Vengeful Bounty (21 page)

“Yeah,” I breathed. “See you soon.”

23

My strength was fast to return. A little rest and nutrition goes a long way.

I took Rogue on a long walk by the river, giving him ample time to sniff out every tree, bush, and patch of grass that he wanted. A family of four tossed bread crumbs into the water to feed the ducks. The couple munched on ice cream cones. They were young, happy, their bodies slim and healthy, their four- or five-year-old children maybe a year apart. The man put his arm around the woman and looked at her with happy contentment. The woman, a little more mischievous, put her finger in her ice cream cone and smeared it on the man's face. He wiped it off and let out a relaxed laugh, continuing to look at her in that lazy satisfied way a family man does.

It was totally different from the way Jackson had looked at me.

Something had changed in his eyes. I'd seen hints of it before, but I'd chosen to ignore them. Now it was apparent. He desired me in a way that was more than friendship, much more. It was almost telepathic the way he communicated it. And although I'd put up a nice defensive wall when I was with him yesterday, the memory of his eyes and the way they stared into my soul haunted me.

I was beginning to want him, too.

Strange, how realizations come to people at the oddest of times. Here I was, walking my dog, awaiting an infamous bounty huntress to aid me on my final National catch, and I was carrying my phone around in my pocket, hoping that you-know-who would call. I didn't much think he would, but I held onto it just in case.

As Rogue pulled me toward a clump of flowers he wanted to sniff, I looked off into the distance, my eyes seeing nothing. My imagination took off like a stallion through the plains, recreating the scene yesterday when Jackson had stood so near me, breathing in the scent of my freshly washed hair, so close I could practically taste him. In this new version of my mind, he shut me up when I rambled on in my defensive way; he broke the hesitation that held him back and touched me.
Really
touched me. Slid his hands all over my body, brought my lips to his, kissed them, my neck, down lower, and lower, and—

I snapped out of it, my eyes widening as my body started to respond in a way that surprised me: arousal.

This could be from the adrenaline of what's about to happen,
I thought.
That's all this is. The adrenaline trying to release itself. It's natural.

But I knew it wasn't.

Because it wasn't just my body that had started to ache for Jackson.

I thought of him, and the way he held so much back but expressed it all in his eyes, and my heart ached, too.

Letting out a sigh, I whistled for Rogue. He turned around and cocked his head to the side.

“Come on, little buddy,” I said, shaking off the sensation coursing through my body. “Time to go back in.” As if he could understand, he began leading me back to the apartment complex, and I muttered more to myself than to the dog, “Mommy's out of her mind and needs a cold shower.”

* * *

Since my return from Roberto's hell, there were only a couple of loose ends for me to tie up, and one was my mother.

She'd left half a dozen messages on my car and home phones, all frantic cries of martyrdom, blabbering on about how she was to blame for my disappearance and that she'd never meant to make me uncomfortable at dinner, only wanted me to be happy, etc. She'd begged me to come home, to call her, to make up.

I finally gave in and dialed her. I sat cross-legged on my couch, waiting for it.

She was about to get an earful, because I'd had it.

Her face filled the screen, her hair in a twisty bun that stuck about a foot on top of her head. She wore something very thin and skin-tight and cream colored, maybe a cat suit.

“Mom,” I said blankly.

“MINA!” she roared. “I was so worried about you! Oh, my darling, I was soooo worried! Why, what happened to you? Did I push you away? Did I—”

“No, Mom, you actually had nothing to do with it.”

She looked slightly taken aback, as if her sacrificial victim fantasy were falling apart before her eyes.

“What?” she said.

“I mean to say that you had nothing to do with my disappearance.”

“Oh.” She leaned back. “Then what—”

“Nothing happened, Mother, at least, nothing that you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

I stood up from the couch, not a good sign. I was about to get ugly and there was no stopping me.

“And one more thing, Mom, before I go.” I lifted a finger and pointed right at her. “If you
ever
try to set me up on a blind date again, especially with one of your stupid fiance's brothers, I will not only stop speaking to you, but I will let everyone in your social circle know about that summer and how you stood by when I was molested, and it will take years for you to recover from that. Do I make myself quite crystal clear?”

