Bound to the Bounty Hunter (16 page)

A woman answered with her name and before Sophie could tell her she wasn’t selling anything, wanting her to convert to her religion, or had any connections to Nigerian princes, she hit dead air.

She took another gulp of coffee.

Change of attack
.

Danielle Winters hadn’t been pleased when Sophie phoned back and started talking before she could hang up. Sophie told her she was searching for Suzie West on behalf of her daughter. After a lengthy silence, she’d said she’d talk but not over the phone.

Danielle had turned into her one and only lead.

The answer lay in Vegas, which wasn’t in her budget or Beth’s. If Sophie ate only generic-brand peanut butter out of the jar for a week and maybe pulled an extra couple of shifts at Pipe’s, she could hop a plane to the city of sin and be back the next day or the day after. Plus, if she stayed in a hotel way off the strip, she could keep expenses down.

She picked up her phone and spoke to Beth, then called Danielle back and asked if she could see her tomorrow. Danielle agreed, but could only meet with her in the morning.

Half an hour later, a confirmation from Southwest sat in her inbox. She’d catch their first flight out at 6:25 tomorrow morning. She’d leave for the airport straight after her shift tonight. Southwest would return her to Denver around ten p.m. the day after, which gave her an extra twenty-four hours to track down the elusive Suzie if she was still in Vegas. A car had been booked at Rent-a-Bomb. She’d found what looked like a cheerful hotel which, according to the internet, was so far off the strip the famous lights weren’t visible. Her email pinged. A photo of Beth and her baby daughter, Hannah, landed in her inbox.

Now, all she had to do was pack a small bag, jam her computer into a carry-on, and ask Titus if he could feed Pongo—oh, and she’d be telling Mr. Double Detail that she’d be ditching all details and heading to Vegas.

Later that night Sophie walked into her living room and dropped her overnight bag on the floor. Her heart did a little squelch. Harlan had come back twenty minutes earlier and was wrestling Pongo on the couch. She tightened the belt of her trench coat.

Harlan’s eyes cut to the carry-on bag at her feet and he frowned.

“After my shift tonight I’m heading to the airport. I have an early morning flight to Vegas.”

Pongo’s tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth. He stared up at Harlan, love written all over his face. “Titus will feed Pongo and make sure he doesn’t starve to death, although with the amount of calories in him I think that would take a hundred years plus an ice age.”

“Vegas?” Harlan asked, his voice deathly quiet.

“Yeah. A case I’m working. The only lead I have is there, and I’m going out to meet her.” They locked eyes. “This is work, Harlan, and I’m not stopping work because I’ve been followed a couple of times and two men
once
had eyes on me at a strip joint.”

Two days in Vegas would also give her time, distance from him, and perspective. Three things she needed. Oh, and to overanalyze his three murmured words while chowing down on salt and vinegar potato chips while watching Nikki Newman’s latest drama.

“That’s because I have eyes on you 24/7. They won’t come near you because I’m here.”

“I’m going to Vegas and I’m leaving now or I’ll be late for my shift.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck, Sophie.”

“We’ve gone through this. This is work.” She couldn’t keep the tired out of her voice. She picked up her bag, walked to her dog, and kissed his head. “Be a good boy for Uncle Titus, okay?”

“I’ll take you.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“Are we going to fight about this, too?”

“Yes.” Her hands went to her hips. “I have a driver’s license and a car.”

Twenty minutes later, Harlan pulled into the parking lot at Pipe’s. Embarrassingly, her car had thrown a tantrum and wouldn’t start. She opened the passenger door, hitched her overnight bag on her shoulder, and twisted back to face Harlan. “See you.”

“Yep.” He stared straight ahead.

The sound of the throaty Viper roaring out of the parking lot rang in her ears when she shut the door of the back entrance to Pipe’s.

She removed her coat in the changing room, stowed her bag in her locker, and joined Gemma and Cope behind the bar. Gemma squeezed her hand. “MMA championship fight on ESPN tonight. It’ll be a little crazy.”

A little crazy didn’t cover it. She’d spun on a man who’d slipped his hand up her thigh. She’d grabbed his wrist and yanked it back until he’d yelped. “Touch me again and kiss your sperm count good-bye.”

