. Beau said the cigar store was no longer in business. Apparently the owner had gone back home to Russia. Beau did get his name—Vlad Popolov.