Bound to the Bounty Hunter (10 page)

Sophie’s terrible singing cut through his thoughts.

How she’d grown up to be a warm, thoughtful, and kind woman when she was raised by a bastard like O’Connor intrigued him. No, it flat-out, fucking amazed him.

Sure, Sophie kept her guard up—with her upbringing it wasn’t surprising—but he’d made inroads with her, gained an inch of ground, and he wasn’t giving back that inch. He wanted to know Sophie, the real Sophie, with a vulnerability about her he wanted to protect, not the one who walked out her door in the morning with balls bigger than Atlanta.

Titus tapped him on the shoulder.

“What are your intentions with Sophie?”

Harlan bit back a grin. Titus had to be closing in on his nineties. His face a roadmap, worn but proud. Tonight he stood puffed up like a dad on prom night, releasing his virgin daughter to the hornbag quarterback with a pocket full of condoms.

“There’s stuff going down with her. I’m keeping her safe until the threat has been dealt with.”

Titus tapped him in the chest. “She comes across as hard, but she’s not. Don’t break her. If you don’t want her, leave her for a man who does. A man who will cherish every breath she takes.”

Harlan’s hands formed into involuntary fists.

Titus chuckled. “I’m guessing you don’t like the thought of Sophie with another man.”

“About as much as I loved living in Compton,” he muttered.

The idea of another man looking at her all sleepy and soft in the morning, his hand in hers, and his tongue in her mouth made the ache in his clenched jaw throb.

I’ll snap the fucker’s head off
.

Titus said in a quiet voice, “If you had someone like Sophie in your life, you’d be thanking the stars every day. Like I do. She’s a good woman. You’d be a fool to let her go.” Titus patted Harlan’s hand. He’d had the “touch her and you die” speech and now they were back to being friends.

Sophie walked into the room wiping her hands down her standard uniform of jeans and polo. She sat across from him and started humming along to a scratched Sinatra record on an ancient turntable. Her eyes sparkled.

“Did you know, Miss Sophie, that Harlan grew up in Compton?”

“Where?” she said in a verse of “Fly me to the Moon.” She took a sip of wine. Her tongue snaked out and licked a drop at the corner of her mouth.

“
Compton
,” Titus said, as if this would mean something.

A soft light from a lamp highlighted chocolate and caramel strands in her hair. “Is it nice?”

He bit back a fake laugh. He’d gone from a small town outside of the Catskills, to his aunt’s place in LA when his mom died, then to a group home in Compton where you either grew up fast or you didn’t grow up at all. He got smart, had a great homeroom teacher who sat with him after school, helping him improve his grades so he could apply for community college. He’d worked security to pay the bills until he realized he liked it, was good at it, and could make a career out of it.

“It’s a neighborhood that makes or breaks you.” He paused. “Was there a place in Cali you liked?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never been. My father had a thing about California. He never said why.”

Whoa.

He kept his face neutral while his mind pounced on the fact O’Connor had never been to California.

“What do you mean, a neighborhood that breaks you?”

“Gangs, drugs. Your skin color dictated which side you ran. Either you joined the flow of salmon to the slaughter or you got out. I got out.”

Titus excused himself and said he’d be back in a minute.

Harlan looked up to find Sophie studying him.

“Who is Miss Devine to Clarence?” she asked in a quiet voice.

A cold boulder dropped heavily in his stomach. Only Zeb knew about his soup kitchen. It was deeply personal and important to him that it stayed that way.

He’d done a complete scan of the park and hadn’t clocked her. Had she been there? He’d quiz Zeb later.

“It’s personal.”

She held his gaze and nodded.

“Miss Devine died ten years ago,” he said finally. “When she died, Clarence couldn’t go back to the house they’d shared for forty-six years. He’s drifted ever since. In his mind, Miss Devine is going to come back, and he’s going to be ready.”

“That’s heartbreaking and beautiful,” she said more to herself than to him, some sort of emotion moving across her beautiful face.

The real soft-centered Sophie stared at him.

Gorgeous.

He held his breath, wanting to hold the moment for as long as he could.

“How do you figure that?”

