Quincy: A Montana Bounty Hunters Story

by Devlin, Delilah

  “Mmm-mm.” Lacey said, coming up beside her.

  “Talking about the hot dogs or them?” Tamara said, lifting her chin toward the crew swarming over what little remained of her house.

  Lacey lifted her tumbler filled with rum and coke and took a long sip. “Our menfolk, sweetie. They’re just about done. Can’t believe how good they are at this.”

  “Or how good they are to look at?” Tamara quipped.

  Lacey chuckled. “All I’m gonna say is mmm-mm.”

  All the male hunters were there: Reaper, Dagger, Hook, Cochise, Animal, and Quincy. The only women absent were Felicity, who was working an op with RIP, and Animal’s girlfriend, Allie, who was away on a photo shoot on the Snake River.

  “I don’t know why, but I have this need to brush Cochise’s hair,” Tamara said, looking at the man’s long black braid.

  “You aren’t alone,” Lacey said, smiling from behind the rim of her sparkly cup.

  At just that moment, Quincy looked across the remains of the house and gave her a wink.

  Tamara couldn’t help sighing.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Lacey said softly.

  “I’m happy for me, too,” she said grinning. “I definitely have a keeper.” Hoping to change the topic, because she’d been caught ogling, she glanced at Lacey’s tumbler. It was one of the shiniest things she’d ever seen. The sides were covered in glitter that reflected swirls of silver, aqua, deep blue, and purple. “I love your cup.”

  Lacey waggled her eyebrows. “Thank you, I made it. Found the instructions on Pinterest under ‘glitter epoxy tumbler’.”

  “You’ll have to send me the link.”

  “Why don’t we throw a glitter party and invite all the girls? Betcha we could pry Hook’s honey, Felicity, away from her job at RIP for a girls’ night, too.”

  “Sounds like fun.” A crafty girls’ night sounded like something to do once the weather turned colder.

  “We could do a video and post it on the website. Make a few with the Montana Bounty Hunters’ logo and give them away in a contest.”

  “Great idea.” Tamara turned the row of hot dogs again then wiped her hands on a towel. “Can you ‘woman’ the grill for a bit? I have something I need to do.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tamara went back to the Expedition and pulled her notepad from her purse along with a flashlight, and then skirted the work site and the large overfilled dumpsters to head toward her bunker. She hadn’t been inside it since before the house had burned, and she needed to make an inventory of the equipment she wanted moved into storage so she could tell Quincy how large a U-Haul they’d need.

  She descended the stairs and unlocked the door. Then she bent and placed the concrete block she’d always used to prop it open. She smiled as she thought about the day the thug she’d given a cut and color to kicked the block away, locking her inside. When Quincy had come minutes later, he hadn’t realized that letting the door swing shut would trap them.

  What had started out as a scary situation had turned out to be the luckiest day of her life.

  Moving deeper into the bunker, she turned on her flashlight. Without the overhead lights and the marquee lights surrounding the mirrors at the two stations, the interior of the bunker looked dismal and slightly sinister. Her father had built the doomsday bunker for tornados, he’d said, but she thought he just wanted to be ready for an alien invasion or the zombie apocalypse. In the end, it had served as his mancave where he could go and fiddle with his toys, like the ham radio she’d kept stored on a metal rack in the back of the bunker after his death.

  Happy that she still had something he’d treasured, she wrote it on her list of things to be moved then made her way slowly around her old beauty shop, listing chairs, tables, rolling carts, sinks, and more. All the accoutrements she’d need to open a new shop, if she ever did.

  She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to work in her chosen profession again. Although she’d been good at it, she’d never been especially successful, and she rather liked the idea of working alongside her new friends and Quincy.

  A scrape sounded from near the doorway, and she turned, expecting to find Quincy, but the shadowy figure was much taller. Her heart seized, and she clicked off her light. She moved stealthily toward the seating area, hoping her intruder’s night vision was no better than hers was. At least then, she’d have the advantage, because she knew the layout inside the bunker.

