Into the Whirlwind (34 page)

Xavier chuckled. “Handsome SOB, ain't he?”

Emma glanced away. “I didn't really notice.” That was a lie. No way a woman could
not
notice a man who looked like Luke. “I recognized him from his pictures.” That much was true. Being one of the country's top bounty hunters and living right there in Seattle, Emma had read every article she could find on him, even done a background check. Luke Brodie was famous—make that infamous—in the bail enforcement game.

“From what I hear, the guy's a regular manwhore,” X said. “Got a different woman in his bed every night.” He rubbed his chin. “Though I did hear lately he's been a little off his game.”

For whatever reason, she found herself defending him. “Luke's a busy man. Maybe his schedule's too full at the moment.”

X chuckled. “A man's schedule's never too full for a good piece of—”

“Xavier . . .”

“Sorry.”

Aside from working as a private investigator and recovering expensive stolen property like airplanes and jewelry, Luke had made a fortune bringing in some of the toughest, meanest, most elusive criminals in the country.

Emma reluctantly admitted she idolized Luke Brodie, and meeting him tonight, she hadn't been disappointed.

“So what's your next move?” Xavier asked, toying with his beer bottle, peeling off the label a tiny strip at a time.

“Digby gave me a location for Felix Biggs. He's out of town, but he'll be back on Monday. I'm going to find him.”

She didn't give a rat's behind about the measly fee she was collecting for Skinner Digby. But if Skinner's information panned out and she found Felix Biggs, she might have her first solid lead on the man she was hunting, Rudy Vance, the man she had vowed to find, no matter how long it took.

“You gonna work out tomorrow morning?” Xavier asked.

“I'm taking Sunday off. Tell Nita I'll be down at the gym at eight on Monday. I'm sure she'll be there. She never misses a class.” Xavier's sister, Benita, was physically the exact opposite of her brother. She was in first-rate condition, an expert in personal defense . . . the class where the two of them had met ... and aggressive as hell.

“I'll tell her,” X said.

Emma slid back her chair. “I'm heading home. Tomorrow I want to do some follow-up work on Biggs. I want to be ready when I talk to him.” And on Sundays, as often as she could, she went to church. She was Irish Catholic. She'd have to tell the priest about Skinner Digby and the knot she'd put on his head, but since Skinner deserved it, the penance wouldn't be much.

“Say hi to Nita for me, and enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Xavier waved as Emma headed for the door.

Chapter Two

Up early on Monday, Emma pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail, dragged on tight black latex pants, strapped her full breasts into a snug-fitting sports bra, and headed for the gym on 42nd Avenue, not far from the West Seattle apartment she shared with her roommate, Carly Drake.

Carly was a long-distance Delta flight attendant, which made her the perfect roommate because she was rarely home. Emma had gone to church, come home, and enjoyed her quiet Sunday, though she would have liked to share her Digby-Luke Brodie story with her very best friend.

At eight a.m. Monday morning she walked into Easy Fitness for her standing appointment with her trainer, Leonard Fox. Midthirties, big, buff, not bad-looking, Len was a nice guy who did his job and kept his semiprivate lessons tough and professional. Len had a gorgeous girlfriend he was devoted to so Emma felt completely at ease during their hands-on training sessions.

As she walked into the workout room with its thick rubber floor, she glanced around, saw Nita Hernandez already there, running in place to warm up. Nita gave her a quick smile and returned her attention to Len.

“All right, ladies,” he said. “How are we doing this morning?”

“Ready to kick some instructor ass,” Nita said with a grin. She wasn't a lot better-looking than her brother, though she had his same smooth, coffee bean complexion, which was a very nice feature. She stood six inches taller than Emma's five foot three, lifted weights, and kept herself in top physical form.

“How about you, Em?” Len asked.

“I'm doing great. I got to use the Face-pounder on a skip last Saturday night. First time. It worked perfectly.”

Len flashed a grin. He was sandy-haired, a former Marine who had a way of teaching that made it seem more fun than work—most of the time. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn't want to think all the hours you spent on your butt in here were wasted.”

Emma grinned, thinking of the thousands of falls she had taken during her training sessions.

Len clapped his hands, grabbing their attention. “All right, let's get moving. Both of you . . . give me fifty push-ups—now.”

Emma groaned inwardly. She wasn't that good at push-ups. She could do a jillion sit-ups, which was why Len always called for the other.

She dropped down and got to work, got through the warm-up exercises, then they started on self-defense. Len moved her through the Grab, the Peel, the Hammer, did a few Inside Rolling Elbows, and finished with a Bear Hug. Then he set both women to work on the heavy bags.

