Bound to the Bounty Hunter (20 page)

He carried her to the giant bed, pulled back the covers, and deposited her on thick cotton sheets, brushing damp hair from her face with unexpected tenderness.

Harlan walked into the bathroom.

Happy tears threatened to fall and dangerous emotions like belonging danced tantalizingly within her reach.

If they were having this much fun in Vegas, would it be the same when they got back home? Would they both be at each other’s throats going after the same jumpers? Would she catch him at Javier’s gym working out? Maybe he’d even step into the ring with her. She stretched then frowned.

No, Harlan wouldn’t like it if she got in the boxing ring again.

Then reality, that cold hard bitch slapped her, hard.

Harlan wouldn’t like it.

She avoided his gaze when he walked back to the bed, staring out at the Vegas skyline. A dark and nasty stone pulled her stomach downward. She concentrated on the red flickering helicopters that streaked across the neon sky.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

His finger trailed down her cheek leaving a trail of warmth. “Something’s troubling you.”

Tonight she’d done things she’d never, ever done before, would never have done before. Had she done those things because she wanted to, or because deep down she’d turned into what he’d wanted her to be? If he’d asked her, she would have handed him herself on a party platter.

And it scared the shit out of her.

She didn’t have time to go somewhere in her head and analyze it. She gripped the sheet tighter to her body.

Would she again disappear and turn into the woman he wanted? Miss Compliant who’d do every barked command without a thought or an opinion?

She bit her lip.

She turned her head to find him staring at her, his face unreadable.

“Would you ever be in a relationship where you gave up control?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Have you ever let someone in? Have you ever been too afraid to confess your biggest fear without judgment? Have you ever lost yourself to another person—become who they wanted you to be, because, at some base level, you didn’t want them to see the real you?

He paused before answering, his eyes boring into her. “I don’t do that level of commitment.”

She clutched at the tattered threads of self-control, turned her head, sucked back a breath, and held it deep in her aching chest, pushing her finger against a hard knot on her breastbone. Alone, later, she would analyze what had happened tonight.

Alone
.

The word whispered across her soul.

Harlan slipped into bed and pulled her back to his front, his arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.

She slid out of his embrace and out of bed. Harlan moved with her.

“Prayers,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

He nodded.

She murmured a long line of thanks for all she had. After she finished she stayed in the prayer position, gathering her thoughts around her like a coat that didn’t fit as comfortably as it used to, until her body shivered in the air-conditioned cold.

When she slid under the covers, hoping Harlan had fallen asleep, he’d pulled her tight in to his body.

She twisted in his arms and stared at the neon lights until the first rays of dawn yawned into life, Harlan’s deep and even breathing behind her.

Tears fell down her face unchecked.

Chapter Sixteen

Harlan closed the door of the car and blinked at the heat that dried his eyes. Sandwiched between a small liquor store and a twenty-four-hour laundromat, behind saloon-style doors was the bar Danielle had directed them to, the name
Hooders
spelled out in white peeling paint.

The place had “desperate” written all over it. He’d caught bail jumpers in places like this. Fraught gamblers would be wearing shiny suits purchased at Goodwill. They’d sit nursing a beer, convincing themselves that tomorrow would be their day.

Everyone wanted cheap beer and a place to forget for a while, including girls who’d come to Vegas with hopes and dreams of landing in a show and hitting it big time, but who found out there were a lot of girls searching for the same dream. Now they worked in bars like this, trying to pay rent and earn their ticket out.

“Let’s get this done.”

He turned at the brittle nerves in Sophie’s voice.

She caught him staring and flicked her glasses from her head to her eyes.

When she asked if he’d ever give up control with a quiver in her voice, he’d answered honestly. He wouldn’t lie to her. Raw emotion had twisted her face for a second before she’d rolled out of bed to recite the longest prayer known to man.

She’d slid back into bed, and he’d kept her close all night, waking once when he thought he’d heard a shuddering sigh, but she hadn’t moved when he’d whispered her name. He tucked that one lock of hair behind her ear, felt her flinch.

Something had changed, and it turned his stomach sour.

“Not every story comes with a happy ending. Most don’t.”

“I know,” she said in a quiet, cryptic voice and walked into the bar.

He followed Sophie’s ponytail bouncing on her shoulders, wearing what she always wore and always stunning. He chose a table at the back of the club. Bored-looking girls rode poles onstage. Occasionally Miss “Love Me Tender,” according to the handwritten sign propped next to her, would remember where she was and tweak her breast or gyrate against the pole before zoning out again.

Men sat in a couple of groups, but mostly they sat alone, nursing cheap warm beers, their hopeful eyes trained on the stage. Ten feet to Harlan’s left a woman gave a lap dance to one of them. A tired twenty sat on the table. Stale beer and cheap perfume mixed with warm air trickling from a busted air conditioner.

The real Vegas.

He hadn’t missed the waitress who had perked up when Harlan walked in, then frowned when she’d caught sight of Sophie. Her interest had been rekindled once Sophie had walked away. The waitress now sidled up to Harlan, twisting her blond hair and pushing out her double Ds.