  “Did you think I’d forget about you?” came the voice.

  It was raspy and deep. And when he turned to the side, she noted he had a beard. A long one. She recognized the shape of it. Pug McPherson had snuck inside her shop.

  Crouching low, she moved behind the old sofa, hoping he’d walk deeper inside so that she might be able to make a run for the door. If she got there first, she could kick away the brick and lock him inside. Then she’d let the guys know where the man who’d burned down her home was. Not in Mexico as she’d hoped, but in her father’s damn bunker.

  If she didn’t get there first… She shivered. Had the guys noticed where she’d gone? She moved again, coming to the end of the sofa back and peered into the darkness, trying to gauge where he was. No longer standing in the scant light in the doorway, she couldn’t make out his shape anywhere.

  She changed her grip on her flashlight. It wasn’t very big, but it was made of a heavy metal. Oh, who was she kidding? If he caught her, she didn’t have a hope in hell of surviving. He could strangle her with one of his big, meaty hands. The urgency of her predicament made a flutter of panic begin to build.

  No! I have to think. I have to be smart. I have a life I love, a man I’m crazy about, and so many dreams for my future. He is not taking that from me.

  Tamping down her fear, she firmed her grip on the flashlight, sliding her thumb over the button on the side. Maybe she couldn’t dent his skull with it, but she could temporarily blind him if he got close enough.

  The waiting was killing her. She had to do something. Drawing a deep breath, she rushed toward the steps. “Quincy! Help!” she cried out as she ran, praying she’d get to the door, but a large hand clamped hard on her shoulder.

  Quincy emptied another shovelful of debris into the wheelbarrow. He couldn’t believe it, but they were almost done. Half the crew had already put down their tools to head to the tables to eat.

  He glanced around for Tamara, but she was nowhere in sight. He frowned, wondering if she’d gone to the next door neighbor’s house, who’d opened her home to the crew for bathroom breaks. He strode toward Lacey, who was using tongs to drop hotdogs into the six buns on Animal’s plate. “You see where Tamara went?”

  “She said she had something to do. I saw her holding a notebook and heading around the other side of the bins to her bunker.”

  Quincy nodded and turned. He’d make sure she didn’t need something, and then try to coax her into joining the group for the evening meal. They could tackle the contents of her bunker on another day. Just as he stepped out, he heard a faint call.

  “Quincy! Help!”

  His heart thudded. “Tamara?” he shouted out then began running. Behind him, he heard metal chairs crash and heavy footfalls following him.

  Tamara clawed at the hand covering her mouth and kicked at Pug’s ankles. He’d carried her up the stairs and was nearing a car parked in a neighbor’s driveway, but she knew the elderly woman was still in a rehab facility following a fall. She wriggled with all her might and tried to get her teeth into the fingers covering her mouth. She couldn’t let him get her into that car. If she did, she knew her life was over.

  When he got to the car, he let go of her mouth to reach for the button to open the trunk.

  As it rose, Tamara lifted her legs and planted her feet against the trunk and gave a hard shove. At the same time, she drew a deep breath, “Help me! Help me!”

  Pug cursed, whipped her body sideways, then shoved her into the trunk, not caring that her head hit metal. The lid dropped, enc
losing her in darkness, but she wasn’t ready to give up fighting. Someone had to hear her. She pounded the trunk and screamed, “I’m in the trunk. Someone, help me!”

  The car started and lurched into reverse. She rolled, again hitting her head against something on the floor. Then they changed direction, shooting forward. Again, she pounded on the trunk lid. “Get me out of here! Help! Help!”

  Then a memory popped into her mind, of a nursing student who’d escaped a kidnapping by popping the lid of the trunk from the inside. A latch. There has to be a latch.

  Frantic now, she glanced around, knowing she should find something glowing inside the trunk. A latch handle. “Where the fuck are you?” she sobbed. Then she saw it. The damn thing was small but at the rear of the trunk. She scraped at it, caught an edge, and pulled.