Her face went white. “Now, Mina, you don't have to—”

“Oh, but I do. You don't make it a point to hold any sort of important place in my life. You pop in and out as you please. It's your world, Mom, and I'm just a little pawn you think you can move across the game board. Well, I'm telling you, I've been nice to you for the past several years because of Dad. He's wanted me to keep the peace. But I'm pretty much to the point where I don't give a shit about his opinion because you don't deserve a millisecond of my time, or Colt's, or Dad's. Even this conversation is taking too long.” Dots of color flushed up to her cheeks, her eyes stormy. “When you decide to start acting like a decent, caring human being, or heck, even like an actual mother, we can talk. But for now, consider me out of your life.”

I hung up.

And maybe I'd taken it too far, but just to seal the deal I typed in a code on the TV screen, blocking her phone from being able to call me. I'd done it before in a fit of anger during college, but this time it was going to stick.

People can change. I've seen it happen. But for the majority of folks, change is one of those strange terms that might as well be in another language. It was going to take something life-altering for my mother to come to her senses and realize that she didn't care about her children like a mother should. Maybe she never would.

But I was finished with her stomping on me and getting away with it. I didn't care if she
was
the woman who gave me birth. She was someone different now.

I allowed myself a little time to cool off from the call. No doubt she'd call and cry to Dad about it. But Dad was going to have to accept me as a woman who made her own decisions.

Well, that was done. Now onto what was next.

I didn't have much daylight left. Looking out my living room window, I hoped that Hitomi would get here sometime tomorrow, so we'd at least have Tuesday night to drive, and all day Wednesday to scope out the French Quarter.

Hitomi had access to information I would've killed for. While I was thinking about it, I sent her a text message, hoping she'd get it while she traveled:

Roberto had mentioned Merritt Walton liking redheads. Well, maybe he'd get to meet one he'd never forget.

A couple gentle nose pokes against my leg made me look down.

“Rogue,” I said, “we're going to have to find somewhere for you to stay while I'm gone. But we can't use Colt or Dad or anybody that knows them, or they'd get suspicious about where I was going. We have to play it cool.”

I ran through the rolodex of my mind, flipping through names, not getting a good feeling about any of them. Then an idea came to me.

“Perfect,” I said, smiling.

Now to find out if this person was available.

* * *

“Eat one, you're too damn thin,” Mrs. Newton said, shoving a plate of chocolate chip cookies in my face.

“All right, all right,” I said, taking the sweet desert, letting the first bite melt on my tongue.

I sat with one arm extended along the back of her couch, my fingers lightly rubbing against the blue and green afghan she'd knitted. Fake plants mixed with live ones around the room; an old globe sat on a table against the wall; blankets, scarves, and doilies lined just about every surface—Mrs. Newton did love her knitting needles.

I imagined her, sitting in front of a class of unruly teenagers, moving those needles at a speedy and punctuated pace as she glared into the souls of the class clowns, just daring them to make a peep.

I grinned broadly and said, “These cookies are delicious.”

“I know,” she said, setting the plate down on the end table on her side of the couch.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I feel like I've been doing all the talking. Tell me about your side of the world.”

“Oh, not much, just work, work, work. That and surviving.”

“Amen to that.” She ate a cookie, dusting the crumbs off her ample bosom. “So you said you needed a dog-sitter? Are you going out of town?”

“Yes, ma'am, for one or two nights. I'll pay you really well.” Mrs. Newton raised an eyebrow. “How does $100 a night sound?”

“A
night?
” she said, punching enormous emphasis on the word. “What kind of trip are you going on?”

“Business,” I said. “And slightly personal.”

“I see.” She nodded. “I see. Well, hmm.”

“He's a great dog. House-trained. Never meets a stranger. He likes pretty much everyone.”

“Hundred a night's a lot of money, sweetie,” she said, her voice deep and scolding. “You're not going to be off getting yourself into trouble, are you?”

“Only bounty hunting trouble.”

She stared at me, and the ticking of her old grandfather clock became insanely loud in my ears. I thought she'd never speak. I could always ask someone else, but I didn't want to.

“Okay,” she said, and I nodded with relief. “But you don't have to pay me that much.”

“I want to.”

“Fine.” She shrugged and took my empty glass of milk in to the kitchen. “Hell, I won't argue with you. I've got bills to pay, honey.” From the kitchen she hollered, “Why don't you go ahead and bring him over tonight? That way if he doesn't take to me, you'll have time to find someone else.”

“Good idea.” The arms on her grandfather clock's faded gold face read the time to be about 9:00 p.m. “I'll go do that and be right back.”

* * *

My feet carried me up the stairs two at a time. Rogue was going to like her; I was sure of it. I'd have to give her a little extra bonus for doing this at such late notice. Money really wasn't an issue at all. And if Mrs. Newton needed it, I'd be more than happy to share.

