“You’re a bounty hunter?”
“Bond enforcement agent.”
Isabelle barely heard her. She just noticed the Wonder Woman tattoo on Holt’s left bicep. Holt jumped when Isabelle traced the flow of her forearm tattoos.
“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound so bad now does it?” Isabelle thought it sounded terrible, but after the thirty minutes she’d just had, Holt’s tattoos countered that. It wasn’t like she was going to have to see this woman again, so why not enjoy what was in front of her now?
Holt didn’t seem to mind the attention. She held out her forearms as Isabelle gently traced the phoenix on the right, and the Japanese kanji on the left. Isabelle was also quite impressed with the nautical stars on both of Holt’s wrists.
“What’s on your back?” Isabelle asked.
Holt raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I think you would have to wait for at least a second date to find that out. For now, what you see is what you get.”
“I’m not sure I’m satisfied with that answer,” Isabelle said. “And getting shot at isn’t my idea of a first date.”
Isabelle stepped in closer to Holt, their bodies almost touching. Holt’s eyes were no longer focused, but she wasn’t scanning the area for danger anymore either. A look of disappointment flashed across Holt’s face as she took a step back. Isabelle wasn’t interested in letting her get away. She mirrored her step, and the next two that Holt took. They ended up backed against the edge of the pool, leaving Holt nowhere else to run unless she wanted to get wet again, and not in the good way. Isabelle didn’t think Holt looked all that sad to have run out of places to go.
Sirens wailed in the distance, but Isabelle didn’t care. Holt’s eyes were clearly inviting Isabelle to take anything she wanted. She kissed her deeply, quickly exploring the softest lips she had ever felt. Isabelle wanted more. When the doorbell rang in the house, they stood frozen for a second, then Isabelle pulled away. “And you should have had to wait until at least the second date for that,” she said.
Isabelle felt out of control again, but this time Holt was the cause. She hated being out of control. With a slightly cooler head, bond enforcement officer did sound pretty bad, but then there was that kiss. Holt looked awfully proud of herself, and her eyes were full of mischief. She leaned forward on the balls of her feet, perhaps inadvertently thrusting her pelvis Isabelle’s way. Isabelle laughed at the not so subtle signs of an alpha dyke celebrating her conquest. Not so fast, she thought. Isabelle planted a hand between Holt’s breasts and gave a small push and Holt had no choice but to take another swim. Isabelle headed for the front door, since whoever was there was clearly impatient, but she couldn’t help but sway her hips when she heard Holt sputter laughing to the surface.
“The police are here, Holt. Someone must have called them. Shotguns aren’t usual for this neighborhood.” When she returned to the yard with the police, Holt Lasher was nowhere to be found. A wet trail of footprints led up and over the back fence.
Chapter Two
“Yo, H, what the hell happened to you, man? You take your fish for a walk or something?” Jose Martinez was never one to hold back.
Holt studied her friend and business partner. He was handsome in a working guy kind of way, and at the moment, was ass deep in a messy engine repair. The auto repair shop they co-owned fronted a busy street close to the action of Providence’s small “big city” downtown. As far as any of the employees knew, M & L Auto Repair was Jose’s business, and Holt was a friend from childhood who rented the back rooms as office space. Plenty of shady characters sought out Jose’s services for their legitimate vehicles, and having Holt’s name attached would hinder his business. It wasn’t exactly a secret that a bounty hunter operated behind the mechanic’s shop; news traveled fast on the street. But Holt didn’t broadcast her presence since she didn’t have any walk-in clientele, and keeping a low profile enhanced her reputation on the street.
Next door to M & L Auto Repair was a tattoo shop, also owned by Holt and Jose. Over the ten years since she’d established herself in the neighborhood, it had been invaluable to be located next to both an auto repair shop and a tattoo parlor. She couldn’t count the number of bail jumpers she’d caught simply showing up for work in the morning. There seemed to be no end to the amount of damage a felon could do to his car in the commission of a crime, not to mention the ink needed to commemorate the achievement.
