Chaser (Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Dharma Kelleher

  “I can’t, love. Honestly. Just trust me. She’s a good person to work for. I doubt she’ll care if you’re trans. But keep my name out of it. It’s all I’m asking.”

  “D’you sleep with her, big guy?” Becca asked, pointing her fork at him.

  His face colored. “I’m not saying anything. If ya don’t want to work for her, don’t. Just trying to be helpful is all.”

  “Fine, I’ll pay her a visit tomorrow.” I eyed him suspiciously, unsettled by his need for secrecy. I needed the work.

  10

  After dinner, I hugged Becca goodbye and followed Conor back to his place, just a half mile from my house.

  Part of me needed some TLC after the lousy day I’d had. But I also hoped to uncover this mysterious history between him and Levinson. I didn’t want to ask her for work only to get blindsided later by some bullshit in their collective past. Better to know what I was getting into beforehand.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon as we pulled up to Conor’s house, leaving the neighborhood in the soft, hazy glow of dusk. On the outside, his house looked like any other on the block. Brick facade with sage-green trim and a line of manicured shrubs, surrounded by a lawn of sun-scorched Bermuda grass. A few mesquite trees dotted the yard.

  Inside the house, the walls were bare. No photos or artwork. No plants. Saltillo tile covered the floor throughout. His furniture was sparse but functional, consisting of a bed and nightstand in the bedroom, and two recliners and an entertainment center in the living room. His office had a bare IKEA desk, a metal folding chair, and a filing cabinet. The whole place was dull, empty, and lifeless—not so much a bachelor pad as a bunker.

  “Ya want a drink?” he asked coolly as we stood in his kitchen, avoiding eye contact. It felt like our first date but more tense. He pulled a bottle of Jameson’s from a cabinet.

  “What I want is for you to tell me what happened between you and this Levinson woman. You have a bad breakup or something?”

  His face colored. “I don’t want to talk about it, Jinxie.” He poured whiskey into a couple of glasses and offered me one.

  I slammed my glass onto the counter hard enough to slosh whiskey onto the worn laminate surface. “You’re always full of secrets, Conor, and I’m sick of it! You didn’t tell me Hensley knew I was trans. I had to learn about it from Sara Jean Mills. And now this crap? Quit stalling and tell me. I’m your girlfriend, for Christ’s sake.”

  “There are things I don’t discuss. This is one of them.” He drained his glass and poured another before taking it into the living room. He plopped down on a recliner and stared at the floor. I followed him.

  “I get why you don’t talk about growing up during the Troubles in Ireland or your experiences with Dark Horse Security in Iraq. But this? Give me a freakin’ break, dude. Whatever happened between you and Levinson, I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

  “Leave it alone, Jinx! I’m not bloody telling ya!” He glared at me so hard it felt like a blow to my chest.

  I took a step back. “Why you got to be so secretive?”

  “We all got secrets, love. I kept yours all these years. I’m asking you to respect mine.”

  “Bullshit! I trusted you with my secret. But you won’t trust me with yours.”

  “This ain’t about trust, love,” he growled. “What happened between Sadie and me’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “If I’m going to be working with her and dating you, it sure as hell does. I need to know what I’m in the middle of because, sooner or later, it’s going to come out. I’d rather find out now than get blindsided later.”

  “Then don’t work with her.”

  “No one else will hire me!” My shouts echoed off the bare walls, followed by a silence broken only by the bass beat of my pulse in my ears.

  “I don’t know what to tell ya, love,” he said, barely above a whisper. His expression softened as tears rimmed his eyes. “Just leave my bloody name out of it, if ya go see her. That’s all I’m asking ya. Please, just let it go.”

  God damn him and his puppy dog eyes. My anger softened. I took his free hand in mine. “Fine, I’ll let it go. For now.”

  I woke at three the next morning after dreaming I’d discovered who’d outed me to Hensley. Unfortunately, my betrayer’s identity evaded my conscious mind. I lay there trying to pull it from the jumbled fragments of the dream, but whatever eureka moment I’d had was gone. Probably nonsense, anyway.