The class finally ended. “I'll see you on Wednesday,” Len said.

“Let's hit the treadmill,” said Nita as they walked into the main part of the gym. “Xavier says you're going after Felix Biggs. You need to be in shape to take on that dude.” Felix had a reputation. He was a drug dealer and an ex-con who had a way of staying off the grid. Now Emma knew where to find him.

“I
am
in shape,” she said.

“Yeah, but still ... maybe you should take Xavier with you.”

That wasn't going to happen. This was her mission. It was dangerous and it was personal. “I'll think about it.” Emma spent another hour running next to Nita on the treadmill. When the hour was up, Nita kept running, but Emma had had enough. She needed to stay in shape—that was important to the job—but it wasn't a compulsion the way it was with her friend.

Emma was more fit than she had ever been in her life and considering the amount of effort it had taken her to get there, she was proud of what she'd accomplished, an amazing change from her quiet life as a middle school teacher.

The job she'd undertaken was the biggest challenge she had ever tackled, but the moment Rudy Vance had been released from jail, skipped his court date, and gone to ground, Emma had had no other choice.

Rudy Vance was a psychopath, the man arrested for the rape of Emma's niece, fourteen-year-old Ginny Hodges. With plenty of money, a fancy attorney, and no real evidence, three days later he'd been released. Two weeks after that he'd gone back to Emma's sister's house, murdered Eleanor Harris, the housekeeper who'd been there that afternoon, and raped little Ginny again.

The judge had made a terrible mistake in releasing him. Even the three-million-dollar bond hadn't been enough to keep him from running. Vance had disappeared, vanished completely, but he was out there somewhere. Out there and still a threat to Ginny.

Which was the reason Emma had quit her job, changed her life, and set out to find him.

For the past ten months no sign of him had surfaced. But lately word on the street was Vance was back in the Seattle area. This time Emma wasn't going to fail.

* * *

Luke parked the Bronco in the lot behind the two-story, freestanding brick building and walked into Brodie Operations Security Services, Inc. BOSS, Inc., everyone called it. The office was done in chrome and black, with modern desks and waiting area with deep black leather sofas and chairs. Photos of hot cars and speedboats hung on the walls.

Nice digs for a bunch of ex-cops and former military who now worked in the security business.

As he passed the conference room and the employee lounge and walked into the main part of the office, Luke spotted his brother, Ethan. He was sitting at his desk with his cell phone pressed against his ear; big guy, an inch taller than Luke, more muscular, same short dark hair, brown eyes instead of blue.

Ethan was an ex-cop from Dallas, where he and Luke had been born. A few feet away their cousin, Nick, formerly a homicide cop in Alaska, now happily married and a dad, pounded away on his laptop computer.

As Luke slid into the chair behind his desk, leaned down, and powered up his computer, Ethan walked over. “You busy?”

“I'm tracking a skip—Rudy Vance. You might remember him. Gangster, killer, child molester. Big money if I can find him, but so far I haven't had much luck.”

“You think he's back in town?”

“Rumor is he's back. Probably not for long. He must be working on something big to risk returning to Seattle.”

“Or maybe he never left.”

“Could be, I guess. But he'd have to have a very deep hole to stay out of sight for nearly a year.” Luke leaned back in his chair and looked up at his older brother. “You need me for something?”

“Val's putting together a little barbeque this Saturday. She was hoping you could make it. I've got Hannah this weekend. Dirk and Meg are coming, bringing little Charlie. Nick will be there with Samantha and the baby. And of course Ian, Meri, and Lily.”

“Sounds like a real family reunion. I oughta fit right in.”

“You won't be the only single guy there. Pete Hernandez is coming, Sandy Sandowski, guys I worked with on the fashion show tour. Some of Meg's girlfriends are coming over.”

His head came up. “Lingerie models?” Meg was Dirk Reynolds's girl. Dirk was a PI who worked in the office, one of Luke's best friends. Lucky bastard was marrying a former La Belle supermodel.

Ethan's mouth edged up. “Carmen and Isabel are planning to be there.”

Luke had met the girls through Dirk and Ethan, who had worked as bodyguards on the tour. Izzy and Carmen were two of the hottest females on the planet. But they weren't one-night stands. They were relationship kind of women, and that wasn't the kind for him.

Though he had to admit, lately he wasn't interested in a string of one-nighters either.

Luke sighed inwardly. He had no idea what was wrong with him. Probably just too much of a good thing. Maybe he ought to stop by the health store, pick up some vitamins or something.