“Do I look like I’m in the mood, jackass?” she asked, trying to squelch through the repair shop in the most dignified manner possible under the circumstances.
The offices housing her operation consisted of a large common area where most of her crew worked and two or three smaller private offices off the main space. She had the largest of those private offices, although she frequently preferred to work at one of the desks placed throughout the common area. Today, however, she was glad for the privacy. As soon as she reached her office, she started shedding clothes. Her T-shirt was off before she opened the door to her private office. Two of her crew, sitting at the desks closest to her office, looked up with surprise written plainly across their faces, but they valued their jobs enough to keep quiet as they glanced at their computers to give her some privacy. Holt was prepared for almost any situation, and it wasn’t the first time she’d come back to the office soaking wet, missing clothes, or in an unexpected outfit.
Her sports bra flew into the small dirty window behind her desk, sticking to the glass briefly before slowly sliding down, leaving a muddy trail in its wake. Jose leaned against the doorframe and laughed. “I hear you and Peanut put on quite the running clinic this afternoon. Did you catch the little twerp?”
Holt glared at him. Although she was naked from the waist up, her ribs, chest, and stomach sported a variety of colorful and intricate tattoos, which always made her feel clothed, even if she wasn’t. In one hand, she held a clean, dry white T-shirt, in the other, her useless, chlorine-infused cell phone and wet T-shirt. She glanced at him and he ducked the wet shirt she threw at his head. “I’m taking my pants off now,” she said.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Jose followed her the rest of the way into her office, closed the door, and dropped into one of the chairs facing her desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”
His indifference matched her own. She doubted he had seen any woman naked except her. He was as gay as they came. She dropped her wet jeans and boxers to the floor, kicked them aside, and reached for the change of clothing she kept folded neatly on top of her two large filing cabinets. “That little fuck is going to kill me. I don’t know why they keep giving him bail.”
Her operation wasn’t tied to any particular bail bond agency, and as a result, she chased guys like Peanut all the time. When they got re-arrested, they simply chose someone else if their last bondsman felt they were too big a risk. Peanut wasn’t really a huge risk, just a kid who couldn’t seem to take getting arrested seriously. His violations were relatively minor, but he made it worse on himself by not showing up to court. She’d come to like the little punk for some reason, even if he nearly got her killed on a regular basis. She had always had a soft spot for troubled kids.
“You’ve never let him slip, H. You getting soft? ’Cause I hear State Rep. Caldwell is getting bonded soon, and if he doesn’t show, they’re gonna want you.” She knew Jose was teasing, but there was some genuine confusion in his tone. Holt was good, and a little wannabe tough guy like Peanut didn’t usually get away from her.
“There was a problem. I had the kid cornered in a yard, but some nutcase with a shotgun started firing at us.”
Jose’s body tensed and he leaned forward. “Who? A buddy of Peanut’s?”
Holt buttoned her jeans, feeling infinitely more human in dry clothes. “Not according to him. The guy was wearing a ski mask and a hoodie. We ended up in the pool trying to stay alive. I couldn’t drag Peanut’s scrawny butt to jail since he was the one who saved my ass.”
“Oh, God, I do love a pool boy,” Jo
se said wistfully.
“I don’t think this pool owner employs a pool boy. A hot chick in a bikini maybe…” Holt thought about the kiss and was a little less dry. “Fuck, I get myself in trouble with blondes.”
“Excuse me?” Jose looked astonished. “You just chased Peanut halfway across the city, got shot at, and ended up in a pool. I know your crew picked you up ten minutes after you called. Just how the hell did you have time for a blonde?”
“It was her pool,” she said with a wink. “And for the record, I didn’t ‘have’ a blonde; she just kissed me. No big deal.”
“You know what,” Jose said, standing up, “I’m a jealous asshole. Shit like that never happens to me.”
“You should try getting shot at. I bet it works just as well on the fellas. Or you could work on a damsel in distress routine and we could find you a strapping hunk to try it out on.”
Jose shot her a look, but she decided not to hassle him about the muscle man he had been in love with since high school.
