Chaser (Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Dharma Kelleher

  “Not in a million years.”

  Relief washed over his face. “Thank the heavens above for that. I thought you’d lost your mind.”

  “But I am meeting with him.”

  “You what? Are you daft?”

  “He’s got Holly. And he just killed those two feds while I was on the phone with him.”

  “I don’t care if he’s about to shoot the bloody pope, you’re not meeting with him. He’ll put a bullet in you too. Or worse. The man’s a complete nutter. I’m not letting you walk into that mess.”

  “If I don’t at least meet with him, he’ll go after my family and after you. I can’t risk that.” I sighed as I tried to formulate a strategy, but I had no idea where Volkov’s driver would take me. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and put him out of everyone’s misery.”

  “Maybe ya hadn’t noticed, love, but luck ain’t been on our side lately.”

  “What do you expect me to do, Conor? Walk away? Pretend everything’s hunky-dory? What happens when he goes after my family?”

  “Why you?”

  “Who knows? He’s a sick fuck who apparently has a fetish for trans women. He also likes how I fight, supposedly. He thinks he’s got me cowed. But he doesn’t know the shit I’ve been through. I won’t let him win.”

  “I can’t let you walk into this shitstorm alone.”

  “His guy’s picking me up from the corner of Thomas and Indian School by the code talker statue. If you try to tail him, he has orders to shoot me. But I’ve got a plan.”

  “What?”

  “Track my phone. At a distance, so there’s no way he can spot you. Stay at least a mile behind.”

  Conor and I stood there, our eyes locked. I understood his need to protect. But I couldn’t let this go any further. I would save Holly if I could. I wouldn’t give this asshole a chance to hurt my family.

  “I don’t like this, love. Too many things can go wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do regardless of what I say.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “Then I’ll follow your plan, because I don’t know what else to do. Just stay alive long enough for me to show up.”

  “So you can come riding up on your white horse and rescue me?” A sad grin curled the corners of my mouth. I patted his chest. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be noble.”

  Conor dropped me off at the corner of Thomas and Indian School with five minutes to spare. I was grateful the sun had gone down, but even at seven o’clock in the evening, the temperature was still in the triple digits and would be until almost midnight. Especially around the center of town. The day’s heat clung to the concrete jungle like water to a sponge.

  Conor had wanted me to at least wear a ballistic vest, but I chose not to. Odds were Volkov or his driver would force me to remove it, anyway. It also made it tougher to move around as freely as I liked. I needed the flexibility if I was going to survive.

  Right at seven, a black Escalade pulled up and stopped at the curb, much to the frustration of the drivers behind it. The back door opened, and a burly meathead of a guy stepped out.

  “You Jinx Ballou?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He patted me down, getting a little friskier than I liked around my breasts and between my legs. I guess he couldn’t be too careful. Surprisingly, he let me keep my phone and wallet. “Get in.”

  I did so and found myself wedged between him and another guy. They were all dressed in black suits. All sporting shoulder rigs with large pistols.

  As soon as the Escalade was in motion again, the slab of beef on my right slapped a black hood over my head. I protested, but they insisted it was Volkov’s orders.

  “Dude, we’re on the same team.”

  They didn’t answer.

  I sat back and tried to follow where we were based on the sensations of movement and the muffled sounds outside. Despite my best efforts, I soon had no idea where we were, much less where we were headed. We could have been in north Phoenix or still downtown, or we could have been in one of the outlying suburbs. I hoped Conor was keeping enough distance so as not to be noticed.

  When the truck finally stopped, I expected the hood to be removed. No such luck.

  “Get out,” Meathead One said.

  “Can I at least take this stupid bag off my head? It’s embarrassing.”

  “No.”

  I started to take it off, anyway. A strong grip crushed my upper arm. Something hard and metallic pressed against my temple.

  “Don’t,” Meathead One said.

  I raised my hand in surrender. “Fine. No need to get physical.”