“That he so loved Miss Devine that he can’t move on is heartbreaking. That he found his soul mate is beautiful,” she said, her dark brown eyes misty.

“Do you want that?” he asked quietly, hearing his heartbeat in his head.

She shrugged.

He stood, something unpleasant stabbing him in the gut.

“Are you about ready to go?”

Titus shuffled in and hugged Sophie, his eyes on Harlan. “Keep her safe.”

“That’s the plan,” he said.

Titus released Sophie and the old man’s hands grasped his, the bones barely covered by his skin. “Could use some company when the fishing channel’s running. I’ll crack some of the good stuff.”

Harlan nodded without committing.

Harlan held Sophie back at the front door, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, and scanned the area. Satisfied, he grabbed her hand, shielding her with his body, and he tucked her into his side, ignoring her scent, her curves, how well she fit under his chin. Women usually reached his shoulder wearing heels. Having Sophie tucked completely into him, plastered to him, felt good.

Real good.

Too good.

She moved forward. His fingers flexed to deactivate the alarm, but wanting to avoid a ten-minute fight out in the open, he relented.

Sophie threw her purse on the dining table along with her keys. With deliberate slowness he hooked her keys on the key rack he’d screwed into her wall.

Harlan counted to twenty when Sophie stiffened beside him, unhooked the keys, and threw them in a fruit bowl next to a dying lemon and a liver-spotted banana.

His blood pressure spiked, but he said nothing. He walked to his makeshift bedroom and sat on the rainbow quilt. He pulled his phone from his pocket. No update from Zeb, but he did send his partner a questioning text about Sophie being at the soup kitchen.

Harlan headed to the empty living room, hit the remote, and started channel-surfing. Pongo landed by his side and then crawled onto his lap. He’d given up arguing. He’d move the dog out of his lap, but it would make no difference. If history played out, the dog would sidle back up. If he moved him again he’d be rewarded by a fart that could be used as a nerve agent.

Sophie walked into the room adjusting an earring. His mouth watered at her long legs in sheer black stockings. She had on a jacket that came to her knees. The boots on her feet somehow made her hotter. Her hair pulled back. No makeup. Stunning.

The thought of the patrons at Pipe’s gawking at her fused his back molars. He knew Pipe wouldn’t let a hand land on her. He’d seen Sophie in action and knew she’d snap off a guy’s dick if he tried.

His cock strained against thick denim. There should be a hole burrowed into his jeans by now. By rights he should put in a claim for blue balls on his insurance. Every time Sophie walked into the room, his brain dropped into a coma, leaving his cock in charge, and that only had a one-way thought pattern.

She looked at his arm flung around her dog’s neck, and her face softened.

Damn, it would be nice to have her look at him that way more often.

At the knock on the door, he went to stand, but Sophie moved to the door, checked the peephole, and then opened the door with a sigh.

“Hey Zeb,” she said when his second in command walked into the room. “This isn’t necessary.” She looked like she wanted to rip off Harlan’s head, and shrink-wrap it.

Zeb squeezed her shoulder and walked toward him. “Looking domestic there, Harlan. Is that
Happy Days
?” A smile lit his face. “Gotta say man, it suits.”

“Fuck off.” Harlan shot off the couch, Pongo in his arms. He resettled the dog back on the couch with a pat to his head.

He didn’t do cozy, but fuck it felt kind of good kicking back with her dog, knowing Sophie was safe.

Sophie and Zeb walked out the door. Sophie without a backward glance in his direction. Zeb shot him a grin. The door closed with a click.

Two hours later, he’d searched every part of her small house.

Nothing.

An hour after that, he sat in his office in Denver after a short, static-filled phone call with Petrov, who was in the Ukraine checking up on a problem with a shipping route.

Petrov had told Harlan that he wanted him to check in with Babic, as communication was going to be difficult. If an emergency came up, Babic had ways of contacting him. Ways Petrov wasn’t willing to share. Harlan had expressed concern, but Petrov was insistent and reminded him firmly that as the client he issued the instructions. The call ended, and Harlan sat staring at the wall, unable to shake the feeling that something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Harlan’s phone pinged.