When I reached the landing, I stopped.

Something wasn't right.

The evening was so very quiet, but I felt the unmistakable feeling of not being alone. Like someone was either following me—or waiting for me.

I silently crept to my door and noticed that it had been opened. But there was no sign of forced entry. For one, the alarm would've gone off. And secondly, it would've taken an immense amount of strength to break through that door. The apartment complex was known for its super safe, criminal-proof entryways.

Whoever had opened it had left it opened a hairline crack.

Rogue wasn't around. And trust me, if he knew that door was open, he would've been bolting out of there by now. I hadn't seen him on the landing or anywhere around the buildings. So he was probably still inside.

Alarm tingled through me and I grabbed the midsize laser gun from under the back of my shirt. I'd taken to carrying it with me lately. Good thing.

Pressing against the wall, I moved my hand to slowly push the door open, trying to crane my neck to see, yet stay out of any sort of firing range at the same time. Nobody shot anything. Nobody stepped forward to attack.

I flipped the charger on my gun, the high-pitched
squeee
letting me know it was ready to fire.

Then I jumped into the doorway and aimed at the person I was shocked to see sitting on my couch.

24

“Mina,” he said, standing and holding up his hands in surrender.

I tried to say his name, but it caught in my throat. A flood of heat rushed up my neck and colored my face red hot. My legs adhered to the floor as if by quick-acting cement. I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Rogue in the kitchen, carrying a massive flavored bone nearly as big as his body.

“I was hoping you still had the dog,” Damon said. “I thought I'd bring him a present.” He shrugged and gave one of his patented sly smiles. “He remembered me.”

“You left the door open,” I said. “He could've run out.”

“I was keeping an eye on him.”

I didn't ask how he'd gotten in. Damon was good at weaseling into places he didn't belong.

As the blush drained from my cheeks, I recovered my wits and lowered the gun. I shut the door. Rogue took the bone into my bedroom. It scraped the walls with hollow bumps and
krrr-krrr-krrr
sounds as he carried it around, trying to find a place to hide it.

Stay calm,
I told myself.
Stay calm. Don't freak out. Do not freak out.

There was a time when his presence in my apartment would've brought a rush of joy and lust. Now it only made me feel violated.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, not moving an inch.

He stepped toward me, and I lifted the gun again. He stopped.

With calm, cool ease he slipped his long worn fingers into his jean pockets. He lowered his face, letting his hair—unbound from the traditional braid—fall over his shoulders and chest. Even slouching, he towered.

“Could you please put the gun down?” he asked. “I feel weird with you pointing it at me.”

“No.”

His sleeveless shirt showed off the wolf tattoos I'd traced with my fingers, that I'd once kissed with my lips and scraped lightly with my fingernails as he'd traced his tongue all over my body. I walked over toward him until we were both standing parallel to the couch, between it and the TV. He was still several feet away.

“Answer my question,” I said, my throat tightening.

His lightning-blue eyes flashed. “I came back to see if you were all right.”

I blinked and shook my head barely a twitch. “What do you mean if I was ‘all right'? Why wouldn't I be?”

“Your brother called. I guess he tracked down my phone, I don't know. He didn't say.” Damon sighed and looked at the ground, seemingly hurt, which caused a flurry of contradicting emotions in me. “But he, uh—heh—he left a pretty heated message about how you'd gone missing and wanted to know if
I
had anything to do with it.”

“So you came back for that?”

“I thought you were in trouble, I don't know.” He shook his head. “I just missed you. I was worried.”

“So you're back now? For good?”

“Well, I'm not going to be here long. Just a day or two.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why?” He looked up, meeting my eyes in a charge of electricity. “What do you mean?”

“Here for a minute, then off again for another ‘day or two.' What exactly have you been doing these last couple years?” He opened his mouth, but I interrupted him. “And why the hell bother to come back if you're only going to disappear again?”

He waited to make sure I was finished this time. “I told you, I was worried about you. Look, what's come over you? I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

He stepped closer. My arms steadily held the gun aimed at his heart.

“Well, you're a little late for that.” The words shot out like venom. “I'm fine now, not missing anymore. Perfectly safe and sound—no thanks to
you
.”

But thanks to someone else,
I thought.

He took another step and the barrel of my gun pressed against his lean chest.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Whatever happened to you must've been awful to make you act this way.”

Tell him you know,
I thought.
Tell him you know about her, and that you're done with him.

