The Huntress: full-length sexy romantic suspense (2 page)

“Look, I’m a bail enforcement officer,” Vega said, wanting to avoid strong-arm tactics. Though is was perfectly legal to force her way into the apartment as long as The Great Wall was inside, she didn’t like to scare the civilians, like Lila. In fact, she’d called herself a bail enforcement officer, hoping it sounded more benign than a gun-slinging ‘bounty hunter’. “Your Wally didn’t show up for court today. I’m here to take him to the police before the cops get testy.”

“That’s impossible. You’ve got the wrong house.” Lila threw another glance over her shoulder. “My Wally has never been arrested.” She tried again to close the door.

Vega slipped inside the warm foyer before the door could snap closed. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I had a quick word with your
Wally
?”

Lila’s hands trembled as she brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “I suppose not.”

Vega followed Lila up the stairs, into a living room furnished with a brand new tan and white sofa and matching overstuffed chairs. Lionel was sure moving up in the world. The last time she picked him up, she’d found him sleeping on a broken bed in an abandoned fleabag motel used by the really cheap hookers. A rat had been crawling across his bare back.

“Wally, tell this woman she’s mistaken about you.”

His eyes met Vega’s. He rose from the sofa. At nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders to match, he lived up to his name,
The Great Wall
. Seated, he’d taken up nearly the entire sofa. Standing, he dominated the room.

“This is a nice place, Lionel. Don’t ruin what you’ve got here. Just come with me peacefully.”

He sucked in a quick breath. His pricey sweater stretched, his tailored pants rustled. “Didn’t know you were back in town, Vega.” His low voice rumbled. “Heard you were in New Mexico chasing some gun smugglers the feds couldn’t keep their hands on.”

“Caught them three days ago. It was all over the news. Sorry you missed it. You going to come with me downtown, right?”

“What does she mean?” Lila’s voice grew shrill.

Lionel shrugged. “It’s okay, Lila. I gotta go out for a while.”

Vega eased out a breath.
Another easy pickup
, she thought. She was congratulating herself too soon, though. An explosion from downstairs shook the room and wiped the smugness from her face.

Shit.

Fate seemed to hate it when she got too full of herself.

She drew her gun and spun toward the foyer stairs just as Butch, cowboy hat jammed low on his head, charged into the room. A nasty short stock shotgun was locked in his grasp. “You’re under arrest! Move a muscle asshole, and I’ll blow your ugly head off!”

Lila started screaming.

Vega nearly dropped her Glock. “What the
hell
?”

Butch swung around, his shotgun aimed squarely at her chest. “Vega?” He lowered the barrel.

“Damn.” Vega jammed her gun back into the hostler. “This is the second time the Tyler Bonding Company has contracted with two agencies.”

“It’s the new secretary.” Butch locked the shotgun’s aim on Lionel again. “I said don’t move!”

Lila’s screams grew louder.

“She can’t keep her records straight.” Butch kept his gaze trained on Lionel whose face had closed down into a blank street-tough hardness. “Wait a minute. What in the hell is Jack thinking? This scum is five times your size.”

Telling Butch that size didn’t matter would be a waste of breath. “I was here first,” she said instead. “This is my pickup.”

“Hell no, it’s not.”

Lionel backed away from the both of them. Vega didn’t blame him. Arguments and guns…the combination had a funny way of turning dangerous.

“No you don’t, asshole.” Butch cocked the shotgun.

With surprising grace for such a large man, Lionel hurled a nearby lamp at Butch’s head. Butch ducked, but the heavy lamp still smashed against his skull. A string of vile curses came spitting out his mouth.

Lionel gave a shout of his own and tossed himself through a diamond-paned window. The glass shattered, and he was gone.

Butch was bleeding from his forehead and cursing up a storm. He’d live.

But could this disaster be salvaged? Vega didn’t know.

She grabbed Lila who was turning purple from screaming so hard, and gave her a little shake to capture her attention. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect your man.”

Lila finally shut up.

“I’ll get him.” Butch swung his shotgun over his shoulder and disappeared back down the stairs.

Vega didn’t waste a moment. She leapt through the gaping hole that had once been a window and landed in a slushy back alleyway ten feet below. Glass shards crunched under her boots.