Annie had arrived, looking stunning in skinny jeans, sneakers minus laces, and a plain white T-shirt. She sat on a barstool in front of Cope and popped peanuts into her mouth. Her eyes darted around the room. “This place is better than
Days of our Lives
.”

“How are the Bradys and the DiMeras?” Sophie shouted over the noise, slapping her empty tray on the bar and relaying her next drink order to Cope.

“Are you a fan?” Annie stared.

“The Newmans and Abbotts send their regards.”

Annie grinned. “Oh girl, we have to talk.”

Sophie grinned.

Heavy metal music from the pool table area sounded almost soothing compared to the grunts and the overexcited commentator talking up a cage fight. Sophie shook her head at the bloody men on the screen and turned back to the men leaning against the bar and sitting at tables, glued to the action.

“I could stand there and offer free shots served on my boobs, and I doubt they’d move,” Gemma said, waiting for Cope to deliver her order.

Sophie grinned and rolled her shoulders, grimacing at the shooting pain between her shoulder blades. Her triceps had issued a strike notice and her biceps were about to hold a stop-work meeting.

“At this rate I’ll have shoulders like the Incredible Hulk.” She loaded drinks on the tray. “I’m glad I’m in Vegas for two days.”

“You’re going to Vegas and you didn’t tell me?” Annie spun on her stool and glared at her.

She froze
.

“Who’s going to Vegas?” Gemma’s glossy, brown hair bounced on her shoulders from the high ponytail.

Heat belted Sophie’s face.

“Is this related to the bounty hunter from Hostage?” Gemma asked after giving her drink order to Cope. “Which you haven’t given us a detailed account of, I may add.”

“You were at Hostage?” Cope turned to Gemma, his mouth a thin line, eyes flashing.

“Yeah,” Gemma said, her eyes wide. “Did you know they have these colored wristbands—?”

Sophie waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m going to Vegas on a case. A daughter hoping to find her missing mother. I didn’t think to tell you,” she said honestly.

“Text me when you get back. We have to have another girls’ night.” Gemma squeezed her shoulder. “I like the way you stopped Wandering Hands over there. You know you can get Cope to step in.”

Cope had finished glaring at Gemma and turned to glare at her. “Soph, if anyone even hints at touching you, let me know.”

Sophie loaded shots of Wild Turkey onto her tray. “I prefer to fight my own battles. If I go running to you every time someone tries for a grope, they’re more likely to corner me when you’re not around. If I deal with them straight up, they’ll be less likely to cop a drunk feel when I’m alone.”

“I don’t like any of them touching you, but I get where you’re coming from,” Cope said. “Hold up your hand and I’ll step in and kick their ass outside, just like Mick.”

“Thanks.”

She’d mentioned to Cope in passing that Mick had delivered a snow globe to her house. She ran a random question past Gemma about who’d have access to personnel files. Gemma had assured her all the files were locked in the office at Pipe’s. Gemma had tried to question her further, but Sophie had blown her off. Sophie figured Mick was either still banned or didn’t want to come back. Either way, she didn’t care.

Sophie weaved through tables in her section and deposited the shots in front of a group of men, their eyes trained on the TV screens.

“Hey, Soph. You want to catch a bite to eat after this?” Dug loomed in front of her.

She startled. “Hey, Dug.”

His ability to seemingly materialize out of nowhere always made her jump.

In black jeans and a long-sleeved, navy T-shirt that stretched across wide shoulders and hugged chiseled abs, he stood with a hip leaning against the table.

A group of drooling women stared at him.

“I can’t, but thanks. No fraternizing with the staff.” His caramel eyes ran the length of her frame then landed back on her face.

“Pipe won’t know if you don’t tell him.” His easy grin made her blush.

She shook her head.

“I
will
wear you down.” He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear, his lips barely touched her neck.

She jolted. Before she could speak, he grinned and melted into the crowd.

She made her way to the next table, took an order for more whiskey, and headed back to the bar.

“Girlfriend, your man who hauled you through Hostage is standing by the back door. He has one eye on you and the other on Dug, and it looks like he wants to commit a felony.” Annie took a sip of her drink. “This is
way
better than the Bradys and the DiMeras.”