“Speaking of you getting shot. What the fuck? Any idea who wanted you to find God?”
“Find God? What are you talking about?”
“You know, holy? Swiss cheese?”
“Jose, it’s a really good thing you’re good with cars, man. But to answer your question, I have no idea who was shooting, or who they were aiming at for that matter. I’ll have Max look into reports of similar incidents. The whole thing just feels weird. Who uses a shotgun to shoot people?”
*
Despite the mound of paperwork threatening to topple off her desk, Holt had trouble keeping her mind on her job. There were plenty of open files, but she wasn’t interested in any of them. Instead, her mind kept wandering back to Isabelle and her damn pool.
“Are you really this worked up over one kiss?” she said under her breath, glaring at the paperwork mocking her.
The more she thought about the kiss, however, the less she fixated on it. It was an amazing kiss, and she was still a bit turned on, but it was the shooting itself that was nagging at her. The gunman had been above her when the shot rang out, yet almost all the buckshot ended up in Isabelle’s siding. That would make sense for the first shot, since Peanut pushed her into the pool and out of harm’s way, but why didn’t the second shot rain buckshot down into the water?
“Uh, H? You got a letter.” Max Winters, her youngest employee, cautiously poked her head in the office. She was only nineteen, and for some reason, seemed to be terrified of Holt. She was incredible with the computer, however, and Holt had her to thank for more than one capture. Jose swore Max’s deer in the headlights attitude had nothing to do with witnessing Holt go ape shit on a cop who had tried to play grab ass with one of the female members of the crew. He said she had a case of hero worship. Holt didn’t care about her reason; she didn’t need Max to shrink from her. The kid was brilliant. That was what she needed.
“A letter?” The mail had already come today.
“Well, more of a card actually. Although I suppose there could be a letter in there too. I don’t—”
“Max?”
“Yes, boss?”
“The card?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. ”
Holt accepted a bright red envelope and turned it over looking for some indication of its sender. When she found none, she debated the merits of opening it. There were a lot of pissed off convicts in the world, many of whom Holt had tracked down and tossed back in jail. She got hate mail all the time. She was always aware that one day a letter might contain more than just angry words.
This envelope, however, wasn’t sealed, which she took to be a good sign. She pulled the card out and had to laugh at the two puppies shown frolicking on the front. The message inside stopped her cold.
I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies for the unfortunate incident this afternoon. I wish to assure you, you were not the target of my overly eager employees. Should our paths ever cross, I will introduce myself at that time. In the meantime, I hope this whole incident can be forgotten, as I would hate for this misunderstanding to linger between us. I have watched you over the years, and I believe we are much alike. Perhaps there is an opportunity for a partnership in the future.
It wasn’t signed. Holt jumped from her seat. If she and Peanut weren’t the targets, that only left Isabelle Rochat.
“What the fuck is this? Who delivered it?” she asked, her mind filled with images of Isabelle, shot and bleeding on the back deck of her home. Or worse yet, floating in that damned pool.
“I don’t know. One of Jose’s guys brought it in. Said it was taped on the door when he got back from lunch.” Max was stuttering and had gone pale.
“Which guy? Bring him in here now!” Holt’s instinct was to rush to Isabelle’s house and make sure she was okay, but the logical side of her knew she needed a minute to calm down. That was why she was so good at her job, and she prided herself on being able to keep her head in any situation.
“He didn’t know who dropped it off.” Max sounded the tiniest bit defensive. “I talked to him for five minutes and he never changed his story. Besides, Jose’s guys respect you. Why would he lie about this?”
Holt met Max’s determined eyes and was reminded why she’d hired her a few months earlier. Max was small, not more than five foot two, and painfully thin, but she carried herself with the presence of a larger woman. She knew how to project confidence and strength, and her determination was second to none, even if she was terrified of Holt. “I apologize, Max. Of course you would have asked him all those questions.” Letters left taped to the door would alert the suspicions of her staff. “Will you do me a favor?”
Max stood up a little straighter. “Of course, anything.”