The sun was already dipping low on the horizon. In less than an hour, Lionel was going to have the benefit of total darkness.

Following his trail in the snow, she tracked Lionel down one alley into another. He was snaking his way back to the drug infested streets Vega knew well. Problem was, Lionel knew them, too, and would soon have access to friends willing to fight for him.

Luckily, speed was something Vega had over those big, lumbering men. She could outrun just about any fugitive. Within a few blocks, she caught her first glimpse of him. His lungs must have been burning by now. His massive feet pounded the ground, his body swinging from side to side. One more block and she’d have him.

“Lionel,” she yelled when she was almost within reach. “You don’t have to go down like this.”

He stopped. His arm, thick as a log, swept a quick, deadly arc. She ducked, taking a glancing blow to the top of her head.

His eyes were like stone, his mouth set in a firm line. There would be no calming him today. Not after Butch had pointed that stupid shotgun at Lionel’s head.

She’d have to subdue him before he hurt someone, namely her. Getting injured wasn’t an option. She inhaled slowly to steady her breathing and focused all her energy on her attack.

Her first blow, a swinging kick, struck his knee. He stumbled a step but was far from down. Angrier, he lunged for her. She rolled out of reach. Springing back to her feet, she considered drawing her gun. But he was in a blind rage now. The threat of bullets wouldn’t stop him. And she didn’t want to shoot him.

Though he had a reputation for breaking people with those meaty hands of his—a real bone crushing kind of guy—lately he was just a money launderer. Been truly trying to lay off the violence. She’d seen the positive changes and, damn it, she didn’t want to risk sending him spiraling back into a life that literally crawled with rats and cheap hookers.

She ducked another blow. Damn. Why hadn’t she grabbed the Taser from her equipment bag before going in after him? Hell, because picking up Lionel had never been a problem before. They’d built a relationship built on mutual fear and respect.

Mentally shaking herself, she dodged another wild punch and tossed a series of quick kicks to the side of Lionel’s knee. She followed up with a swift blow to his collarbone, ducking and retreating before his flailing fists could make contact.

He teetered. His growing rage made his attack unpredictable and inefficient. He swung those trunk-like arms blindly.

She could use that. She wasn’t about to let Lionel get away. Not with Butch hot on his trail. He’d threaten to kill the guy. If nothing else, she had to protect Lionel. And despite Butch’s taunts, she knew she could handle a giant like Lionel.

On the street, size didn’t matter. Skill did.

Only 5’3” and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, she needed to depend on all her skills to get this guy. His freakish height would work to her advantage. Staying low, she charged and tackled his legs with a great big bear hug. Knowing he’d instinctively bend down to pull her off, she held on while twisting a kick straight up, aiming the tip of her boot for his nose.

It crunched.

Lionel howled. His hands flew to his face.

Vega sprang to her feet and with one fluid move, locked a handcuff to his wrist and hooked the other side to a nearby dumpster.

“Sorry about the nose, Lionel,” she said, while struggling to catch her breath.

Blood trickled down his chin. He kept his free hand over his face and moaned pitifully. She carefully patted him down, searching for any concealed weapons or illegal drugs. Not that she’d turn him in for the drugs. It was just that he didn’t need anymore trouble than he already had.

She found nothing on him but a scrap of paper in his pocket with the name “Finn” scribbled on one side along with a phone number. She pushed the paper back into his pants and plucked a phone from her own pocket to arrange for a Skip Tracers van to pick them up.

“Get out of the way!” Butch charged toward her, his face beet red.

She dropped the phone.

“I’ve got him!” she shouted.

Butch didn’t seem to hear. He aimed his shotgun at Lionel’s head and cocked it. “Bastard.”

He’d said the word in a deadly calm that froze her blood. Butch was planning to fire whether she got out of the way or not. Moving fast, she kicked the shotgun’s barrel, sending its wide spray of bullets into the air.

“Have you lost your freaking mind?” she ripped the shotgun out of Butch’s hands and tossed it to the ground.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on Lionel. An expression, soiled with hatred, wrinkled his nose and tightened his mouth into a set sneer. “Filthy scum. Scum like that doesn’t deserve to live.”

