by Carsen Taite
Synopsis
Bounty hunter Luca Bennett is back and so is a woman from her past, asking for favors. Unable to resist a woman in need, Luca barrels headlong into an intricate web of organized crime. Just when she thinks she’s found what she’s looking for, the stakes are raised and she learns she can trust no one.
While Luca tries to unravel the mystery related to her latest job, her personal life has its share of puzzles, from the enigmatic woman on the arm of her pal, police officer Jessica Chance, to a family reunion centered on an unlikely wedding. As her personal and professional lives collide, will Luca discover what she’s looking for is closer than she thinks?
Battle Axe
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Battle Axe
© 2013 By Carsen Taite. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-910-7
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: May 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
truelesbianlove.com
It Should Be a Crime
Do Not Disturb
Nothing but the Truth
The Best Defense
Beyond Innocence
The Luca Bennett Mystery Series:
Slingshot
Battle Axe
Acknowledgments
Thanks for all the readers who’ve written to tell me how much they enjoy Luca Bennett, her mysteries, and her messed-up life. Special thanks to Jean Redmann and Greg Herren who invited me to submit a story for their anthology, Women of the Mean Streets. “Boomerang,” the story I submitted for that book, is where Luca was born. I also owe a shout out and huge thanks to my pal Ashley Bartlett, who beta-read this book for me up until the very second before I turned it in.
To Len Barot, Cindy, Sheri, and all the other folks at Bold Strokes Books—you make the publishing process seamless, and I can’t imagine taking this journey without you.
And extra special thanks to Lainey, love of my life, who encouraged me to keep writing about Luca from the time she read the first few pages of “Boomerang” and who has read every word with a watchful eye to make sure I don’t mess with her favorite character.
Dedication
For Lainey. Here’s to living our dreams!
Chapter One
I don’t think I’d ever seen a bigger burger. The guy in the booth across from me grasped it with both hands, but they were no match for the one and a half pounds of meat and fifteen bacon slices sandwiched between two buns. A Triple Bypass. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been that hungry.
My guy ordered a Double Bypass. Only one patty less, but it didn’t look nearly as daunting, and I know I’d been that hungry. Hell, I was that hungry now.
He tacked on a side of Flatliner fries, a butterfat milkshake, and a pack of Lucky Strikes. I shook my head. He wouldn’t eat like that in the joint. Not only was I earning a living by picking him up, I was saving him from himself. I was practically a Good Samaritan.
I waited in my seat until he hefted the large bag and waddled from the restaurant. Excellent. I’d thought I’d have to watch, drooling, while he finished off his meal and then lit up a few cancer sticks. When I saw him turn toward the parking lot, I made my move. My strides were like four of his, and it didn’t take me long to catch up to him.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He turned toward me, clutching the bag against his hefty middle. “Can I help you?” He edged away as he spoke the words. If I had to guess, he was more scared about losing his lunch than he was about being caught by the law.
“I work for Hardin Jones. I need to talk to you about the court date you missed last week.”
I barely got the last words out of my mouth before he took off running. All three hundred plus pounds of him shook like jelly as he tore across the parking lot, dodging pedestrians and cars alike. I’d taken his size for granted and figured he was an easy mark, but he was a tornado, and I quickly realized I’d have to push hard to catch him.
As I sprinted toward him, he risked a backward glance, which is probably why he didn’t see the car careening toward him. I did, but I charged ahead anyway, pulling up short just as he glanced off the front bumper. He staggered a little but then charged forward again, gripping the bag from the Heart Attack Cafe like it was his last meal. The way he was running, it might very well be. I wished I had on tennis shoes instead of heavy boots, but my next meal was at risk too, so I accelerated my speed and pulled alongside him.
“You’re just making things worse,” I yelled.
“Don’t…care,” he huffed, but I could tell he was losing steam. Still, I wasn’t in the mood to spend all day chasing a fat man through the streets of downtown Dallas. We were near the famous grassy knoll, a perfect place for a comfortable landing. I pulled up short and crouched. He looked over his shoulder, probably wondering why he could no longer hear my pounding pace. When he saw me standing in place, he grinned, but as I leapt through the air, I watched his grin change to dismay.
My Olympic jump took him so by surprise that he remained rooted in place until I landed on his back and took him to the ground. We rolled, and I took advantage of being on top to whip out a pair of handcuffs and secure them to one of his wrists. The other wrist was connected to the hand that still clutched his bag of lunch, and he wasn’t letting go. After a struggle, I managed to snap the steel bracelet in place and worked on prying his fingers loose from the bag, finally tearing the brown paper just below his grasp. When I pulled the bag away, I thought he might cry.
As I marched him away, I heard a thousand tiny clicks, and I turned back to check it out. A band of tourists was snapping pictures of our little incident. I smiled and bowed for the camera.