  At three thirty, I climbed out of bed and fixed a pot of coffee. I felt untethered. My private medical history had been exposed for everyone to gawk at. My career was in free fall. And now my trust in Conor was crumbling. Juanita’s reminder that some had it worse than me didn’t make the raw ache in my soul any less.

  By the second cup of coffee, I wasn’t feeling any better. So I grabbed some shorts, a tank top, and spare running shoes I kept in Conor’s closet and went for a parkour workout.

  The Willo District where Conor and I lived offered mostly level ground with few obstacles to bounce off of. Not an ideal parkour playground. Residents weren’t overly fond of traceurs, as we parkour practitioners called ourselves, vaulting over their cars or dashing through their backyards. Block walls, palm trees, and a neighborhood park had to suffice for practicing flips, climbs, and other maneuvers. Anything to get my heart pumping and my mind focused in the moment rather than on my troubles.

  After an hour’s workout, I returned to Conor’s. By the time his alarm went off at six, I had showered, inhaled a liter of water, and scarfed down a bowl of cereal. I was sneaking out the front door when I heard, “Leaving without saying goodbye, love?”

  He stood shirtless, leaning against a wall. Despite the old scars on his chest and legs, he looked sexy as hell. Part of me wanted to jump his bones. Another part wanted to strangle him until he confessed what had happened between him and Levinson.

  “Morning, sweetie. Didn’t want to wake you. Lots to do today.”

  “Gonna talk to Sadie about hiring ya?”

  I sighed. “Right now, it’s my best option. So, yeah.” When he raised an eyebrow, I added, “And I won’t mention you. Promise.”

  “That’s my girl. Now c’mere and let me give ya a kiss for luck.”

  I stepped back inside and kissed him deeply, even as a laundry list of emotions twisted my insides.

  When I pulled away a moment later, he asked, “Ya going to the convention afterwards?”

  “Definitely, assuming Sadie hires me. I need to seriously geek out with the three C’s—cosplay, comic books, and my favorite celebs.”

  “Well, you’re my favorite celeb.”

  My face flushed. “I’m just a girl who likes to catch fugitives and play dress up.” I gave him a final peck on the lips and promised to let him know how it went with Sadie.

  11

  I stopped by my place for a change of dressy-ish clothes and stashed my Wonder Woman costume in a duffel bag before heading downtown to Assurity Bail Bonds’s office at Arizona Center. If my meeting with Sadie Levinson went well, I could walk the half block south to the Phoenix Convention Center and enjoy the rest of Comicon. Tracking down Assurity’s wayward defendants could wait until Monday.

  The parking garage was near capacity when I arrived, no doubt packed with vehicles belonging to convention attendees. I found a space on the top floor, left the duffel on the passenger seat, and grabbed my notebook.

  Assurity Bail Bonds was tucked in a corner on Arizona Center’s second floor. A string of bells tied above the door jingled as I entered. The office consisted of a twenty-by-thirty-foot room with a single desk, three chairs, a coffee station, and a few vertical filing cabinets. Framed prints of paintings by Monet, Picasso, and Gaugin decorated the glossy white walls.

  A slender woman in her forties with a no-nonsense expression on her face sat behind the desk with a stack of files beside her computer. Short wedge haircut. Red metallic framed glasses. Tailored maroon jacket over a white button-down blouse. A model of th
e modern professional woman. I hated to admit she left me feeling a little intimidated.

  “Sadie Levinson?” I asked.

  She glanced up at me and put a hand to her chin. “Hmmm . . . too casual for an attorney. Too dressy to be posting someone’s bail. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

  “Not selling anything, actually. I’m Jinx Ballou, bail enforcement agent. I understand you have a sizable bond that’s defaulted.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Who told you that?”

  “Well, you know, people talk.” I forced a laugh, trying to act casual as I sat in front of her desk.

  “Indeed. Been talking quite a lot about you lately, Ms. Ballou.” She pulled a copy of Phoenix Living out of the wastebasket by her desk. “Took me a moment, but I recognize you now.”