He shrugged and held up his hands. The waitress’s head swung between him and Sophie, an “I’m not getting it” look on her face.

Yeah, she wouldn’t. Even wearing jeans, boots, and a polo shirt, Sophie outshone anyone in a room when she walked in, let alone this one.

The waitress leaned forward and whispered in his ear that she’d be off in a few hours and could give him a Vegas experience that he’d still remember when he bounced his grandbabies on his knee.

Under the heavy makeup she looked younger than he’d first thought.

He turned her down, smiled at her name tag, “Margarita,” and asked what brought her to Vegas. Turns out Margaret had graduated foster care at eighteen. She’d hung with a bad crowd, made mistakes, and ended up in Vegas to earn money to go to community college. She wanted to form a nonprofit and provide low-cost childcare by the hour so moms could get to job interviews, attend classes, and not have to pay for all-day childcare that they couldn’t afford.

He handed her his card and told her that he had a couple of contacts who could help her with enrolling in college and applications for her nonprofit if she found herself in Denver. He knew people who were always on the lookout for good wait staff. The pay wouldn’t set her up on a tropical island, but it was clean money without having to sit on an old man’s lap and wait for Viagra to kick in.

The hairs on the back of his neck rippled. Sophie sat alone nursing a diet soda, staring at him, her face a mask.

Margaret slipped his card into the pocket of her apron and told him with misty eyes that he’d be hearing from her, sooner rather than later. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek. The hairs on his neck flamed. When he caught Sophie’s eye, she swung her head away.

A woman pulled out a chair and sat across from her. Both were in his peripheral vision. The woman toyed with a dark ponytail. What once had been a kick-ass body had succumbed to middle-age spread. Since she and Soph were deep in conversation, he took the opportunity to head to the john.

He walked back into the bar to find an empty table, a chair on the floor, and no sign of either woman.

Fuck
.

A steel band tightened around his chest, pulling across his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He jogged to the bartender, who saw his face and pointed toward the door.

He sprinted outside, breathing in heat, his heart about to burst out of his chest. Sophie sat in the passenger side of the car, staring out the side window.

“What the fuck?” he said, jumping into the driver’s seat. His heart felt bruised from smashing into his ribcage. “You can’t up and leave like that.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “Jesus.”

Her lips sucked in, she turned, her face unnaturally pale. “Yeah, actually I can. I’m not at your command. I’m here working on a case. Case is done. I’m going home.”

He stared at her. “For the fifteenth fucking time,” he said in a low voice, flexing his fingers. “There is a threat to your life. Until that—”

She punched a button on the radio.

He killed Celine before she hit a high note.

Sophie glared at him then fiddled with the buttons on the car radio.

Something had gone down. Something he couldn’t get a handle on.

“What happened in there?” he said, changing tack.

What happened last night?

Celine sang about her heart going on.

Sophie turned to him, eyes vacant. “I’m going home. You can be on the same flight as me or not, your call.”

His gut screwed into a tight ball and threatened an escape plan.

Some dude started singing about going to Rio, my-o me-o.

“Fuck no.” He punched the off button.

“Either you start the car or I hail a cab. I don’t have a preference.”

He started the car, threw it into gear, and pulled into traffic, gripping the steering wheel.

His phone pinged at the same time as Sophie’s. He’d have to pick it up when they got to the rental car center.

“Oh no.”

He swiveled his head. Sophie held her phone in one hand.

“What?” he barked.

“It’s from Gemma. Someone attacked Annie last night outside Pipe’s. The man had her against her car, a hand at her throat, demanding ‘where is she?’”

Fuck.

Fuck
.

“Is she okay?”

“The guy disappeared when Dug pulled him off. Dug stayed with Annie, who refused to call the police.” Nerves rattled Sophie’s voice.

Harlan pulled the car over and relayed the conversation to a now-agitated Zeb, who had news of his own.

“Jesus,” he said to Zeb. “Let me know when you get any details.” Zeb agreed and told him he was heading out to Annie’s.

There was a lot of shit happening back in Denver. He needed to be there now.

He pulled the Corolla into traffic, pushing the car to its limits.

“Could it have been Mick who attacked Annie?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“No,” he barked, harsher than he intended.

She swiveled to face him. “How can you be so sure?”

“He’s dead.”

…

Sophie had emotionally avoided Harlan since last night and even more so when she’d met with Suzie at that bar. She’d hated the blinding fury that had slashed through her insides when Miss F Cup leaned forward and kissed him. For one heart-wrenching second she’d wanted to go to him, sink down to the ground, and be who he wanted her to be—lose herself, something she’d sworn she would never do again.

It hadn’t been hard to distance herself when Harlan had found out about Annie and Mick. He’d kept close to her physically at the airport, but emotionally he’d been distant and on his phone constantly.

Harlan had grabbed her hand before takeoff and not let it go. She was too tired and wound up to argue and, if she had to play the truth game, his hand in hers calmed her.

