NaturesBounty (2 page)

A flash of gold accompanied Benny’s grin. “Of course he
did.”

“I only agreed because my cut of the bond will be big enough
to see me through figuring out the next chapter of my life.”

Benny grunted. “Big bonds mean big crime.Which means big
danger.”

“Nope, strictly white collar. Some chick got caught ripping
off her boss, then skipped out on a two-fifty bond.”

“Ouch. A quarter-mil must have had Asa spitting bullets.”

“And worse. In any case, she hasn’t done a half-bad job of
covering her tracks.”

Benny arched a shaggy eyebrow. “You sound impressed rather
than annoyed. Pros always give me gas.”

“She’s no pro. Still, her credit card trail dead-ended, so
now I’m canvassing known associates.” Nate straightened up when a brunette with
an upswept hairdo and a tight skirt swished her way over to the booth in the
rear. “One of whom just showed up.”

“You know the bitch has probably left the country. By now
she’s sipping Mai Tais on a beach in Cabo.”

Nate watched the woman, who appeared to be strung as tight
as a piano wire, chew nervously on a manicured thumbnail while she pressed her
cell phone to her ear. She spoke in hushed, worried tones.

Benny slid a glance over where Nate was looking. “You want
some backup? Women are trouble in high heels. And you’ve got the wild look of a
man who hasn’t been laid in far too long.”

Didn’t he know it.

“No thanks, Benny. I think my luck might be about to
change.”

“Watch your ass.”

Nate grabbed his beer and sauntered casually to the next
booth over. When she sat with her back to him in the adjoining seat, he almost
wanted to cheer. Personally, he’d have opted to sit facing the door so guys
like him couldn’t get the drop.

A drink server wearing a bowtie and half-apron strode up and
greeted the woman by name. Valerie ordered the house special, an apple martini,
while Nate slid noiselessly into the seat behind her. The server left to put in
her order, and she went back to her call. Meanwhile, Nate punched up a few
buttons on his own cell phone and set it close enough to her to record the conversation
he hoped might involve a certain missing bail skip.

He wasn’t disappointed.

He twisted around enough to notice Valerie shrug off her
coat, and her perfume wafted over the back of the booth while he did his best
to appear to the casual observer that he was innocently sipping his beer, not
stalking the woman whose conversation he was eavesdropping on.

“No,” Valerie was saying to her caller. “No one has
contacted me about you yet. It’s making me nervous. Although I suppose I should
be grateful.”

Bingo, he thought. He slipped a hand inside his sport jacket
and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

While Valerie listened to a response he couldn’t make out,
he flipped open the pad and jotted down the date, time and location.

“Don’t worry about Angel. She’s fine.”

He frowned and wrote the name down. Who was Angel?

“She hates catnip, by the way. I tried bribing her with it
to get her in the cage. I’ve never heard of a cat who doesn’t like catnip.”

He scratched out the name. Okay, so Angel was a pet. And
Valerie was a good enough friend to cat-sit while its master skipped town.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Valerie went on.

More talk followed that he couldn’t make out. Clearly there
was a female voice on the other end, and there was no doubt in Nate’s mind that
the voice belonged to his bond jumper, Lydia Jane Franklin. But Nate couldn’t
make out more than an occasional word or an “uh-huh”.

“But is that enough evidence to turn this around? And what
if you lose the documents?”

Valerie shook her head to whatever answer came to that, and
another waft of intense perfume hit him. “I just can’t imagine what you’re
going through, Ly. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”

Where’s
there
, he urged in his head.
Just say
where.
Still, he probably wouldn’t get any more. Now that he knew she had
the inside scoop, however, he would just have to see how much he could wring
out of her using the direct approach.

“The day after tomorrow is your birthday. You remember our
agreement, right? Good. Make sure you do it. And you know what? I’m going to
send you a special present.”

Nate heard the “What? No!” through the phone as clear as
day.

“Trust me, you’ll want this gift,” Valerie said. “Consider
it a little nod to old times.” There was a pause, and she sighed. “I miss you
too. I can’t wait until this nightmare is over. And it will be. It has to work
out.”