  The trunk popped open, and she grabbed for the edge of the open trunk and pulled herself up, but then the crunch of metal sounded, and the car suddenly halted. She was flung once again into the back of the trunk and the lid slammed downward.

  Again, she angled her body, searched the darkness for the small glowing tab, and flipped it. Grabbing the edge of the trunk, she rolled her body over the edge and fell to the ground. Getting to her knees, she pushed up and ran into a solid wall of muscle.

  Arms closed around her, but she fought, reaching up to scratch her assailant’s face. The arms tightened.

  “Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

  She realized the man holding her was shaking as hard as she was. The chest was naked, sweaty. His scent… She sagged against Quincy’s chest and sobbed.

  Quincy closed his eyes and held her, letting her cry. Thank you, God. Thank you. He’d never been more scared in his life than the moment he’d heard her cry out.

  A hand clapped against his shoulder, and he looked sideways. Reaper stood beside him. “We’ve got him,” he said. “Jamie’s calling the cops.”

  Tamara drew a ragged breath and raised her head. “It was Pug. He came inside the b-bunker.”

  “We know, baby,” Quincy said, watching as Dagger held the biker to the ground with a knee against his spine while Hook cuffed him.

  Sirens sounded, wailing louder as they drew near.

  He glanced down at Tamara. Tears ran in fat rivulets down her cheeks, and he wished he could finish Pug right then and there for doing this to her. “Are you hurt, baby?”

  “Banged up a bit. The car—it crashed…”

  Quincy nodded. “While the guys followed you on foot, Carly and Lacey jumped into Dagger’s truck. They pulled out in front of him.”

  “His new truck?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, his brand new truck.”

  “Bet he’s pissed.” And then she gave him a little smile.

  Relieved, he gave her another hug then loosened his embrace.

  She stood taller and glanced over at Pug, who was being helped to his feet. The orange-bearded man lifted his lips to snarl.

  Dagger slammed his fist into his stomach, and he bent and puked on the ground. When Pug lifted his head, Dagger pointed a finger at his face. “Have some respect for the lady, shithead.”

  “You tell him, baby!” Lacey called out, pumping her fist.

  Tamara laughed then looked sideways at Quincy. “I could really use a beer right about now.”

  In the dark of night, Quincy slipped his thigh from under Tamara’s then slid sideways from beneath her arm. He padded to the spare bedroom, reached into the top shelf of the open closet door, and pulled down the quart of paint he’d hidden there.

  Given how attentive he’d been to her bruises and many aches when they’d arrived home, and by the number of orgasms he’d managed to coax from her, he figured his woman wouldn’t stir until noon. That should give him just enough time…

  Sunlight streamed into the bedroom when Tamara awoke. She glanced beside her, but already knew he wasn’t in the bed. If he had been, she’d have been sprawled across his body.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stretched her arms over her head then looked around for her robe, but since it wasn’t within reach, she didn’t want to go looking for it. Besides, she wanted her morning hug, and maybe more.

  Quincy wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. He wasn’t in the bathroom. Which left the bedroom on the opposite side of the living room. Pushing open the door to the spare room, she halted in surprise, watching as he bent with a paintbrush in hand to stroke paint into the corner and along the top of the baseboard.

  “I thought you said no purple,” she said, her voice husky.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes. “It’s not purple. It’s lilac-gray.”

  “Looks purple to me,” she said, stepping farther into the room. She turned, taking in the lovely, pale shade on the walls. “It’s so pretty.”

  “It’s also gender-neutral, or so the man at the paint store said.”

  “You even know what that means?” she teased.

  Quincy didn’t answer. He finished the last stroke of paint and dropped the brush onto the pan beside him. When he rose, her breath caught, because although his eyes still squinted at her, there were crinkles at the corners and slight smirk on his lips. And he was moving toward her.

  She really wished she’d found that robe, because standing nude in front of him left her every reaction there for him to see. Her chest rose and fell more quickly. Her nipples tightened. A blush was heating up her face.