“So can you make it?” Ethan asked.

He always felt a little out of place with a bunch of guys and their families, though he did enjoy the kids. Ethan's little Hannah and Ian's daughter, Lily, were as cute as all hell, and Meg's little red-headed Charlie was a kick. Babies, not so much. Once Nick's kid got older, began to like baseball and football, he and Luke would get along just fine.

“What time's the shindig?” Luke asked.

“Starts at four o'clock. We'll have a couple of beers and barbeque some burgers, hot dogs for the kids. I'll tell Val you're coming.”

Luke just nodded. He wasn't the kind of guy who would ever have a wife and kids. Too much water under the bridge. He didn't miss what he'd never have until he got around his friends and their families.

“You got any leads on Vance?” Ethan asked, pulling him away from the dark mood he didn't want to slide in to.

“I'm staking out a joint called the Polo Club tonight, looking for a second-tier supplier named Felix Biggs. He was part of Vance's food chain. I got a hunch he still is.”

Luke knew everything there was to know about Rudy Vance. The scumbag had made a fortune in the import-export business before the FBI got wind of his smuggling activities. Vance was involved in everything from drugs and human trafficking to gunrunning. Made money transporting illegal goods all over the world.

Problem was the authorities never could get their hands on any proof.

It was his kink that had finally tripped him up, his perverted desire for young, teenage girls. He liked them just as they were becoming sexually aware, their tiny breasts beginning to bud, the girls more curious than wary.

The rape of a fourteen-year-old girl had gotten him arrested. Luke had been tracking him since the day he'd missed his court date, since before he went back to the same house, killed the housekeeper, beat, and tried to rape the girl again.

Vance was worth twenty percent of the three-million-dollar bail the bondsman had posted. Unfortunately the guy had fallen completely off the grid. Luke had followed every lead until it had gone as dead as the murder victim.

Until now. If Vance was back in town, Luke was going to find him. He hated a child molester worse than any human being on earth. Hell, he could always use a fat, six-hundred-thousand-dollar fee, but with scum like Rudy Vance, he might even haul the bastard in for free.

Chapter Three

Emma wasn't wearing her hooker look tonight, the suck-in-the-horny-male trick her mentor, Booth Childers, had taught her. Booth was an older guy, ex-military, mostly retired from the fugitive recovery business by the time she'd met him at the Hide and Seek.

Silver-haired, still a handsome man at sixty-five, Booth loved to sit at the bar and tell war stories about his days as one of the country's top bounty hunters. Emma loved listening to him. Booth said he liked her spirit, eventually took her on as a protégée and agreed to help her learn the trade.

He'd been a huge help to her until a month ago, when he'd had a stroke. With no family in the area, he didn't have a lot of support. Emma went by the retirement home where he was recovering as often as she could, had gone by yesterday afternoon and was glad to see how fast he was improving.

“I got a lead on Vance,” she'd told him after they had chatted for a while, both of them sitting in overstuffed chairs in Booth's small studio apartment looking out on the grassy, parklike setting beyond the window.

Booth Childers was another of the few people who knew she was hunting Rudy Vance.

“What's his name?” Booth asked, only half his mouth moving. One of his arms didn't work right, and one of his legs, but he was going to therapy and doing better every day. Emma figured he'd be manhunting again, or at least telling tales about previous arrests in no time.

“Felix Biggs.”

Booth made a kind of whistling sound through his teeth. “Bad hombre,” he said.

“I got his name from Skinner Digby.” She couldn't stop a grin. “Brought him in last night.”

“Good work.”

“Thanks.” She didn't mention Luke Brodie. Booth knew him, surely knew his reputation with women. He would be full of advice she didn't want or need.

“When you going after Biggs?”

“Digby says he'll be at the Polo Club Monday night, says he's chasing some woman who works there.”

“You're just asking questions, right? He doesn't have a warrant?”

“No.”

“How you planning to get him to talk?”

“I'm not sure yet. I'll have to play it by ear.”

“You might want to take some backup.”

“I'm not going there to arrest him.”

“Maybe not, but still—”

“I'll think about it.” It wasn't going to happen. She had spent months training and been successful in bringing in a number of skips already. Emma had every confidence she could handle talking to Felix Biggs on her own.

“Any advice on how I should go in?” she asked.

“Yeah. I know the Polo Club. Bunch of druggies and lowlifes. Place like that, you need to keep a low profile. Don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself. They serve alcohol so you can't go in armed. Carry your Mace.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“Be better if you could get to him outside. If you play it that way, don't hesitate to let Biggs know you're carrying.”