She clicked off the call without saying more about Lydia’s
location, but if she was planning to “send” a gift, she obviously knew the
address. So which way should he play this, as the good cop or bad cop? Not that
he was either, strictly speaking. But once he identified himself, he could
either intimidate the information out of her with the usual threats about
aiding and abetting charges or he could play the white knight and make a plea
to her better judgment. Or he could do neither and dial up his surveillance
mode, tail Valerie around while she hit the post office with her conveniently
addressed birthday gift.

He was still extrapolating likely outcomes for each option
when Valerie started talking on her phone. She wasn’t placing a call, however.
She was using the voice-activated help.

“What male stripper services are near Venice Beach,
California?” she asked.

That stopped Nate short. His pulse sped up while he started
scribbling notes.

The electronic voice was kind enough to respond out loud,
and Valerie instructed it to dial the number for Hot and Ready Exotic Male
Dancers. He shook his head while she spoke to the service and haggled price on
a birthday strip-o-gram and private lap dance. From what he’d heard about male
strippers, plenty were willing to celebrate special occasions with more than
dancing. Special present, indeed. His cock stirred in interest at the thought
of a birthday poke, and he shifted uncomfortably while he listened to Valerie
debate costume choices.

“No, definitely not a cop,” she said, and Nate stifled a
laugh. Lydia probably wouldn’t appreciate the humor of a fake cop at the door.
“I guess let’s just go with the businessman. She’s a sucker for a hot guy in a
suit.”

He glanced down at himself and smirked, but not because he
happened to be wearing a suit. To his utter delight, Valerie went on to not
only spit out her credit card information, but the exact address in Venice
Beach where she wanted the stripper to deliver his “package”.

Holy fucking grail.
In all his years tracking down
fugitives, he had never gleaned this much info from a casual eavesdrop. Maybe
after all the shit he’d been through, fate had decided to give him a break.

He drained his beer while she finished and hung up, and then
he slid out of the booth. With a subtle nod to Benny, he walked out. He didn’t
even need to interact with Valerie now. He had all he needed and more. Venice
Beach was a good day’s drive from Colorado Springs. If he left now, he could
hopefully have Lydia in custody by late the following night. She’d celebrate
her birthday cuffed in his backseat. The stripper Valerie had just dropped a
bundle on would never get the chance to grind his dick against Lydia at all.
Too bad for her. And the guy, for that matter, if the mug shot Nate had seen
was any indication.

Nate got in his car and opened the Lydia Franklin file while
he typed in the first number on his cell phone’s speed dial.

“A-1 Bail Bonds,” said a rushed voice. “Open twenty-four
hours a day.”

“Asa, it’s me, Nate.”

“What’s up? Got something for me already?”

“She crossed state lines, all right. I’m headed out again.”

“You said the trail went dead in New Mexico.”

“That’s not where she landed. I’m leaving for California in
a few hours.”

“You’re sure this time?”

“Positive.”

“And you’re not taking a team?”

“I made my conditions clear.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“You said this was a cake job, and I’m taking you at your
word. No team, no guns. Just an easy pickup. That was the deal.”

“You’re one ballsy son of a bitch. Or else a really stupid
one. But you can trace skips faster than anyone I’ve ever dealt with. I swear,
it’s like you’re magnetized to bond jumpers. And I ain’t about to bend over and
eat two-fifty.”

Nate pulled out the photo of Lydia, which was stapled to his
authorization papers. Despite the typical haggard appearance mug shots brought
out in people, there was delicateness in her features, a soft curve to her nose
and cheeks that matched her wispy blonde hair. Pale eyes stared out at him with
an undeniable intelligence that could definitely have pulled off the crime
she’d been accused of. Still, there was a haunted look in those glassy eyes, as
though she had just seen a horror she never knew existed. And if there was one
thing most all criminals knew long before their capture, it was horror.

“Give me a couple days,” he said. “I’ll be in touch when I
have her.”

He hung up and stared at the photo. No, he wouldn’t want a
woman like that on the other end of his weapon. At least, not the one he used
to carry around in a shoulder holster. The weapon Benny had correctly guessed
hadn’t seen much action lately was another matter. He’d be all too happy to
point that one her direction. Under different circumstances, of course.

Said weapon pulsed between his legs. Maybe later he would
indulge a little fantasy about meeting her under other such circumstances. His
right hand might then bring him some relief before hitting the road. Too bad
she wouldn’t get her relief before he caught up with her.

