Doc (11 page)

After breakfast, instead of heading home, Izzy directed his driving. They left downtown, drove through the warehouse district and into a neighborhood that he was largely unfamiliar with. It was low-rent, lower than his own, at any rate. The houses were about the same size as his, but the yards consisted mostly of weeds and grass that hadn’t been mowed. Junker cars crowded cracked driveways and bed sheets stood in for curtains in most of the windows visible to the street.

Izzy had him pull over in front of a house with a barred front door and a chain link fence surrounding the property, but it wasn’t that house she was interested in. Instead
, her gaze was settled on a dirty, white clapboard house that sat in the middle of the block, on the opposite side of the street. Caleb didn’t know who lived there, but the large Harley in the driveway gave him some indication.

“That’s the Paul place,” she told him. “The boys aren’t there. Jace? Hasn’t shown up in a few days. He hasn’t been staying in his room at the clubhouse, either. Even money says he’s with Jeter.”

“You know the cops could have the wrong border,” Caleb replied. “They could be headed north. Into Canada.”

She sighed. “I hope not, but you’re right. It’s a possibility.”

She looked at him sideways across the front seat of the Charger. “So,” she said. “Suspended cop.” There was a long pause as she surveyed him. “You’re pretty…
flexible
… on the law, then.”

Caleb stared at her. “I have no answer to that,” he said cautiously. His eyes flicked from Izzy to the house and back again.

She waited. Patiently. He scowled.

Finally he asked, “How old is this girl he kidnapped?”

“Sixteen. Got her whole life ahead of her.”

“If she’s still alive,” he countered.

“Big if,” she admitted.

“And you can do this?” he asked, glancing back at the house. “This is in your wheelhouse?”

She grinned, the effect of which was only slightly lessened by the possible consequences of what she was suggesting.

“I plead the fifth,” she replied. “Unless you agree.”

Caleb shook his head. “Uh huh,” he told her. “Doesn’t work that way. You lay it out for me, all of it, and I decide. You want me to trust you? You’ve got to trust me.”

She considered him for a moment, then said, “I can get inside in under a minute
.” “He’ll never know. It’s not even the first place I’ve broken into since I came to town.”

He looked at her darkly. “Please say you didn’t break into my house.”

She laughed and warmth unfurled in his belly—and lower again—as he watched her eyes brighten.

“My trust issues don’t quite go that deep. I do what I have to do to get the job done. Never more than that. When it comes to the bad guys, Caleb, playing by the rules not only ties one hand behind your back, but it leaves you blind, too.” She leaned toward him a bit, not enough to be in his face but enough to let him know she was serious. “I. Catch. Bad. People,” she said quietly but firmly. There was an underlying ferocity that he had to admire. “And I don’t apologize for it.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t relate. He broke rules every day to put people away where they couldn’t hurt innocent victims anymore. How could he point a finger at her without pointing a few back at himself?

“Let’s do it,” he told her.

She nodded toward the street. “Drive around back,” she told him. “There’s an alley. We’ll go in the bathroom.”

Caleb nosed the Charger down the street and into the alley that was used for garbage pick-up. He killed the engine behind the Paul house and got out with Izzy. She made a casual check of their surroundings and, satisfied they were unseen, hopped the chain link and onto the unmowed grass.

As he followed, a bit less gracefully he noted sourly, she said, “The old man has early mornings at a warehouse on the other side of the tracks. Takes his truck, leaves the bike. I’m guessing the reputation of the buzzards is what keeps it from being stolen.”

Caleb grunted as they approached the back door. “You might want to keep that reputation in mind,” he told her, “while you’re sniffing around.”

“I’ve dealt with gangs before,” she assured him. “I’m careful.”

“See that you are,” he replied. “Or they’re going to find both our bodies in the Badlands, bones picked clean.”

“If they find us at all,” she said with a grin. “The Buzzards are a bit hardcore for a cow town.”

“Rapid City’s not a cow town,” he argued. Then he recalled his native California and that Izzy was from Denver. “Well, okay,” he relented. “But there’s no shortage of hardened felons.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

She pulled a small, flat, leather case out of her jacket pocket and opened it. Shiny bits of silver glinted in the sun.