Tonight he and Arabella were yet again playing a couple who’d be sitting in a darkened booth in a bar filming a man.

He closed his eyes, and Sophie drifted into his head. Her sparkly smile. Her hand on her hip, eyes shooting daggers in his direction. In the morning, all sleepy, soft, and cute.

Jesus, it had happened again. Sophie had wandered into his thoughts, plonked her sweet butt down, and smiled at him.

He had to get his game on and get her out of his head.

There was too much riding on tonight to let anything or anyone get in the way of his work, including one luscious, tempting, and giant pain in his ass, Sophie Callaghan.

Chapter Nine

“I may have died and gone to heaven.”

Sophie turned at Annie’s whisper.

Zeb lounged against the entrance to the bar. He gave Sophie a slight chin raise, his eyebrows hitting his hairline when his gaze slid down the length of her. She blushed and pulled on her skirt. Zeb’s gaze drifted around the room before locking on Annie.

“He’s with me.” Sophie turned to Annie, rolling her shoulders, a ripple of knots moving with them. Where were Harlan’s fingers when she needed them? She grabbed her tray.

Scrap that
.

“So…that long lick of chocolate over there is your man?”

“No.” She turned to Annie, beer sloshing over the sides of a couple of glasses. “I don’t have a man.”

Annie’s head swung between her and Zeb.

“He’s my ride,” she clarified, her face getting hotter. “But he’s…ah…half an hour early.”

“Something wrong with your car?” Gemma arrived at her side and rapid-fired off her orders to Cope. “I can give you a lift. You’re not that much out of my way.”

She smiled at Gemma. It was a forty-minute round trip out of her way. The engine needed more persuasion to start lately, but it relented, eventually. “Thanks, I’ve got it covered.”

He’s here because there were dudes trailing me, and I have a badass bounty hunter whose only concern for me is that I’ll get whacked, and he’ll feel guilty if he didn’t do anything about it.

Annie’s narrowed gaze zoned in on Sophie, who squirmed under the intensity. “Wait. Holy hotness over there is your ride, but he’s not your man?”

Gemma’s golden eyes got wider, and she opened her mouth. Her gaze slid to Zeb. She’d rather make a voodoo doll of herself and stick pins in tender places than explain her situation.

She’d phoned Titus earlier to check in on him and Sally. All he’d talked about was how wonderful Harlan was and did she think he’d come over and maybe catch a game with him. Her heart went out to him. Titus would be so disappointed when this was over and Harlan stopped showing up.

At Annie’s skeptical look, she turned away and headed back into the bar.

The pool table area had been busy up until midnight, but now only a few tables were active.

“Hey, Sophie.”

She jumped when her name was said in a soft purr.

“Hey, Dug.”

Dug leaned against a pool table, a warm smile on his face, hazel green eyes trained on her. Tonight he didn’t have a mostly naked girl draped on him. Over six-foot, with dark brown messy hair, a killer smile, and heart-stopping eyes. Tall, ripped, with a body made for sin, the man oozed sex.

From the moment he stepped into the bar until he left, whenever she turned around, his eyes would be on her.

Supposedly, Dug had earned the nickname when he’d sat back while two girls fought over him. The winner digging a hole and burying the other woman up to her neck. Considering he came dressed in layers of girls, Sophie figured there must be holes all around Denver.

“What are you up to after your shift?” Dug lounged at the pool table, one muscled thigh resting against the pocked wood.

“I’m going home.”

“Want to get breakfast?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll go home and face-plant on the bed.”

A smile that would get him admitted to many a woman’s bedroom spread across his face. “I could help you with that.”

She turned her head, embarrassed. Why did this man scramble her? Why did he render her as intelligent as a wet sock?

Zeb materialized next to her.

“Okay?” he asked, his light-blue eyes scanning her, turning hostile when they trained on Dug.

Dug straightened off the table, chest out, and the two men stepped toward each other.

Holy crap
.

Her hand curled around Zeb’s massive bicep. “Zeb, I’ve got this.”

Zeb scanned her and gave a sharp nod. “Here if needed.” Zeb headed back to guarding the entrance, thick arms planted across his chest.