*
I turned Mr. Heart Attack in to the sheriff’s department and drove directly to Hardin Jones Bail Bond Agency. While I waited for Hardin to visit his safe, I started in on my lunch. Everything was cold and a little smashed, but still good. Free is always good.
“You’re going to die young if you keep eating shit like that.” Hardin didn’t beat around the bush.
“I’ll probably die young anyway. May as well enjoy myself until then.”
“I suppose.” He handed over a stack of bills. “You should be able to enjoy yourself for a while on this, but if you feel like working, I have a bunch of small cases for you.”
I didn’t count the money. The bounty on Mr. Heart Attack was twenty-five hundred dollars, ten percent of his bond. Hardin would never short me even though he hated parting with money. Paying me was cheaper than paying the court the full twenty-five large he would owe if Mr. Heart Attack went AWOL.
Work had a tendency to dry up, so I told him I’d be happy to take anything he wanted to throw my way. He had one ready and handed me the file and told me to come back Monday for more.
I glanced at the clock in my Bronco. All these years and it still worked. I was late.
When
I reached the parking lot of the softball field, I shucked out of my boots and pulled on a pair of tennis shoes. I left my leather jacket in the Bronco and strode across the field in jeans and a tank top. Chance would have a jersey for me to wear. And a glove. And a bat. I wasn’t big on sporting equipment.
“Hey, Luca, over here!”
I turned toward the voice. Nancy Walters, one of the cops who played on Chance’s team. I headed over to her and she met me halfway.
“We’re over there this week. Thanks for filling in. I’ve got your jersey, although it’s a shame to cover up that chest.” She faux leered and I play snarled back at her. We did this role-play every time we saw each other. She was harmless. At least I’d never been drunk enough to try to get into her pants. Chance would’ve killed me, and she was the only cop whose pants I cared to transgress. I tugged on my jersey and glanced around the field.
Jessica Chance stood at the pitcher’s mound, deep in conversation with the team’s star pitcher. Tall, blond, trim, and fit, Chance made a softball jersey seem sexy. Yet, even in sporty mode, everything about her—from her intense stare to the way she feigned a relaxed stance—screamed cop. The only time I ever saw her really relaxed was when she was in the throes of an orgasm. Even then, I always suspected she held a little back, like she couldn’t quite let down her guard even for sex. I remembered, even though it had been a while. I planned to remedy that after the game.
“Come on, Luca. You’ve only got a couple of minutes to warm up.” Nancy led me to the space in front of the dugout and pointed to the bats. I shrugged and lifted a few, swinging them through the air. I could hit okay, but I didn’t need to be great. Once on base, my real skill was running round the bases faster than any fastball could throw me out, and the sole reason Chance made me sub in. I hoped my Double Bypass wouldn’t hold me back today.
While I swung the bats, Nancy rattled off the usual gossip. “Gail couldn’t be here today. I hear one of the security guards that works for her had a fling with one of her clients. She went into full takedown mode today. You know how she is.”
I did. Gail Laramore may have retired, but she would always be a cop. She owned a security company that provided protective detail to local celebs and politicos. I was playing her spot today. Nancy’s gossip sometimes helped me out on a case, so I encouraged it. “Any idea which client?”
She leaned in and whispered, loud enough for the entire dugout to hear. “Sylvia Romero.”
“Really?” I was surprised. The queen of Dallas real estate development had a pristine reputation. I don’t know why this kind of stuff continually surprises me. Just last summer, I’d uncovered a ring of weird sex flings that included the grand dame of Dallas society and our former pristine U.S. senator. “I guess being horny makes folks lose their good judgment.” I’m so wise.
“I guess so. Speaking of which, you still seeing that defense attorney? The hot Latin one?”
“Smooth segue, Nance.” She needn’t have specified hot and Latin. I’d only bedded one criminal defense attorney, and her name was Ronnie Moreno. She’d been my summer fling. “Watched her get on a plane last month. She’s got a job in D.C.”
“You didn’t go along? I’m sure you could find lots of work there.”
“Thought never crossed my mind.” I wasn’t the type to move across the country over a woman. I wasn’t the type to do anything for the sake of a woman other than lose sleep and drink more than I should. “We had fun, but we’ve both moved on.”
“You ever going to settle down, Luca?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but another voice chimed in. “Yeah, Bennett. When are you going to actually stick with a relationship?”
I turned to see Chance standing behind us. Figured she was ribbing me like always, but a stern look in her eyes said she was scolding instead. Whatever. She was one to talk. Her relationships consisted of a series of one-night stands interspersed with familiar visits to my bed. Or hers. Our casual sex sessions were the longest running relationship either of us had ever had. I reminded her that I wasn’t the only one with commitment issues. “Pot. Kettle. Which one you wanna be?”