“Have you done this before?” she asked him.

Caleb shook his head. “Battering ram.”

She laughed. “Well, the last thing we need is Paul Senior to know someone broke in and sniffed around. I’d use a Lock-Aid under different circumstances, but it leaves damage.”

She selected a long, thin file from the case and handed it to him. “We’ve got all day,” she told him. “Might as well learn something new.”

The lock was cheap, even Caleb could see that. He took the pick from her and leaned closer to the door. Izzy positioned herself beside him. “Just slide it in easy,” she said. “Though you may have trouble with that,” she teased.

He gave her a sharp look, then turned back to the door. He slipped the pick in and jiggled it.

“Don’t rattle it around,” Izzy scolded. “You’ve got to finesse it. Go in slow, feel for the tumbler. That’s the sweet spot. You want to go at it gently till it gives way, then sink further in,” she instructed in a sultry whisper.

“Woman,” he growled.

She smiled. “It’s okay if you can’t get it,” she assured him. “After all,” she waved a dismissive hand at him. “Battering ram.”

Caleb’s blood heated and he took a deep breath to steady his hands. He ignored her and tried again, slower this time, but his hands wanted to go at something else, some
one
else, and the tightening in his jeans was starting to distract him.

Just because Caleb
didn’t
make slow, sweet love to women didn’t mean he
couldn’t
, or would be bad at it. He
chose
to keep it impersonal, an itch that needed regular but infrequent scratching. Her teasing galled him in a way that it shouldn’t have.

His hand slipped and he lost the tension on the tumblers. “Damn it,” he muttered.

Izzy laughed. “You need me to finish it myself?”

Now he was irritated. She
had
come, multiple times. He wasn’t a barbarian, for God’s sake.

“Let me do it,” she insisted, and took the pick out of his hand before he could object. She pushed the leather case into his empty hands.

She slid the pick in and tilted it a little to make room for the tension wire. True to her word, she turned the lock, sans key, and in less than sixty seconds they were standing inside the Paul’s kitchen.

Caleb surveyed the dirty dishes and stacked pizza boxes. “If this place weren’t a filthy rat’s nest,” he said. “I’d bend you over and
—”

She clucked her tongue at him. “Guess you didn’t learn anything.”

She left him grumbling to himself as she carefully examined a stack of unopened mail on the counter, then moved to the living room.

“The easiest thing to do would be to access their phone records,” he told her.

She frowned. “Except I don’t have access to them. And my police contacts are good, but not so solid that they’d dump a phone or two for me without a warrant.”

Caleb understood. Now that he was on suspension, his own contacts couldn’t drum up a warrant-less search. Especially not on a mere hunch that Paul-the-younger was harboring his fugitive cousin and a kidnapped girl.

“Hmm,” Izzy said, breaking Caleb out of his reverie. She picked up a framed photo off a shelf and looked at it. When he moved closer he saw an older man, Paul Senior, he guessed, with his twenty-something son. They were standing in front of a cabin, surrounded by trees.

“Look local?” Izzy asked.

Caleb took the photo from her. “Could be,” he replied. “Trees are right for the area. But there are thousands of cabins across the whole state and there are no identifying markers.”

“Worth looking into,” she declared as she replaced the photo.

“This is less glamorous than I thought it would be,” he said as he and Izzy pawed through the Paul’s disaster of a living room.

She laughed. “You watch too much television. Bounty hunting is ninety percent investigation and only ten percent combat.”

“How tough is the combat?”

She shrugged. “Depends on the skip.”

“Ever been shot?”

“I wear a vest a lot.”

He snorted. “Doesn’t help if they shoot you in the head.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Caleb’s phone chirped unexpectedly and he glanced down at the screen. He grimaced.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“It’s Shooter. He wants to know if I’m coming to poker night.”

“I love
poker,” Izzy exclaimed.

Caleb glowered. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation.

“Of course,” she said, eyeing his expression, “we could always stay in.”

He sighed. Poker or poke her. He didn’t know which one was more dangerous.