  He reached out, lifted one breast, then bent and brushed a kiss across the hard tip. “Good morning,” he whispered. Then bent to lift and kiss the other. “Good morning to you, too.”

  When he went to one knee, she sucked in a breath. His tongue licked between her folds and lapped upward, flicking against her hooded clit. “Good morning.” He reached an arm across his chest and patted his shoulder. “Right here, baby.”

  She could read his mind by now. Lifting her leg, she draped her thigh over his shoulder and gripped his hair while he proceeded to eat her out. “Hella good morning to you,” she gasped.

  Later, she lay on her back on the floor, her head resting on his bicep. He was still breathing hard after riding her from behind.

  “Do you like it?” he said, waving his hand at the wall.

  “I love it,” she said, but now she was looking at him.

  His face in profile, he smiled. “I think it’s time we get a little ahead of the game, don’t you?”

  Not entirely sure he was talking about the same thing she was thinking, she said, “You mean, preparing a nursery?”

  “Uh-huh.” Then he lifted her left hand and kissed one particular finger. “How about we go shopping for something to put here?”

  Her breath caught. “Are you asking—”

  “Not asking, baby. We’re getting married.”

  She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes wide. And just like that, Tamara realized she had family again. Her own. With him. Forever.

  Hot SEAL, New Orleans Nights

  SEALs in Paradise

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

  Delilah Devlin

  Chapter 1

  Thibaut T-Bone Cyr braced himself, knowing he’d be overwhelmed the second he stepped outside into old, familiar territory. For him, the Orleans Bourbon Hotel wasn’t a place brimming with memories. He’d only passed the exterior in his youth, which was why he’d elected to stay there while he contemplated his options. However, leaving the hotel’s confines was like stepping straight into his past. He’d roamed the French Quarter of New Orleans as a teenager, looking for trouble, and had many hazy memories of Mardi Gras celebrations and pub crawls, as well as clearer ones that still filled him with a stinging regret over what might have been.

  Squinting at the waning daylight, Thibaut exited the hotel only to be instantly jostled on the sidewalk by a group of sweaty, sunburned tourists. The women were dressed in skimpy tops and shorts with fanny packs encircling their waists, where no doubt the
y’d hidden away cell phones, cameras, and city maps. After giving him brazen up-and-down glances, they giggled and moved away. Again, he wondered why he’d opted to stay in the center of the French Quarter when he could have called any of his family for a bed.

  But he knew the answer to that. He’d wanted to remain under the radar. This trip wasn’t about a kid’s graduation or a cousin’s wedding. For the first time since he’d entered the Navy, he was seriously considering his future beyond the SEALs, and he knew if his family got a whiff of that notion, the pressure would be on to convince him New Orleans was in his blood. That he belonged back among his own people. These few days of quiet, before he announced his presence, were about him seeing whether he still felt a connection to the place he’d yearned for all these years.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he slipped it out of his jeans pocket. Sliding his thumb across the screen, he read the message from Tony Nitro Gallo, one of his SEAL teammates.

  Nitro: Hey, T-Bone. Team’s all here. Or at least what’s left of us. Where are you?

  His cheeks billowed around a deep exhale then he quickly responded.

  T-Bone: Won’t make it. Not in San Diego.

  There was a long pause, and then the opening notes of Offspring’s “Nitro” played.

  Grunting, Thibaut tapped his screen and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”

  “What the hell do you mean you’re not in San Diego?” came Nitro’s gruff voice.

  Music played in the background, and Thibaut could see his friends in his mind’s eye, seated around their usual table at McP’s. He might never have that with them again. He squinted against the bright sun—that was the reason his eyes burned. “I decided to take some leave.”

  “Someone die?”

  Fair question. The last time he’d been in New Orleans had been to attend his Tante Rosalie’s funeral two years ago. “No one’s dead.” So far as I know. He wasn’t exactly on everyone’s speed dial these days. He’d gotten tired of everyone asking when he was coming back “where he belonged” and had let too many months pass without reaching out.