A smile touched his lips. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to
let her have one last birthday fantasy. The more he thought about it, the more
he realized that Valerie hadn’t just unwittingly handed Nate the location of
his fugitive, but a way to get in the door without the typical strong-arm
methods or weapons.

Yes, it could work. It could really fucking work.

He pulled out of the Red Apple Lounge parking lot with a
tight smile. He’d spent a fair amount of his time as a bounty hunter devising
ways to blend and be totally nondescript in a crowd. This would be the exact
opposite of any disguise he’d done. But hell, if it worked as good as he
suspected, maybe by the time his hot little blonde was in handcuffs, he would
have discovered a new career path.

He laughed out loud and turned into traffic, mentally
sanding the rough edges off his plan all the way to Citadel Mall.

A persistent breeze whipped Lydia’s hair and played chase
with the skirt of her gauzy white dress while she stood at the water’s edge.
She stared out over the glittering Pacific Ocean, in touch with something
powerful and magnificent without truly being part of it.

Her sandals were in her hand, allowing the cool, foamy edge
of the surf to run up and over her toes. The salty air was rich with the smell
of beach life and nearby food vendors, and she closed her eyes while she
breathed it in. The aroma brought back memories with a bittersweet tang as
distinct and familiar as the sea breeze around her.

Laughter floated on the air behind her, triggering an image
of her first time to the apartment that had been purchased as a coming-of-age
gift for a good friend. At eighteen, life had seemed eternal and clung to such
promise. Four friends had come here that year, swearing to do so again every
year for the rest of their lives. Four friends, four years. Which, as it turned
out, had been the “rest of their lives” for two of them.

Lydia glanced down at the soda bottle in her hand, swirling
the brown fluid inside that disguised the alcohol she’d added. Tipping the
glass, she let a series of generous spills of liquid escape with the retreating
ocean. “This one is for you, Tiff. Another for Beverly. And one for Val. You’re
still my best friend. The only one of us I’ve got left.”

One gulp remained, and she tossed it back and let the burn
sear out the prickle of tears threatening to overtake her. What would she have
done if she’d have known back then that she would be standing alone on the
beach one day as a fugitive? That two of her friends would be gone, and the one
remaining hadn’t been any more willing to return to Venice Beach than Lydia had
been, even after Tiffany’s father had insisted the apartment be kept as is for
their use whenever they wished. It was a memoriam she hadn’t had the heart for.
What would she have done at eighteen if she’d been able to glimpse the path
that lay ahead?

“I would have had another drink,” Lydia said to no one, and
she trudged up the beach and tossed away her empty soda bottle in the first available
trash bin. The Venice boardwalk was teeming with the usual assortment of beach
bimbos, bikers, skaters, tourists and bohemians. Down the walk, the weekly drum
circle was just beginning. Crowds had formed around the drummers, barring them
from her view, but she stopped to listen anyway. She felt the driving beat
thrum through her core and closed her eyes, willing it to drive away spirits
from the past, along with the future that grew more frightening every time she
let herself dwell on it.

She wandered closer and joined in the impromptu dance that
several hippie-types had begun along with the regular dancers. She swayed her
body in tune to the beat of many different drums. It was mesmerizing, that
ancient beat. Some claimed the drum circle to be soul-reviving, but her motions
failed to so much as lift her mood. It was her birthday, and twenty-nine was
thus far turning into nothing to celebrate. She had forbidden herself from
spending her birthday obsessing over her current drama, but what else was left?

The more the crowds swelled out of curiosity around the drum
circle, the more profoundly alone and empty she felt.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she whispered. “Not nearly
drunk enough.”

She stuffed her feet back into her sandals and headed for
the row of tall and eclectically colorful apartment buildings overlooking the
beach. At least getting sauced enough to survive the rest of her birthday
wouldn’t prove too difficult. Unlike Valerie, Lydia had learned a hard lesson
about drinking when Tiffany and Beverly had died in a car wreck not five miles
up the Pacific Coast Highway. The tragedy had left Lydia with little taste for
the hard stuff. Valerie, on the other hand, hadn’t applied the cautionary tale
to herself.