“Okay.” She was licensed to carry concealed and she knew the rules. She kept a little .308 semiauto in her purse and she was a damned good shot. She'd planned to leave the gun in the car, along with her powerhouse Glock 19. She'd carry the Mace, just like Booth told her. The man was a pro. She'd do whatever he said.

They talked a while longer, Booth making her promise to call to let him know how the op went down.

Op.
She was getting used to all the military lingo the guys used. There were other women in the business, of course, but most of them specialized in tracking and locating, not making the capture. Skip tracers made a living from debt collection, repossession, finding deadbeat parents, missing heirs, any search that paid a fee.

Except for a lady named Michelle Gomez. The four-foot-eleven-inch, hundred-pound lady from Lockhart, Texas, was a world-renowned bounty hunter. Stumbling on an article about her in
Wired
magazine, Emma had become convinced she could learn to be a bail enforcement agent like Michelle, that she could develop the necessary skills to find Rudy Vance.

Emma left the retirement home and drove by the Polo Club that afternoon, just to scope the place out, get a feel for what she'd be facing when she returned. It was a rough joint in a rough part of town. She understood Booth's warning.

It was ten o'clock Monday night when she pulled her older-model white four-door Mazda hatchback into the parking lot of the Polo Club and backed into a space so she wouldn't get trapped if she had to leave in a hurry.

Instead of her short skirt and low-cut sparkly silver top, she was wearing worn jeans, a navy-blue T-shirt, and hiking boots. She'd pulled her dark hair into a ponytail and crammed it up under a blue-and-white Seattle Mariners baseball cap. As small as she was, she looked more like a teenage boy than a woman.

A can of Sabre Red, police-strength pepper gel spray in a flip-top can, rode in a holster strapped to her belt next to her bail enforcement badge. Her .308 was in her purse on the floor of the passenger seat. Her Glock rode handily under the driver's seat.

Emma got out of the car, pulled a lightweight Windbreaker on to cover the badge and Mace, and headed into the bar.

* * *

It was happening again. Luke couldn't fucking believe it. The kid he'd seen walking into the bar hadn't been a teenager at all. It was Emma Cassidy. Even the Windbreaker she was wearing couldn't hide a first-class set of tits.

He could not f-ing believe it.
Sitting at a table in the back of the room, irritated she was getting in the middle of his pursuit again, to say nothing of a potentially dangerous situation, he leaned back in his chair and watched her.

She was looking for the woman, Lila Purdue, who Skinner Digby had mentioned. When a voluptuous blonde sashayed out of the back room in a pair of jeans so tight you could count the dimples in her ass, Luke figured Emma had found her.

They talked for a while. Emma said something, smiled, and flashed her bounty hunter badge, and, amazingly, the blonde boomed a laugh.

Figuring he might learn something useful, Luke shoved up from his chair and moved close enough to hear, careful to stay out of sight.

“I just need to talk to him,” Emma said to Lila. “He's not wanted for anything. I just need him to answer a couple of questions. You think you could get him to talk to me?”

“You came here all by yourself to get Felix Biggs to rat on one of his friends. If I was wearing a hat, I'd take it off to you, Emma. You are truly something.”

Luke rolled his eyes. She was something all right. A major trouble magnet.

“So what do you think? Can you get him to give me a couple of minutes?”

Lila cocked a hand on her hip. “Felix has the hots for me. He'd do anything I ask for a piece of ass. Trouble is I got no inclination to give it to him.”

“I can see where that's a problem.”

The blonde gave Emma the once-over. “You got a real nice little body yourself, honey. How bad do you want the information?”

For the first time Emma looked uneasy. “I'm pretty picky about who I sleep with. How about money?” She pulled out a roll of cash. “I've got five hundred dollars. How much information will that buy?”

Luke groaned. Bad move in a place like this. Emma had just made her first real mistake. Except for the mistake of wading into this pigswill joint in the first place.

The blonde glanced around nervously, thinking the very same thing. A big lumberjack of a guy came up off his bar stool. The short, barrel-chested guy next to him did the same. A big black dude with a shaved head parted the curtains and walked out of the back room.

Emma's gaze went to the men, then back to the blonde. “So I guess we aren't going to make a deal.”

“Oh, honey, I wish I could help you, I really do. My best advice is to give Ivan there that roll of bills and get your pretty little self out of here.”

When Emma stuffed the roll of bills back into the pocket of her jeans, Luke cursed softly. The money wasn't worth what these guys were planning to do.

Emma just smiled. “No answers, no money. Tell Felix I'll see him another time.”