Sophie turned and searched the bar. At the back, not far from the door, Harlan sat at a table for one. He didn’t acknowledge her, his eyes trained on Dug, who stared back at him.

“He must be giving me a ride to the airport.”

Sophie pushed thoughts of Harlan to one side, but felt his eyes burning through her uniform. She hauled her butt between her section and the bar, calculating tips as she went. Pongo would now have his teeth cleaned, Charina from New York, Sherry from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and Lee from Buffalo would all be receiving refunds and a card from Josiah O’Connor.

She turned to where Harlan had been sitting to find the table empty. Strangely disappointed, she pushed on.

She’d smiled and stopped by a table filled with regulars. She’d enjoyed getting to know Maggie and asked about her daughter—a sophomore at Arizona State. When she spotted Sybil coming through the door, Sophie made sure she had a fresh drink and a ready supply of bar nuts. Two hours away from her twin toddler boys, once a week, cured Sybil’s woes.

Eventually, Cope called last drinks, and the bar emptied out. Forty minutes later, she changed into black jeans, a black T-shirt, and slipped a jacket around her shoulders. She pulled out her phone after it vibrated and read a text.

Franco:
Staff entrance. Waiting.

The man doesn’t pen sonnets in his spare time, I’m guessing
.

She said good night to her friends, got a quick hug from Gemma, and hit the back door to find Harlan guarding it.

White bulbs that spelled out
Pipe’s
sputtered out. A stray cat streaked across the parking lot, eyes flashing in the milky moonlight. A cold breeze pushed trash across the parking lot. After the heat of the bar, the fresh air cleansed her lungs.

“Why were you here earlier, and where’d you go?” she asked.

He threw the strap of her bag onto his shoulder, held her hand, which she had to admit felt kind of nice, and guided her to his car. He pulled her closer to his side, his heat soaking into her tired bones and loosening weary muscles. Tonight she was too tired to fight being hauled against him.

Red taillights flashed ahead of them.

“I left to tend to a pissing contest.”

She swiveled her head. “What?”

He opened the car door and waited until she got in, then walked to his side and got in. He didn’t answer. They headed to the airport in minimal traffic.

A Harley pulled in behind them.

After a couple of minutes, she turned to Harlan. “Are you aware there’s a Harley tailing us?”

His face hardened. “That’s the pissing contest.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror then back to Harlan. “I’m not following.”

He changed lanes. “Fucker in the bar. Tall, had his mouth on your neck.”

Her face heated. “Oh. Dug. That’s Doug without an
O
. What about him?”

Harlan stared straight ahead, his face blank, but a muscle moved in his jaw. “The man wants into your pants. He wants to claim you as his. He let everyone in the bar know that he was staking his claim. I advised him you’re taken. Hence the pissing contest.”

Her mouth dropped open before she closed it with a snap, her blood spiking. “Was there a shift in the time continuum? Should I take my laundry down to a river and beat it against rocks?”

He turned and glared at her. She glared back.

They drove in tense silence to the airport.

“I’m flying Southwest.” She pulled the ticket she’d printed from her bag.

“I know.”

She rolled her eyes.
Of course he did
.

Dawn streaked across the sky leaving splotches of purple and tangerine. Morning birds were up and announcing to the world it was time to fly. A bus packed with tourists stopped ahead of them. Excited people exited the bus, sporting fanny packs.

He pulled alongside a line of weary travelers. A family chanted “Disneyland” over and over while a grinning father pushing a mountain of luggage on a dolly trailed them. A businessman in a crisp suit pulled a battered orange Samsonite and overtook the California-bound family.

Sophie swung her bag onto her shoulder, pasted on a happy smile, and opened the door. “Um, thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Harlan stared straight ahead.

Right
.

The man was sending more mixed signals than Nicholas Newman on a bad day. She closed the door and entered the terminal.

Twenty minutes later, after checking in, Sophie sat at the gate nursing a beverage that, according to the chirpy attendant, was coffee. The attendant’s definition of coffee was under debate.

A slow line of people trickled past, none stopping at her gate. Seemed that heading for Vegas at six in the morning wasn’t a commuter flight. She abandoned the cup to a nearby bin. Her body cried out for her to find a comfy spot somewhere so she could curl into a ball and sleep.