  Oh boy. Here we go again. “Look, Ms. Levinson, I’m a damn good bounty hunter with eight years’ experience. I’ve tracked fugitives from one end of this country to the other. The fact that I transitioned nearly twenty years ago doesn’t change that.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t.” She slid the newspaper to the corner of her desk. “Personally, I don’t care what you are or what you have between your legs. I do care about not going out of business. Right now that’s a real possibility if I have to pay this defaulted bond. The bounty hunter I originally hired for this case wasn’t as reliable as I’d been led to believe.”

  “You’re talking about Fiddler, right?”

  “You know him?”

  I scoffed. “Let’s just say you’re not alone in your assessment of him.”

  “I have a lot on the line with this bond. I need someone I can trust, someone who gets results.”

  “I get results.” I pulled out copies of body receipts I’d accumulated over the years and set them in front of her. She looked them over. Our eyes locked, and I felt a connection as she pulled a file from the stack on her desk.

  “Very well. I gather you’re familiar with the Holly Schwartz case.”

  “The disabled teenager charged with stabbing her mother to death.”

  “That’s her. She missed her competency hearing a month ago. I’m on the line for half a mill.”

  A half-million-dollar bond meant a bounty worth fifty grand. Cartoon dollar signs ka-chinged in my brain. “I’m listening.”

  “I need her back in custody no later than end of day Tuesday.”

  The dollar signs went thunk and vanished. “Tuesday? Are you freakin’ kidding me? That’s only five days from now, including today.”

  “I’m very aware of that fact.”

  Finding someone who’d been in the wind for a month was tough. Doing it in five days? The Catholic Church sainted people for lesser miracles. But considering my limited employment opportunities, I had little to lose and a whole lot to gain. “I’ll take it.”

  She handed me the file. I scanned a copy of the arrest report, the bail application with Holly’s photo, and printouts of emails from Fiddler updating Sadie on the case. Between his lack of punctuation, convoluted syntax, and rampant typos, much of what Fiddler wrote was incomprehensible. Honestly, didn’t nobody learn this guy some English?

  “What’s your take on the aunt? What’s her name?” I flipped back to the bail application. “Kimberly Morton.”

  “Until Bonnie Schwartz’s death, Ms. Morton had very little contact with Holly, despite being Bonnie’s sister. Even with all of the media appearances, Bonnie was very protective of her daughter, never letting her out of her sight for a minute.”

  “And yet Morton puts up her home as collateral for bail? That’s awfully generous. You think she knows where Holly is?”

  “Based on what Fiddler told me, Ms. Morton cares a lot for Holly and what she’s been through, despite their estrangement. Would she risk losing her home to protect the girl? I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it.”

  “You think Holly was kidnapped?”

  “Morton never received a ransom request as far as I know. Still, Fiddler uncovered reports of two other young women in the Schwartzes’ Maryvale neighborhood who’ve gone missing in the past year. According to the arrest report, Holly claimed a black man was trying to kidnap her when her mother was killed.”

  “Any idea who this mysterious black man might be?”

  “Fiddler didn’t turn up anything. The detective on the case believes Holly made up the story.”

  I flipped to the arrest report and found the name of the detective assigned to the case—Pierce Hardin. I stiffened. I did not want to talk to him if I could avoid it.

  “All right, I’ll try to bring Holly in by Tuesday.”

  “I don’t need you to try.” Sadie looked as if the weight of the world sat on her brow. “You need to bring her in by Tuesday, or we’re both out of a job.”

  I stood and offered her my hand, which she shook. “Understood.”

  As I turned to leave, she said, “One more thing. I don’t want Conor Doyle working on this.”

  I tried to look innocent. “Conor who?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Ms. Ballou. I read the article.” She held up the newspaper and waved it in the air. “I know Conor’s your boyfriend.”

  “Okay, fine, he’s my boyfriend. What the hell’s the deal between you two, anyway? Y’all have a bad breakup? He boil your pet rabbit or something?”