“He’s with you?” Dug asked, a tic pulsing in his jaw.

“He’s a…friend.” Sophie shifted empties onto the tray, her forearm muscles straining.

“Good to know.” Warm eyes hit hers.

She studied him again for a beat. No matter how many times she talked to him, she couldn’t get a reading on the man. Couldn’t figure out his angle. He seemed interested, but there was a guarded edginess to him.

Unbalanced and with nerves fighting some kind of never-ending duel in her stomach, she headed to the next table. She smiled, tapped her pencil on her tray, took their order, and headed toward the bar.

“Don’t think I didn’t see what went down over there,” Annie said when Sophie dumped her tray down with a smack.

Annie’s Dior perfume mixed with the scent of denim, beer, and faded cigarettes of the bar, now as familiar to Sophie as her raspberry cocoa butter moisturizer.

“You had two men having a pissing match over you.” Annie swiveled her denim butt in her chair, crossing her impossibly long longs, her head swinging between Zeb and Dug, eyes narrow. “I know who I’d choose.”

Annie tapped a red lacquered nail on the bar, a frown marring her smooth forehead, her eyes on Zeb. “Why does that man not notice me?”

“His name’s Zeb.” Sophie stacked her tray with shot glasses brimming with Wild Turkey.

Pipe walked out of his office.

“Great,” Sophie said under her breath.

Annie squeezed her shoulder.

Pipe looked around the bar, his head jerking when his eyes landed on Zeb and stayed there, his gaze narrowing. “What’s Carmichael doing here?”

Sophie stepped forward, swallowing. “He’s my ride.” Surprise and something else moved in Pipe’s eyes. She turned and headed to the bar to give Cope her order. Last call had been issued, and the bar had started to empty out.

She dragged a hand across her eyes, wishing the hands on the clock would hit twelve and four. She looked up to find Pipe scanning her. She tucked her head and went to move away.

“Bring your car in early tomorrow and I’ll have a look at it.”

She opened her mouth but he cut her off.

“I want you here on time. Can’t do that if your car won’t start.”

Really
.

Did Pipe think praying for a miracle from Jesus that her car would start was how she wanted to live?

Her hands landed on her hips. “For your information I’ve taken it to five different mechanics who’ve all promised they’d fixed it. Five. Right now I can’t afford to get it not-fixed for the sixth time, and I can’t afford another car.”

He stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Bring it in tomorrow morning.”

Was the man not listening?

“I can’t afford it.”

He glanced at her feet then back at her face. “Get some stilettos. Consider this your one and only warning, and bring the car in.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

“I think he’s warming to you.” Gemma winked.

“Yeah, it’s positively cozy in our neck of the woods.” She looked at her shoes then at Gemma, some kind of crazy hysteria, fatigue, and a little bit of fear fizzing her blood. “Did you know that tomorrow Pipe and I are going shopping for vacuum cleaners, then we’ll have tea and eat tiny sandwiches and cupcakes?”

Gemma threw back her head and laughed.

“I knew there was more to you than what you give out.”

Sophie stilled, unsure of what to say.

“Girlfriends, I’m rescheduling margarita and appendage night.” Annie twisted her long blond hair into a rope and threw it over her shoulder, her eyes locked on Sophie. “And you’re coming.”

Sophie opened her mouth to say no, but the questioning look on Annie’s face stilled her.

“Tomorrow night. ‘Tits-Out Terri’ is working. I don’t care if fifteen hundred bikes turn up tomorrow night, I’ve worked nine days straight, and I’m done.” Gemma slid her tray onto the bar. “I’ll bring the tequila, margarita mix, devils on horseback, and ‘Hello Handsome,’ who only needs four AAs to have me shouting to my savior.”

“So we’re settled, my place tomorrow night.” Annie’s narrowed gaze fell on Sophie. “No excuses.”

Sophie wondered if she could catch a fictitious but possibly near-fatal twenty-four-hour virus between now and tomorrow night.

“I mean it.”