  I was pulled out of the vehicle and struggled to gain my footing on the concrete slab beneath my feet. From the echoey sounds, I guessed we were in an underground garage.

  We stopped walking. A moment later, a ding sounded, followed by the whoosh of an elevator door opening. I was pushed forward, then spun around as the doors closed. Unlike some elevators, there was no audible indication of the floors we were passing. Even if Conor found the building, his chances of finding where I was in the building were slim to none. As were my chances of surviving without agreeing to be Volkov’s new play toy.

  Another ding, and the doors whooshed open. Meathead One led me out.

  We traipsed down a carpeted hallway. One of the meatheads knocked on a very solid-sounding door. It squeaked open, and I was led through a series of turns. Another door opened, and the bag was removed.

  The meatheads walked out and closed the door as my eyes adjusted to the brightly lit office.

  Volkov sat behind an antique wooden desk with his hands tented as we assessed each other. He looked to be in his sixties, though rather physically fit. He had a certain Hollywood-leading-actor look about him. He was clean shaven and dressed in a coal-gray suit with his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone.

  An automatic pistol fixed with a silencer lay on one side of the desktop, a stack of folders and a laptop on the other. A familiar metallic scent hung in the air—the smell of blood. Either Volkov had peculiar taste in cologne, or this was where he’d shot special agents Gleeson and Velasco.

  Behind him, a wide collection of books, framed photos, and knickknacks occupied a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. On the opposite side of the room was another door with a sign that read Private.

  A floor-to-ceiling window revealed a view of the Central corridor with the red lights atop South Mountain twinkling in the distance. I judged we must be about seven or eight floors up.

  “We meet at last, Jinx Ballou,” Volkov said, a wicked grin curling the corners of his mouth.

  53

  “Funny, I thought you’d be taller.” My mind was busy formulating a strategy. Assessing potential weapons, defenses, and tactics.

  “Did you? And here I thought our first meeting would be more civil.”

  “Happy to disappoint.”

  A wry smile split his face. “My sweet, sweet Jinx, we could exchange barbs all evening. But I’d rather get down to business. And then later perhaps we can have some fun.” The sudden zeal in his eyes unsettled me.

  “Fine, let’s talk business.”

  “You don’t seem enthusiastic about my offer. Why?”

  “For one, I don’t like being threatened. Two, I don’t like men who treat women like property. And three, I don’t like your ugly face.”

  “Ah, back to exchanging insults. How droll.” He picked up a folder from his desk. “Tell me, are you familiar with the name Liam Patrick O’Callaghan?”

  I shrugged. “Should I be?” I wondered how much Volkov knew.

  “I didn’t think you were.” He flipped through papers in the folder. “You see, you’re not the only one I checked up on. I researched your Irish-born boyfriend as well. Very interesting history. Tragic, even. I think you’d be surprised.”

  I folded my arms. “If you brought me down here to annoy me with vague innuendos and boring
conversation, maybe I should leave.”

  He slapped down the folder and picked up the pistol, aiming at me. “And how far do you think you’d get?”

  I glared at him but held my tongue.

  “I realize you think I’m a monster. But despite what you may have heard, the sex workers I bring into my employ are given a much better life than the abject poverty from whence they came.”

  “Oh really? So being endlessly raped and abused is better than being poor?”

  “They are provided with excellent healthcare, for starters. Better than most laborers in this country of yours. Not to mention decent housing, fine clothing, and other niceties. All in all, it’s a good life.”

  His tone and demeanor might have been convincing if I hadn’t already known he was a lying sack of shit. But I played along, vying for my chance to turn the tables and successfully get Holly and myself to safety.

  “So what exactly do you need me to do? What’s the job?”

  “For starters, I want you to help train my existing security personnel in some of those fancy moves you do. What is it? Taekwondo? Jujitsu?”

  “Aikido and krav maga, actually. But I’m not an instructor.”

  “Considering what I’ll be paying you, I’m sure you can come up with a training program. I also want you to consult with my director of security on how to better harden our holding locations. Like the one you and your colleague infiltrated. Clearly changes need to be made, and you are the ideal candidate.”