Chapter Two

“I thought Butch was going kill Lionel last night.”

Vega ducked a flying kick and then somersaulted into a crouch prepared to spring back into an attack.

“He’s a hothead,” Fiona said. She landed with a kitten’s grace. Her brown hair flowed about her face as she easily deflected Vega’s forward attack. “I’ve never liked him.”

A short hand-to-hand sparring followed. Fiona was the one to retreat to the edge of the mat.

Vega gave her sister a moment to catch her breath. “I like Butch. He’s a challenge, not some namby-pamby momma’s boy like your man.”

Fiona erupted with a little roar and charged back into action. Vega was impressed. Her little sister was beginning to improve. Her moves were fast, consistent and focused.

At the dojo where Vega trained for at least an hour each day, they were taught a mixture of the highly disciplined Tang Soo Do mixed with no holds barred street fighting. She trained hard, but with Fiona, she always pulled her punches.

Vega parried and blocked without committing herself to a full counter-attack. The quick sidekick was easy to deflect. Fiona always followed the move with a slicing right hook. Vega raised her arm in anticipation when from out of nowhere a thunderbolt struck the left side of her face, hurling her to the mat.

Pain coursed through her cheek. She closed her eyes and imagined that last move, mentally taking apart her action, Fiona’s surprise thrust, and her own sloppy reaction.

“Off your game today?”

She grimaced and opened her eyes to find Jack’s lovely mug. He offered her a hand up while Fiona danced around the mat with her arms in the air acting like the spoiled brat she could be.

“Lucky shot,” Vega grumbled, rubbing her stinging cheek.

Jack tossed her a towel. A wide grin brightened his gently aging face. That grin always made her edgy. And she didn’t need help feeling edgy today, not after she nearly blew her pickup yesterday. Her lack of preparation had almost gotten Lionel killed. Maybe she
was
off her game—losing her edge.

She wiped her face on the towel and tossed it aside. “Don’t let one win get you cocky, Fiona,” she warned.

Fiona wasn’t listening. She’d pulled Mike, one of the instructors, aside and was showing him her new moves, her slender body replaying the lucky strike. Vega could only shake her head. Fiona had inherited the Brookes’ family curse: a swaggering conceit. It was their father’s legacy, of course.

Their father, Detroit’s Police Chief David Brookes, had longed to train a son to be a tough-as-nails SOB. But his wife had given him nothing better than two daughters.

“About yesterday,” Jack said, running a hand through his full head of gray hair. He followed her into the dojo’s small, unisex locker room. “I promise it won’t happen again. I’ve been on the phone all morning giving everyone a headache that can’t be ignored.”

She stepped into a changing stall and pulled the curtain closed. “You get Butch fired?” She didn’t want Butch jobless, just pulled back a little until he learned to control his anger.

“Butch? No, I was talking about that stupid Tyler Bonding secretary. She won’t be sending two different bounty hunters after the same prey again, that’s for damn sure. About Butch, from the sounds of it, he lost his head. He’s got a mercenary mentality I wouldn’t allow at Skip Tracers, but then I demand a higher level of professionalism than most.”

“He nearly killed Lionel in a blind rage.” She still couldn’t believe how his anger had transformed him. She’d nearly had to attack him just to get him to back down. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“Push hard enough and,” he snapped his fingers, “can happen to anyone,” Jack said from the other side of the curtain.

“Not me.” She wiped the sweat from underneath her breasts. “I would never—”

“Vega,” Jack’s shoes scraped on the concrete floor as he left the locker room. “That’s a dangerous attitude. Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you’ll blind yourself to knowing when you’ve reached yours.”

Jack was probably right, but she wasn’t ready to face it. For years, she’d honed her physical and mental abilities with one goal in mind: control. She might never match a man’s physical strength, but she could push her own limits by maintaining a steady focus and by always keeping her head.

She stepped into a nearby shower and stood under the steaming stream of water unable to peel her mind from the unsettling thought Jack had planted. What would happen if she were pushed to the edge? How would she know what the edge even looked like?

“Meet me at the office in an hour, Vega. I’ve got a new project.” Jack called out from the dojo’s main exercise area, his voice echoing through the empty locker room. Leaving her alone to wash away her sudden encounter with uncertainty.