Turning, she started for the door. When Ivan stepped in front of her, all six foot five inches of him blocking her way, Luke had to give her points for moxie.

“You'd be wise to let me pass,” she warned, craning her neck to look up at him.

“That so?” said the black guy from behind her. A foot wider than she was, he clamped his arms around her, flashed a leering grin over the top of her head. Emma stepped to the outside and backstopped his knee, knocking the guy off balance, then she shoved him so hard he crashed into a table and landed on the floor.

Luke felt a shot of admiration for Emma and a jolt of heat that went straight to his groin. Why watching her take that big bastard down should turn him on he had no idea, but he couldn't look away.

Emma started again for the door, but Ivan stepped in front of her. Her hand moved so fast Luke almost missed it. Down to the snap on her Mace, can up, spray in bozo's face, and run like hell for the door.

Luke couldn't stop a grin as she raced outside and the door slammed behind her. Chaos ensued in the bar, giving him time to slip out the back and make his way around to the parking lot.

The bad news was by the time he got there, three long-haired, bearded lowlifes in black leather jackets had Emma pinned against the side of her car. The lady had already taken down three grown men—true, they were drunk, and her small statue had fooled them and given her an edge, but still ...

Luke figured it was time to level the playing field.

* * *

Emma was scared. It hadn't happened a lot during her brief career as a bail enforcement agent, but she was scared right now. So far she'd been able to hold her own, but that was about to change.

She'd almost made it to her car and the Glock beneath her seat when the three stooges from hell had grabbed her and pinned her against the car door. Her ball cap went flying. One of them dragged the scrunchie from her hair, letting her curls fall in a messy tumble around her face. Her heart was beating like crazy and her mouth was dry as dirt.

She had to suck it up and soon.

“Let go of me,” she said with cool authority, or at least hoped that was the impression they got.

“You hear that, Badger? She wants you to let her go.” The men guffawed in unison.

Badger leaned over her, pinning her with his body. “I thought you was a boy till I seen them pretty boobs. We gonna have us some fun tonight, lady.”

Unfortunately for Badger, he bent over as he laughed. Emma twisted, shoved, jerked her knee up, and slammed it into his privates, just the way Len had taught her. Badger let out a yowl that could be heard for miles and collapsed to his knees, grabbing his crotch and gasping for air.

Emma bolted, only made it as far as the trunk before stooge number two stepped in front of her and grabbed both her shoulders to block her way. Emma did an Inside Rolling Elbow, arms bent outside her body, jerked her right elbow up, and slammed it into his face. His nose crunched and blood sprayed all over the front of her Windbreaker.

Nausea rolled through her and she froze. It was one thing to practice self-defense, another to actually see the results of what she'd done.

The instant of hesitation cost her. She hadn't realized the guys from the bar had poured out into the lot and formed a circle around them.

“You're gonna pay for that, lady,” stooge three said, big and brawny with an ugly scar down the side of his face that made her nausea return. “Strip her out of those clothes,” he said to the others. “Let's get this party started.”

Emma made a sound in her throat.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Her legs were shaking. Emma sliced a glance toward the sound of the deep male voice. Luke Brodie stood behind the circle, a big semiautomatic pistol casually gripped in his hand.

“The lady's with me. Let her go.”

Back on his feet, Badger shifted nervously. “We didn't know she was yours, Luke.”

Stooge three carefully released his grip on the front of her Windbreaker, brushed off a piece of lint that didn't exist, and took a step backward.

“No harm done,” Luke said with a hint of Texas accent that said where he was from. “Emma can be a real handful. You can see what I have to put up with.”

The men chuckled uneasily.

Luke jerked his head up, silently commanding her to move toward him. Emma clamped down on the urge to run in the opposite direction and walked a step at a time over to where he stood outside the circle that now faced in his direction.

“Get in the Bronco,” he commanded, and though she would rather have driven her own car back, she didn't argue, just gave the lot a quick perusal, spotted his battered old Ford SUV, and walked toward it.

By the time she had closed the door and settled herself inside, Luke was behind the wheel.

“Put on your seat belt,” he growled, strapping his own on and surprising her. Since when did a macho bounty hunter wear a seat belt? Of course she always did.

When the Bronco shot backward, spinning its wheels, she realized what a smart move it was. The car fired out of the parking lot and shot off down the street at supersonic speed.

“Luke, I really appreciate—”

“Don't talk. Don't say a single word.”

“But—”

“Not a word, Emma.” He swore foully, making Emma's face heat up. “I can't believe you went into a place like that by yourself.”