“Find Peanut. Have him here when I get back.” She held up her hand, effectively halting Max’s next frantic question. “I don’t really care how you find him, or how you get him in here. All I care is that he is sitting in front of me when I get back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Max almost saluted on her way out the door. She looked decidedly less nervous.
“Moose!” Holt yelled out her door. She took Moose, real name Bobby Petro, with her when she needed muscle. They’d known each other since childhood, and she had offered him a job at a time in his life when everyone else had given up on him. For that, she had his unwavering loyalty, and a trusted confidant and friend.
While she waited for him, she scribbled on a fresh sheet of paper, Who the fuck are you? and, If not me, who? She folded the note roughly and jammed it back in the bright red envelope.
“Heard you got your ass shot at. You cool?” Moose filled the doorway, his beefy arms crossed.
Holt looked at him. There was a time when he had been waif thin and strung out on heroin, but now his muscles bulged under the dark green T-shirt tucked neatly into his black cargo pants. The entire package was made for intimidation.
“We’re going out. Tell the crew they can go home at three.” Holt knew if she asked, or if they were worried, her small team would stay all night, so she tried to give them time off whenever she could.
“I’m not taking you to the hospital because you got shot and didn’t want to tell anyone, right? You know I hate watching you get patched up.” Moose looked Holt over, clearly checking for blood.
“I’m fine. They weren’t shooting at me. We’re going to find out why someone wants to kill Isabelle Rochat.”
Moose looked relieved. “Isabelle wouldn’t happen to be the blonde Jose was muttering about? Something about wishing he was straight and could follow you around and pick up your castoffs?”
Moose winked and Holt felt calmer. Moose had that effect on her. Jose might have a big mouth, but he always meant well. She reminded herself, as she had many times, not to tell Jose anything she didn’t want shared with half of Providence.
“It’s possible Isabelle is blond, yes,” Holt said, locking her office door on the way out.
“And willing to kiss your ugly mug. You shoul
d definitely try and see her again.” Moose tossed her the car keys and deftly avoided the jab to the abdomen he knew was coming.
On her way out the front door of the mechanic shop, Holt slammed the red envelope against the glass door, secured it with a piece of tape, and looked at the angry, bold address she had scrawled across the front: Dirtbag. She doubted anyone would be back to pick it up, but it felt good to strike back.
*
“Decker, I can explain.” Gary Capelletti shifted his five foot one and three-quarter-inch frame nervously from foot to foot.
“How about I summarize what you’ve told me so far, and we will see if further explanation is necessary?” Decker said. “I am out of town for less than twenty-four hours. In that time, my accountant, Isabelle Rochat, calls my office and informs you that the IRS is auditing my tax returns filed last year. She shouldn’t have been contacted about this, and you got nervous. We have an understanding with the auditor, but Ms. Rochat does not fully appreciate how our business is run. However, instead of waiting twenty-four hours for my return, you decide to take matters into your own hands and have my secretary send Ms. Rochat our sanitized files when she contacts you looking for a specific piece of information. Am I accurate so far?”
Gary nodded, looking miserable and uncomfortable in his ill-fitting suit with sweat stains spreading under his armpits. Decker knew he had a sterling public reputation as an amiable, upstanding businessman. He also took great personal pleasure in the fact that those who knew him well were terrified of him. The greatest compliment he ever received was from a man who had called him ruthless, calculating, and dangerous.
“In your haste to be a problem solver, you rushed my secretary, who made a mistake and sent the wrong files to Ms. Rochat. And this is the point where I get a little fuzzy on the details, Gary. Because between when the file was sent and right this minute, you decided to try and shoot Ms. Rochat. Do you think you’re in the fucking mob? Do you think we operate with gunmen hiding in bushes? And what made you think you had the right to make that decision at all? Because even in your deluded little mind you must realize I’m the boss here, and bosses only keep around those who actually make problems go away. You, on the other hand, have made the problem worse. What the fuck were you thinking shooting at her? Did you ever just think to ask her to return the damned file?” Throughout the conversation, this was the first time Decker raised his voice.
The Chase Page 2