In any case, since Lydia rarely drank anymore, she was maybe
a glass and a half away from a buzz strong enough to drive away her melancholy
for a few hours. Or so she hoped. Considering how damn horny booze got her, a
man in her bed for some wildly casual sex would have completed that picture nicely.
But despite all the beach bodies on display around her, the beachfront party
pad hadn’t come pre-stocked with hot guys. Finding one out on the boardwalk
would involve a certain amount of social acumen she just didn’t have in her.
So, the poor fugitive would just have to drown her sorrows alone, until the
morning dawned and it was time to resume her regularly scheduled freaking out
and trying to decide what to do about the evidence she had on Andrew.

The open bottle of good stuff called to her from the kitchen
counter, and she headed back inside. It might not be a solution, but even a
temporary reprieve from the drastic plunge her life had taken sounded good at
the moment. Comforting. And now that she’d observed the tradition of offering
the first drink to the drink, she intended to take every bit of what little
comfort she could find.

* * * * *

Weekend parking near the Venice Beach waterfront was a bitch
and a half, and Nate swore viciously as he circled the neighborhood. He’d been
at it for twenty minutes and couldn’t find a thing closer than three blocks
from his destination. Oh, it was tempting to double park while he did the job,
but something told him to play it more low key.

He spied a tight, but doable spot not two buildings from the
address, and his hopes shot up. A tiny Mazda convertible whipped into the
vacancy, and laughing bikini babes tumbled out of it.

Nate felt a surge of road rage. “Damn it!”

Maybe he was just grouchy after a long drive with a mere two
hours’ sleep since discovering Lydia’s whereabouts. Or maybe he was on edge
because he was about to walk into a capture situation without the reassuring
weight of his sidearm or a team watching his back. But he’d sworn to do this
job without either, and that was what he intended to do.

After settling on a paid parking garage up the street, he
pulled in and stretched his cramped muscles as he got out of the car. The smell
of city with a vague hint of ocean met his nostrils as he pulled on the suit
jacket he’d carefully laid out in the backseat. He stuffed a pair of handcuffs
and his badge into the coat pocket.

A cool sea breeze wafted through the garage, mussing the
hair he was trying to run a comb through. After grabbing the duffel and the
bunch of balloons he’d picked up to lend an authentic touch to his ploy, he
locked the car and made his way through the dimly lit structure.

Assuming his address information was correct, and there was
no reason to think otherwise, he’d have Lydia in hand within the hour. He had
every confidence that his ploy would get him in her front door. Getting out
again with a captive who would likely be less than cooperative wasn’t nearly as
fun a thought. He’d have to cart her all the way back here, possibly with her
making a scene. There was the occasional concerned citizen who mistook a bounty
hunt for a kidnapping. He’d followed procedure and notified local law
enforcement of his intent to capture, so he was covered should a question arise
about him taking custody of a woman against her will. Assuming he had a chance
to produce his badge and authorization before some excitable, would-be hero
intervened by waving around his constitutionally guaranteed right to bear arms.

He sighed as he thought of the bikini-babe sports car. Yes,
a nice, cozy parking spot right by the seashell-pink apartment building would
have been far preferable. Still, it wasn’t as if he’d never had to park
creatively to avoid detection before. He’d manage somehow.

The wind caught hold of his balloons, and they led the way
up the street. Maybe buying them had been overkill, but a woman hiding out
alone wasn’t likely going to throw open her door for a strange guy, not even
one claiming to be a stripper. And after his impromptu research, he realized he
wasn’t willing to go the distance with his disguise.

At a quick motel stop on the way for a shower, catnap and
marathon hand job, his Google crash course on male strippers had been quite the
eye-opener. For one thing, those guys shaved their body hair from neck to nuts
and beyond, something he had no intention of doing for a simple capture. And in
the absence of any other convincing props, a guy in a suit read more to him
like FBI than bump-and-grind. So balloons it was.

Not shaving wouldn’t really matter, anyway. Since he was in
a business suit, she wouldn’t be seeing much of his body. The idea was to pose
as a stripper convincingly enough for her to let him in the door, not to
actually whirl his shirt over his head and leg hump a bond jumper. Not even one
who looked as sexy and vulnerable in a mug shot as Lydia did.

Women are trouble in high heels.

Benny had been absolutely right on that one, and as Nate
made the trek up the Pacific Coast Highway, he sternly shook off thoughts of
just how much trouble he’d conjured between him and his quarry during his last
masturbation fantasy. While he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, part
of that fantasy had involved the handcuffs tucked in his pocket.