Caleb took them up the winding road out in the hills beyond the city. He’d actually never had a woman on his bike before, and he had to admit he didn’t exactly mind it. Izzy’s hands were low on his stomach, enough to be flirty but not so much that he’d have to pull over and
bend
her over.

When he pulled up to the house and shut off the engine, Izzy gave the house a once over. “It’s beautiful out here,” she said.

Caleb nodded. “Shooter bought it on his own and hoped she’d come back and see it one day.”

“She left him?”

“For a while. She had a…rough time.”

Izzy scanned the large yard and the view of the city below them. “Well, it’s a nice place to come home to.”

Before Caleb could swing his leg off the bike, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. When she pulled away, he regarded her curiously. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Your friends are watching,” she told him.

He turned to see that, sure enough, all the women, Sarah, Abby, Tildy, and Daisy—even Easy, the nosy bastard—were looking out the windows of the Sullivans’ living room.

Izzy shrugged. “If I’m supposed to be your girlfriend,” she said, “we’ve got to sell it.”

“I don’t think they’re buying it,” he declared. “Come here.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her across the Harley and into his lap. With one hand on her hip and the other around her shoulders, Caleb sank his tongue into her mouth. Izzy made a soft noise and clutched at his shoulder. Her fingertips dug into the leather of his jacket as she pulled him closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was panting hard. He pushed her off him and to her feet, grinning at her. “How’s that for a battering ram? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. Or forgiven you,” he informed her.

He enjoyed watching her shiver at his words.

Inside the Sullivan house, Sarah did her best to make Izzy feel at home. She shooed Caleb out of his favorite chair so Izzy could have it. As much as he’d hoped that bringing a woman to poker night could just be taken in stride by the rest of the group, he’d known that it was a futile thing to hope for. The women inspected Izzy as though she were an animal in a zoo, an exotic creature they’d never seen before. Thankfully, it appeared as though each of the men had told their better halves about the state of his non-union with Izzy. And, he gathered, about Sioux Falls, if the way Sarah was occasionally shooting him chastising looks was any kind of a clue.

“So you’re a bounty hunter?” Tildy asked, eyes wide with curiosity and fascination.

Izzy shot Caleb a look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “Your secret’s safe with them. They won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, no!” Tildy gushed. “We’d never tell anybody! It’s just that I’ve never met a bounty hunter before. How long have you been doing it? What’s it like? Is it really dangerous?” Tildy paused in her barrage of questions, seemingly having startled herself. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Izzy snorted. “Rule number one,” Izzy replied, amused. “Don’t kill anyone.”

Tildy sighed and leaned back in her chair. “That’s good,” she said, relieved.

Izzy nodded. “You don’t get paid if they’re dead.”

“Oh, Tildy replied. “Oh, wow. Does it
… Does it pay a lot?”

“Yeah. With a two-man team of experienced hunters, it pays pretty damn well.”

“You have a partner?”

Caleb watched Izzy’s gaze darken as he realized she always did when she was talking about her father. They must have been close, he surmised. She must have really loved him. Caleb hated his own father, but he’d loved his mother
—weak as she was and unable to protect them. She’d tried, though. She’d tried damn hard. When he was younger he’d wondered, even
asked
his mother why they didn’t run away, just the two of them. His mother had never answered him. It was only when he grew up and began to see the world as it really was, that he’d finally understood.

It wouldn’t have saved them. Caleb’s father would have hunted them down and killed them both, even if they’d had anywhere to go. So they stayed, with Caleb’s mother taking most of the beatings for both of them. Izzy’s father must have been that sort of
parent, a parent that protected his kids no matter what.

My father died last year,” Izzy told Tildy and the others. “He taught me the business.”

“Was he killed?” Tildy asked, horrified.

Izzy shook her head. “No. It was a heart attack. He died at home. I haven’t found anyone to replace him.” She seemed to reconsider, though. “Well,” she amended, “I haven’t really looked, either.” Izzy swept her fingers over the bruise above her eye. “I got nailed while Caleb was with me.”