Finally, they made it to her house. Sophie dropped her bag, sank to her knees, and hugged Pongo, surprised that Titus hadn’t been in to greet her.

“Hey, baby boy. Were you good for Uncle Titus?” She pulled his soft ears and smiled when five farts filled the air.

Sophie pulled her cell from her pocket.

No update from Gemma.

Nothing from Annie.

She glanced around her house. A dying fly spun on its back on a windowsill. The scent of overripe oranges tinted the air. Titus usually opened a window for her. Strange, Pongo’s bowl was empty. Something Titus would never let happen. He loved her dog and showed it by feeding Pongo treats.

“I’ll check on Titus.” She moved to the door, her heart starting to hammer.

As always, Harlan followed.

After knocking on Titus’s door and getting no reply, Sophie turned, her heart now trying to escape from her throat.

“What if something’s happened to Sally?” Desperate, she pulled out her cell and tried Titus’s number again. It still went to his cheery voice, asking to leave a number and he’d call you back.

She left another message.

Out of the corner of her eye, a man approached.

Harlan pushed in front of her, legs wide, hand to the gun in the waistband of his jeans, one hand on her.

“Sophie?”

She peeked around Harlan to find Steve, her neighbor and Titus’s assistant with the neighborhood watch. Trepidation on his face mixed with a little bit of fear when he glanced at Harlan then at her.

“Hey, Steve.” She tried to move, but Harlan held her in place.

“If you’re looking for Titus, he’s in the hospital.”

Her body swayed. Harlan pulled her tighter into his body.

“What?” she managed to get out. “What happened?”

“Far as I can tell, he came out here to collect a package, and someone got him in a headlock from behind.”

“Where’s the package?” Harlan asked Steve, who shrugged.

She fought, but Harlan’s arm kept her locked in place.

“Stop it,” she said, trying to pry his fingers off her arm.

“We’re visible. Out in the open. You’re a target,” he clipped.

“We’re going to the hospital. Now.” She twisted out of his grip and ran toward his car.

If anything happened to Titus or Sally…

This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been in Vegas, sampling buffets and Harlan, I’d have been here, and Titus and Annie wouldn’t be hurt
.

“Hurry,” she said to Harlan, barely able to get the twisted cry out of her throat.

No sooner had the car come to a halt at the hospital than her shoes hit the concrete. She told the kind-looking woman at the desk that she was Titus Carroll’s family and stumbled into his room.

Titus sat propped on pillows, a bandage on his head, hooked up to a drip, arguing with a no-nonsense doctor. Sally lay curled in a chair beside him, her eyes never leaving her husband’s.

“Right. Good. You’re here. Someone with a bit of sense,” Titus said, his eyes cutting to her and Harlan standing behind her.

Titus with a bandaged head filled her body with a cold, shattering fear.

This is because of me.

“Tell these people I have to go home,” Titus said, sounding like he was still in the army and had been promoted to general.

Sophie walked to his bed and gathered his frail hand. Before she could say anything, the doctor cut in.

“Family. Good. Titus has had a significant blow to the head.”

Acid rose up Sophie’s throat but she pushed it down.

“Significant my ass. I’ve had worse run-ins at Costco when they give away fried chicken samples.”

The doctor looked between her and Harlan. “He’s had a scan and it’s all clear, but we’d like to keep him here for observation overnight, possibly longer.”

She opened her mouth to agree when she caught Titus’s pleading, desperate appeal.

“Sally can’t stay. This is too much for her,” he said in an urgent whisper.

Sophie faced the doctor. “I don’t have hospital training, but I can stay with him and run checks every hour.”

“It has to be a trained professional who can pick up on minor changes.”

“Tell me what’s required and I’ll take care of it,” Harlan said, “If he needs a nurse at his house around the clock, it’ll happen.”

Sophie let out a breath.

The doctor nodded. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable releasing him under those conditions.”

Harlan moved to speak to the doctor. Sophie made it to Titus’s bed and sagged onto it, the adrenaline that got her here starting to bleed from her muscles.

“I’m sorry.” She reached out and placed her hand over Sally’s, who held Titus’s hand. “Are you okay?” she said to Sally, gently squeezing her hand. Sally didn’t squeeze back.

Titus’s sharp eyes focused on her. “Nothing to be sorry for. I was collecting a box addressed to you, and a man came up behind me demanding to know where you were. I tried to turn around, but he had me in a headlock by that stage, I’m afraid.” His eyes hardened. “I swear, if I were ten years younger he’d be hog-tied on your front lawn waiting for the men in blue.” He shook his head. “But he shoved me and I fell.”

“I’ll look after him,” Sally said in a creaky voice.

Harlan came to crouch in front of Sally. “I know you will. A nurse is going to come and stay with you in case he gets dizzy.”

“Pat,” Sally said, her voice rising. “Why didn’t you bring Wednesday?”

“She couldn’t make it this time,” Harlan said, smiling at her softly.

Sophie hauled in a jiggered breath at the tenderness on Harlan’s face.

Titus intervened, totally focused on Harlan. “You’ll look after my girls?”