“Fuck, you need to get laid,” he muttered.

This was exactly why he’d developed a strict policy about
the hows and whens of his sex life. Rule One, no sex while actively on the job.
Rule Two, enjoy a wild ride to celebrate every successful capture. This allowed
him to blow off enough sexual steam to bring him back around to Rule One for
the next job. It was a policy that had settled into an important part of his
routine. In his heyday, this meant he got around to Rule Two as much as twice a
week, or at worst, every couple of months. Then his luck had plummeted, three
big bounties in a row had slipped through his fingers, and the price for the
last capture had been a curious neighbor’s life. That hadn’t counted as a
reason to celebrate. No Rule Two for him for longer than he wanted to think
about.

Tribal-type drumming was audible in the near distance,
somewhere out by the ocean that he caught glimpses of between the tall, closely
set apartment buildings. The scent of marijuana hit him too, but it failed to
distract him from the depressing math he was doing. It should be the furthest
thing from his mind as he approached the building, but the calculations took
place anyway. Eight months, two weeks and three days. That had been his last
celebratory fuck. It hadn’t been all that great, either. He’d bumped into an ex
who was up for a quick recap of their sexual highlights, but neither he nor
Debbie had really been into it. It had been an easy and convenient hookup, but
not memorable.

Why was he thinking about sex again? Okay, so he was a guy,
and his brain was automatically hardwired to shoot off random tit and pussy
images at least every sixty-two-point-two seconds. The fact that he was
dwelling on the subject, however, was another matter. Now was hardly the time
for distractions.

A group of beachgoers walked past, and a giggling blonde
thumped his balloons on the way. “Happy birthday, whoever,” she said merrily.

He was two buildings down from the Seashell Apartments now.
He stopped and verified the address plastered on the side. “Focus,” he muttered
to himself while he reset his gears and stared at the pink building. “Rule
One.” It was game time.

Lydia was allegedly staying in unit 314, and he ran through
the same quick mental check he always performed before approaching the
suspected location of a skip. This time, however, the checkmarks lined up in a
different set of columns.

Gun, no. Handcuffs, check. Backup, no. Badge and
authorization papers, check. Balloons and thong underwear, check, and annoying
as hell to boot. Not to mention the latter was completely unnecessary, but
since the rest of his alleged “costume” wasn’t very stripper-like, he figured
the requisite cock pouch with dental floss up his crack would make it more
legit. After all, what if she wanted to check before letting him in?

Okay, so it had been a stupid impulse, but Nate was nothing
if not a master of details when it came to his disguises. He might have stopped
short at a full-body shave, but he didn’t know of many bond agents who would
walk along Venice Beach with a suit, a satin thong and a handful of pink
balloons. That was dedication.

He ducked inside the building where he was greeted by a
strong whiff of damp, musty carpet while he checked out the surroundings. No
doubt the humidity made it tough to keep things smelling dry and fresh at the
beachfront. The bottom floor of the Seashell Apartments consisted of a row of
mailboxes, a fire exit staircase, a back door leading out to the boardwalk and
beach beyond, and a small elevator. The walls were pink, though more muted than
the coral shade on the exterior.

Before heading upstairs, he wandered out the back door and
glanced up the side of the building.

“Fire escapes,” he said, ticking it off on his mental
checklist of potential exit points if the perp decided to run. He’d just have
to make sure she didn’t get the chance.

After his architectural curiosity was satisfied, he went
back inside and punched the elevator button. He waited an eternity for a loudly
whirring piece of ancient history to reach the ground floor. The dingy elevator
car creaked when he got in, and it was barely large enough for Nate and his balloons.
He actually hesitated before getting in. No telling how many more trips the
relic had left in it.

“Oh well, who wants to live forever?” he muttered as he got
in and pressed the third-floor button.

The car groaned upward as if in physical pain, but he somehow
made it upstairs in one piece. The third floor smelled better than the lobby,
and it was strangely quieter up above the noise out on the boardwalk. The
source of the tribal music was closer here, but it was muffled by the walls of
the apartments on either side of him. Apartment 314 was on the right, meaning
his jumper had the benefit of an ocean view. Benny hadn’t been far off about
Lydia sitting on a beach sipping mai tais.