Sophie pulled her ponytail tight. “Let me check my calendar and I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” She tried to calm her voice as it came out of her mouth, but winced at her rushed words.

Annie stepped back, regarding her. “You only get so many shots at a sideshow alley game. You know what I’m saying?”

No.

But she got Annie’s body language. She could only blow them off a number of times before she’d be whistling in the wind. She wanted this, wanted the warmth of friendship, but opening up would leave her vulnerable, and that scared the crap out of her.

“I do get what you’re saying,” she said quietly.

“All righty, then bring your man troubles, your shoe troubles, male appendages, and we’ll get answers.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zeb approach.

Annie turned her head. “Bring him. He’s a long lick of Dairy Milk, and I love me some Cadbury.”

“Are you about ready?” Zeb stood in front of her, his crystal-blue eyes flashing in his mocha face.

“We close in twenty. I’ll be ready in forty-five.”

Annie patted the seat next to her. Zeb shook his head, regret in his eyes.

The electricity bill, think of the electricity bill, or imagine the face of Ona Evans from Erwin, Tennessee when she receives her $150.00 back
.

An hour later Sophie unlocked her front door, her muscles wilting with fatigue.

Zeb walked in front of her, throwing on lights. He disappeared into her room, flicked on the light, and walked back into the living room.

“Thanks, Zeb. I’m sure there’s a flock of pissed women out there who’d wrestle me to the ground since I’ve deprived them of you.”

A smile warmed his eyes. “I like where I’m at, girl.”

She toed off her boots, curious. “Is there a Mrs. Holy Hotness waiting for you at home? Hordes of panting women you need to service? Are you listed on Groupon?”

A full smile hit his face. His light blue eyes sparkled, pearly whites that would make an orthodontist weep in admiration.

Sophie stared.

Wow. That is one beautiful, testosterone-fueled man.

“No woman waiting for me. No women in need of service. I don’t know what Groupon is, so no.”

She smiled at him. “Good to know.”

Pongo sprawled on the couch. She walked to where he lay. He lifted his head, his tail thumped twice, and three pops sounded. She moved in and hugged him, holding her breath.

“Jesus. Did your dog just—”

Zeb moved back as if he’d taken a javelin to the chest.

“Yep. That’s Pongo. He can reliably empty a room. It’s his gift to the world.”

“Good night, baby boy.” She buried her face in his neck and wrapped her arms around his sausage body. “Love you.”

She stood. Her head snapped when she hit a barrier of Chanel perfume.

Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

Harlan had dialed up Submissive Blondes R Us and brought her here?

Her head swung to the closed door of her spare bedroom. She gripped the back of the couch to keep upright. She closed her eyes, her nails biting into her palms.

She didn’t give a shit what he did at Casa Franco, but slapping her in her house after playing that he was interested when she knew he wasn’t?

No.

Hell no.

Part of her wanted to march into her spare room and demand that he and his sub get out, but another part didn’t want to see the woman’s head thrown back in ecstasy, her body slick, Harlan totally concentrated on her.

Why does it hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. This is me doing this to me
.

She flinched, processed and folded the hurt over and over, then buried it deep in her soul.

“Sophie?” Zeb’s voice came from a distant galaxy.

She waved her hand. “Good night, Zeb.”

Zeb closed the front door with a click and wouldn’t leave until she’d locked it. She turned the deadbolts. Two minutes later, a throaty car roared to life.

She leaned against her front door, mashed her lips downward to try to stop the emotion building. Her head turned at the spare room door opening.

No way. No freaking way am I going to be confronted by him and his woman in my home.

She walked with purpose to her room and closed the door. She threw her clothes into a pile in the corner, pulled on her PJs, washed her face, brushed her teeth, slapped on Olay, and avoided her reflection in the mirror.

She grabbed her phone, wiped her eyes against the back of her palm, and sent out a text to Gemma and Annie.

Sophie:
I’m in for the girl’s night. I’m shopping for appendages, Pringles, and French onion dip.

She quickly said her prayers hoping God would be cool with a shortened version tonight. She crawled into bed, left her phone on the bedside table, and stared out into the inky night.

Tomorrow I’m getting the recorder back and this is done.