  I sat there holding his gaze, trying to appear to consider his offer. “Fine. I’m in.”

  He beamed. “Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.” He pressed a button on the phone. “Mr. Richardson, please bring in our other two guests.”

  The office door opened, and the meatheads shoved Holly and Fiddler into the room. Both had their hands bound behind them. The meatheads stood next to the door, their hands folded in front of them, clearly awaiting their boss’s next order.

  Holly’s face was bruised and swollen. Her eyes were wild with fear. Fiddler just looked pissed.

  “I assume you know these two people.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then now is where the rubber meets the road.” Volkov offered me the pistol grip-first. “If you are truly on the team, I want you to shoot Fiddler here. I know there’s no love lost between the two of you. And honestly, he has outserved his usefulness.”

  Fiddler stepped forward. “Hey, now, I can still—”

  “Silence!” Volkov barked.

  “If I do as you ask, what happens to Holly?”

  “Jinx, please, don’t listen to him,” Fiddler pleaded. Meathead One belted him in the gut. He doubled over, groaning.

  “Holly will be put to work. Don’t worry. No sex work. You have my word on that.” An indulgent grin creased his face as he leered at her. “I wrote to you a while back. Saw you on the television with your mother. Everybody so inspired by this poor little crippled girl with the voice of an angel. But you were nothing but a fraud, weren’t you? A fraud and now a murderer.”

  Holly just sobbed.

  “Leave her alone.”

  “What? I’m just saying she has skills maybe we can put to use. Maybe she could be your apprentice, Ms. Ballou. Wouldn’t that be a helluva thing. Two female assassins, taking out my enemies. Very sexy.”

  “I don’t think so,” I muttered. “Holly goes free to live her own life away from you.”

  “Your other option is to shoot Holly and let Fiddler live. But then if I keep him, I won’t have much use for you, now will I?”

  I held his gaze as I considered the pieces on the board. Moves. Countermoves. Risks. Sacrifices. I waited a breath, hoping Conor would come busting through the door with an army of cops. Didn’t happen. Not that I was a Prince-Charming-saving-the-day kind of girl. And I was no Cinderella. More leather boots than glass slipper.

  I took the offered pistol and immediately confirmed what I suspected. It felt light. I pressed the magazine release, caught the magazine, and slapped it on his desk. I then racked the slide, which locked back, revealing no round in the chamber, either. “What game are you playing, Volkov?”

  Volkov burst out laughing. “Clever girl. See that, Richardson? This girl knows her stuff.”

  Meathead One, aka Richardson, shrugged, apparently unimpressed.

  As Volkov launched into some self-indulgent monologue, I spun around and nailed Richardson in the head with the butt of the pistol. As he fell like a domino onto Meathead Two, I snagged the pistol from Richardson’s shoulder rig. Meathead Two got off a shot that zinged past my ear. I put a round under his left eye and a second one just above it.

  Holly screamed, but it was in the background of my consciousness. I turned toward Volkov, ducking behind the desk. I caught a glimpse of a gun barrel an instant before a shock of white-hot pain erupted in my left arm. I fell back against the wall, raised my pistol, and fired twice but only hit the desk and the laptop.

  A section of the bookshelf swung inward then slid back into place.

  “What the . . .?” I raced around the desk, forcing myself to ignore the pain in my arm. Volkov was gone. Asshole had a secret passage out of his office.

  “Look out!” Holly screamed behind me. I turned and caught Richardson raising a gun toward me. I put two in his chest and a third in his forehead.

  I looked around the room. Fiddler was on the floor, blood pouring from a neck wound. His eyes were wide and glassy, his face pale. He wasn’t moving or making any sounds. I turned to Holly, who was curled in a ball on the floor, shivering.

  “Are you hit?” I searched her but saw no obvious wounds.

  “I . . . I . . .” She dissolved into a sobbing mess.