All the women gasped, but it was Chris’ wife, Sarah, who scolded him. “You let her get hurt?” she demanded.

Before Caleb could answer, Izzy defended him. “It was my fault,
” she told him. “I thought he’d cleared the room. I guess I’ve gotten too used to working alone.”

“It’s really dangerous to be alone, isn’t it?” Tildy asked. “Should… should you keep doing that?”

Izzy sighed. “No. This case is kind of an emergency,” she explained. “The guy I’m looking for kidnapped a teenage girl from a gas station. She needs to be found. And rules, regulations, and red tape aren’t going to get her home safely.”

“You think she’s still alive?” Shooter asked.

Izzy shrugged. “For her sake, I’m going to assume she is. Even if she’s not, the reward should get me through most of the next year. After that I’ll take jobs that are less dangerous. Which will suck, because bounty hunting is all I’ve ever done. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Even when you were little?” Tildy asked.

“All the Bouchers are bounty hunters. My father and his father and so on. We’ve done some good work. Isaiah Boucher brought in Manfred Durst. He killed over thirty men and robbed two banks before he was taken down. Isaiah caught up to him in Las Vegas. Shot him in the leg and dragged him into a jail cell.”

“Rule number one,” Tex replied, grinning. “For bounty hunting
, anyway.”

“Rule number one,” Izzy confirmed.

“I’m from Vegas,” Abby declared. “But I don’t remember hearing about that.”

Izzy grinned. “Well, it was a pretty big deal. In 1909.”

“
1909?
” Tildy asked. “Seriously?”

“Like I said, the Bouchers are bounty hunters. Always have been.” Izzy looked at Abby. “So, you’re from Vegas?”

“Born and raised.”

Izzy hesitated. “You heard about the Duke Casino robbery?”

Abby nodded. “Huge deal. It happened just a few years ago. Inside job. They were supposed to get away clean, but a guard came back early from his dinner break and they shot him. I remember there was a shootout at a warehouse when they were caught.”

Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Wasn’t much of a shootout. Two of them popped the third guy for a bigger split of the money. They were too busy arguing over whether it should be 50-50 or 60-40 when I came up behind them with a shotgun.”

Tildy gasped.

“One of them got a shot off, but he missed. They went down pretty easy, all things considered,” Izzy said.

“Oh, my God!” Abby breathed. “I didn’t know bounty hunters had caught them! There wasn’t anything in the news.”

Izzy shrugged. “I don’t want to be famous. I just want to do my job.”

“So, no plans for your own reality show?” Hawk asked.

Izzy rolled her eyes. “It’d make surprise takedowns nearly impossible if they recognized my face, wouldn’t it?”

“What was the hardest…uh…takedown… you’ve ever had?” Abby asked her.

“Hmm,” Izzy replied. “I’ve had a few doozies. There was one all the way in Alaska once.”

Izzy spun a tale of snowshoes and hunting rifles as the women, and the men for that matter, listened with rapt attention. For the rest of the evening, she seemed to fit right in with the rest of the group. Caleb admired her ability to make herself comfortable almost anywhere, from a honky-tonk bar to a semi-stranger’s kitchen, to a large group of people she’d never met before. She didn’t seem fake in any way to him, though. Every Izzy was the authentic Izzy, her brash and flirty good nature apparent in every carnation.

Things eventually wound down. Caleb noticed she’d won a bit more often than she’d lost, and they grabbed their jackets as they headed toward the driveway. He slapped her ass and she yelped on her way out the front door. She rolled her eyes at him. “I think they bought it, Barnes,” she said. “Don’t oversell it.”

Caleb grinned at her. “Oh they know you’re not my girlfriend.”

Izzy stopped and gaped at him. “What?”

He chuckled. “I told them yesterday afternoon.”

“So me being all touchy feeling and practically making out with you every ten minutes was
—?”

“Pretty nice, I thought. Best poker night I’ve had in a while, anyway.”

Izzy gave him a stern look. “Oh, you’re going to get it!”

She reached out to slap his arm. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in close so she was pressed against his chest. He leaned down and whispered, “That’s the plan,
Izzy
.”