  Her face was a stone wall. “Suffice it to say, I don’t trust him and neither should you. He’s not who he says he is.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I can’t say any more. Just take my word for it.”

  “Now who’s being coy? He’s my boyfriend. If there’s something I should know about Conor, I’d like to hear it.”

  She pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You want to date him, that’s your choice. But I don’t want him involved on this job. That’s final.”

  “Look, lady, you want me to find Holly Schwartz—in five days, no less—I’m going to need help. Right now Conor’s all I got.”

  Sadie held out her hand, reaching for the file. “Fine. I’ll give the job to someone else. I’m not having Conor anywhere near my cases.”

  I grimaced. She was probably bluffing. She seemed as hard up as I was. Then again, I could really use the fifty grand, even if it was a long shot. “All right. I’ll locate Holly without him.”

  “See that you do. I find out he’s working with you on this, I’ll pull it. You hear me?”

  I held up a three-finger salute. “Scout’s honor.”

  12

  I climbed the stairs of the parking garage, feeling conflicted about my new situation. On the one hand, I was happy to be working again, and with a bail agent who didn’t care that I was transgender. The fifty-grand bounty wasn’t anything to sneeze at, either.

  On the other hand, what Sadie said about Conor bothered me. More than bothered me. It pissed me the fuck off. What the hell was she talking about? I didn’t want to believe her. But there were parts of Conor’s past that he didn’t talk about. Like growing up during the Troubles in Ireland and some of the shit he saw in Afghanistan and Iraq. But what the hell did that have to do with who he was now?

  When I reached the Gray Ghost, I flung the duffel bag with my Wonder Woman costume into the back so hard it bounced off the back window. No time to play superhero for the geeky masses. Comicon was on hold until I could track down a poor, orphaned, disabled girl and throw her back in jail. Sometimes this job fucking sucked.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, I cranked the AC and opened Holly’s file. Until the murder, she’d been living with her mom in a small house in the Maryvale neighborhood in west Phoenix. But after getting bailed out of jail, she’d been staying with her aunt, Kimberly Morton. That put Morton at the top of my list of people to talk to. I’d check out Holly’s old house in Maryvale later, though it was unlikely she was there.

  I dropped by my house to change into a Gin Wigmore T-shirt and some cargo pants, then punched Morton�
��s address into my GPS. She lived in a fancy-schmancy neighborhood off Tatum Boulevard in Paradise Valley, just east of Phoenix. I put my phone on speaker and called Conor.

  “Good news! I got the job,” I said when he answered.

  “That’s brilliant, love. Ya want to meet for lunch to celebrate, or are ya headed to Comicon?”

  “Neither, unfortunately. I’m working the Holly Schwartz case. Only got five days to track her down.”

  “Shite! Five days. So, what’s the bounty on her?”

  “Fifty grand.”

  “Oy! That’s a pretty penny. All to find some girl in a wheelchair?”

  “You want in on it?”

  So what if I swore on my scout’s honor not to bring in Conor. The truth was, I never was one of those cookie-peddling Girl Scouts, anyway. Sure as hell was never a Boy Scout. Besides, something about this case didn’t feel right.

  If she was hiding out at Auntie Kimberly’s house, Fiddler would have dragged her ass back to jail a long time ago. So either Kim Morton had connections with people who knew how to hide someone, or something seriously fucked up was going on. Going it alone could get dangerous either way.

  “Ya didn’t mention my name, did ya, love?”

  “Not technically,” I hedged.

  “Jinxie, ya promised me ya wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, dude. She brought up your name, not me. She knew we were dating from the Phoenix Living article. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten all blabby with Hensley, huh?”

  I heard him sigh. “So she’s cool with me being on the job?”

  “Not so much. In fact, she expressly forbade it.” My fists tightened on the steering wheel, and I cut off some guy in a shiny new Beemer to get around a slow-moving landscaping truck. “Point of fact, she said you weren’t who you said you are. What’s she talking about, Conor?”

  “Bollocks!”