I could tell she was trying not to smile, but it didn’t last. Her smile got even bigger as she looked away from me up into the bleachers. Decent sized crowd today, probably because summer’s heat had finally faded into a semblance of fall. I didn’t pay too much attention to who had come to watch. I figured most of them were partnered up with players on both teams. But Chance’s gaze lingered on the women gathered to watch us kick up dirt around the bases.
“Looking for someone?”
The flinch was slight, but I saw it. She jerked her eyes away from the spectators. “Nope. You ready to play? I need you in the outfield today.”
I didn’t attend these games to show off athletic prowess. I was supposed to stand in for some not-so-important position and then run like hell when it was my turn at bat. Gail played outfield and she was stellar. No way could I fill her shoes. “You sure that’s where you want me?”
“Just do your best to catch the ball and then run it to the infield. Don’t try to throw anyone out.” With those sternly delivered instructions, she started to walk away.
“Hey, Jess.”
She turned and raised her eyebrows, probably because I’d used her first name. Not something I normally do in public. “Yeah?”
“If I catch the ball, what will you give me?”
She grinned. “You’re impossible.”
“Seriously, you don’t think I put on this butt ugly shirt for fun, do you?”
“You don’t have to play if you don’t want.”
I couldn’t read her expression, but she sounded a little pissed. I stepped closer, but not too close. After all, we were surrounded by loads of our friends and Jess’s co-workers. “You busy after?” I assumed I already knew the answer. We’d play here, get sweaty, go to her place or mine, shower, play, and get sweaty again. It’s what we did.
“I might be.”
Well, those were three little words I hadn’t expected. We had a regular deal. I subbed in and she paid me back. No equivocation. “I might be.” Fuck that. I wasn’t a beggar. I’d offered my services, but seemed like Chance wanted to keep me in the outfield.
“Cool. Check you later.” I strode away, trying to disguise my anger as nonchalance.
The game lasted forever, but I shined. Totally against my nature, but I knew I was showing off for Chance and her maybes. At least that’s how it started. In the third inning, after a particularly showy slide into home plate, a new motivation appeared on the scene. A tall, gorgeous redhead. A little overdressed for a softball game, she wore a tan pantsuit and high-heeled boots.
I don’t normally go for redheads. In my experience, they have a tendency to flame up for no reason whatsoever. At least none that I can fathom, and I don’t have much use for volcanic eruptions unless they are orgasmic. But Jess’s snub made me feel like making an exception. Red seemed to be looking right at me, so I tossed her a casual wave. She smiled. I tugged my cap and turned to jog into the dugout when I ran smack into Jess. Both of us backed up fast. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
She didn’t hear me, distracted by something up in the stands. I followed her line of sight and my eyes landed on the redhead again. Didn’t surprise me. We had the same taste. Part of the reason we got along so well. “She’s a hot one.”
I wasn’t prepared for the angry look Jess shot my way. She seriously needed to get laid. I shrugged and joined the rest of the team.
Four innings later, while the rest of the team took a victory lap, I sifted through the cooler, wishing beer was allowed on these fields.
“I wouldn’t mind something cold to drink if you have any extra.”
I looked up into sea green eyes and wondered if a cold drink was what Red really thirsted for. “Not much here, but you’re welcome to anything you see.”
Her knowing look told me she knew what I was offering. She extended a hand. “I’m Heathe
r. What’s your name?”
Jess burst into view. If I didn’t know better I’d think the game was still going and she was sliding into home base. “Her name’s trouble.” She slid a possessive arm around Heather’s waist and flashed me a look that dared me to make a smart remark.
I didn’t have any smart remarks. The contrast between Red’s tailored ensemble and Chance’s sweaty, dirty uniform jammed up my thinking bones. These two knew each other. Well enough for Chance to engage in a public display of affection. Well enough that she didn’t care about making put together girl all sweaty. This would take a while to process. All I knew right now was I wasn’t getting laid tonight. At least not with Jess.
As if she could hear my thoughts, Jess added an exclamation point. “We’re headed out. Thanks for standing in. See you later.”
Wow, she’d managed to pull out of enchantment mode to say three whole sentences. But she couldn’t be bothered introducing me to her…her whatever. I watched them stroll over to a brand new silver BMW sedan and climb in.
A BMW? Seriously? I tried not to care that Jess had ditched me for the hottest chick at the game. Besides, no matter how put together Chance’s date looked and how sweet of a ride she drove, Heather sounded like a stripper name to me.
Chapter Two
My crumbling apartment complex was dark. A perfect cover for rent dodgers like myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel some responsibility to pay my bills; it’s just that I had priorities, and shelling out cash for this dump was low on my list. Besides, I was still in hock for medical bills related to my last big case. A case for which I hadn’t been and would never be paid.