  I hugged her. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  I heard feet pounding on carpet, getting closer by the second. I was torn between fighting off these goons and going after Volkov. I stood up and opened the wooden door marked Private. It was a bathroom with a lock on it. “Holly, get in there and hide.”

  She remained on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs, shaking like a leaf and moaning.

  “Holly! Snap the hell out of it. Get in the goddamned bathroom!”

  She looked up at me. “Why?”

  I didn’t have time to explain. I picked her up by the arm and practically tossed her inside the bathroom. When she reached for the light switch, I batted her hand away. “Leave it off. Lock the door. Don’t open it until I come for you. Got it?”

  She stood there shivering. Footsteps and voices were getting louder.

  “Do you understand?”

  She nodded. I closed the door and rushed across the room. I pushed against the concealed door in the bookshelf. It was stiff, but it gave way. I wedged it open with a book. Better to have the goons chasing after me than looking in the bathroom for Holly.

  I entered the dimly lit corridor lined with metal studs holding up the drywall for the rooms on the other side. I had no idea where this passage went. For all I knew, Volkov was waiting to ambush me somewhere around a corner. But I was not going to let him get away.

  54

  I raced down the corridor, looking for exits, but didn’t see any as it turned right, then left and came to a dead end. “What the hell?”

  Had I missed something? I felt along the walls, looking for a hidden panel or release. Nothing. “Where the hell’d you go?”

  The pain in my left arm grew more intense. I jammed the pistol I stole from Richardson in my waistband and looked at my arm. The flesh was torn. Blood dripped down the length of my arm onto the floor. But the wound appeared superficial. I looked around for something to put over the wound, but there was nothing.

  My right hand pressed on the wound as my gaze drifted to a spattering of blood on the floor. I noticed an odd seam near my foot. A trapdoor. “Son of a bitch.”

  I found a hinged handle and pulled it up. A metal ladder disappeared into inky darkness. “In for a penny . . .” I kneeled down, trying not to
put too much weight on my left arm. Not easy to do when descending a ladder.

  My foot had reached a concrete slab floor when a bullet ricocheted off the metal rung just above my head. I dropped, rolled, and came up with the gun raised. I couldn’t see shit. Another shot rang out and impacted the wall behind me. I fired two rounds in the direction of the muzzle flash and was rewarded with screams of pain.

  I duckwalked toward Volkov, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. The light from the trapdoor above framed objects in the room. I bumped into a wall with my left shoulder and cursed as lightning bolts of pain shot through me, making me see stars.

  “We could have been a hell of a team, Ms. Ballou,” Volkov said, his voice gravelly and strained. He was wheezing.

  Keeping my gun trained on my adversary, I flipped a light switch on the wall. “Happy to disappoint you.”

  I’d hit him on the left side of his chest. Probably penetrated his lung. Not his heart. I fixed that problem with two more bullets. He stopped wheezing. No use getting chatty with a piece of shit like him.

  The numerous insulated pipes running down one side of the room told me I was in some type of mechanical room. A first aid kit mounted on the wall caught my eye. I popped it open, slapped a large nonstick pad on the wound, wrapped it in gauze, then tied it as best as I could with my teeth and one hand. I turned back to the ladder. I needed to get Holly safely out of the building.

  I forced myself back up the ladder, grunting and grinding my teeth every time I had to use my left arm. As I raised my head through the floor above, a man in a Polo shirt and with a high-and-tight haircut trained his gun on me. I ducked just in time to avoid two shots that hit the trapdoor behind me. I drew my gun and blindly fired off a couple of shots. I was rewarded with return fire that nearly took off my hand. I pulled the trigger again and realized my gun was empty.

  Grabbing Volkov’s gun from his dead hand, I dropped to the floor and raced across the room. I killed the lights, trained my gun at the top of the ladder, and slowly approached the opening, peering up at the floor above. The goon appeared in the opening. I put a round right up his nostril, splattering brains on the ceiling upstairs. He fell with a thud.