“I want the truth,” I said, angry at myself for the stinging beginnings of rage-filled tears entering my eyes. “The truth! Tell me the truth. It's all I'm asking.”

“What truth do you want to know?”

“Tell me if you're bounty hunting or what, and if you are, what catch you're going after. Your secrets are safe with me, but you
never
talk to me. It's always been secrets. I never know what you're doing. And it shouldn't work like that, if we—”

“If we…what?” he asked, taking the gun in his hands and slowly, steadily, lowering it.

“If you—”

“Yes?” he said, leaning down, smiling in that villainous way for which I'd fallen so hard.

The TV began flashing and released a wind chime noise, signaling that someone was trying to call. I couldn't break free of Damon's eyes. He stood straighter, but remained inches away from my body. The wind chime wouldn't stop. Without looking, I grabbed the remote from the couch and aimed it at the TV, intent on turning it off and severing the call of whoever was trying to get a hold of me.

I made a crucial mistake. Whoever designed those stupid remotes wasn't thinking straight because they put the button to turn off the phone right next to the button that answered it.

The screen flashed, and I heard a man's voice:

“Mina,” he said, releasing a happy sigh. “I'm really glad you answered.”

“Jackson,” I breathed.

My eyes went wide.

And I turned.

I caught a glimpse of his face just before it faded into a look of confusion as he took in the situation in front of him. Then he managed a smile of uncomfortable courtesy.

“I'm calling at a bad time,” he said.

I stood there like an idiot with the remote still pointed at the TV. I looked at him, then at Damon, who had taken a small step back from me and glared at the screen with animosity. He crossed his arms. A penetrating, deadly look darkened his face.

“No,” I said, not really in answer to any question. I was simply saying it to Fate for cursing me with such a horrible chain of events. “Jackson, did you need anything? I can call you back here in just a minute.”

“Sure,” he said, his eyes on Damon. “I was, ah, well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to see if you wanted to meet up in a bit. There was something I, ah, wanted to, ah, talk to you about.” He cleared his throat, doing a lousy job at staying cheery. “But it looks like you're busy.”

“I won't be. Give me a minute. I promise I'll call you back.”

“You don't have to,” he said. “I understand.” He smiled. “Take care, Mina.”

“Wait,” I said, but I was too late.

The screen went black.

The silence that followed was heavy and black, oozing into my heart like poison. I felt my world begin to crumble. It was a made of ash, flaking away in the wind.

“Who was that?” Damon asked, his voice dark.

As if he had any authority to ask me in that tone.

As if he had any right to any part of my life anymore after his stint with the long dark-haired goddess.

My hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist around the remote.

“Mina?” he asked. “Who the hell
was
that?”

In a whirlwind of rage, I threw the remote at the wall, breaking it.

“None of your fucking business,” I said.

I started a slow walk toward him, my arms trembling in anger.

His eyes were wide in shock. I lifted a finger and pointed at the door.

“I want you to leave now,” I said. “You've seen I'm fine. So you can go back to your life and your secrets. I want no part of it.”

Boy, today was a day for burning bridges, wasn't it? First Mom, now Damon. My heart was on a warpath. But I didn't care. I was past caring.

“You don't mean that,” he said, smiling. “You just need to calm down, and we can talk, and—”

“Out!”

“Mina—”

I flipped the charger on my gun and aimed one-handed at my broken remote and fired. The blast sent a fray of sparks into the air. Rogue peeked out of my bedroom and lifted a paw.

“God, what the hell is wrong with you?” Damon asked.

“I'm going to tell you one more time to get out, and then I'm going to start shooting at you, you lying sack of shit. Go back to your secret life!”

I aimed at his crotch.

I wanted to tell him I knew. I really did. But I thought I'd keep a secret of my own for a change.

Damon looked at the gun, then into my eyes. Then he walked to the door. He stopped before opening it and turned back to me one more time.

“I love you, you know,” he said quietly. “Always have, always will.”

My eyes stung, and I used the back of my sleeve to wipe the pesky moisture from my face.

“Please don't end things like this,” he said. “I'll be in touch. I'm just glad you're okay.”

Before I had a chance to shoot at him, he left, closing the door with a soft
click
.

“Okay?” I asked the spot where he'd stood seconds before. “
OKAY?
”

I slammed my gun down on the coffee table and looked at the blank screen that only minutes before showed Jackson's face, the damage having been done.

Immediately, I tried calling Jackson. It rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, his voice mail came on. I ended the transmission, not knowing what to say.

“God damn it!” I shouted.

Gathering Rogue's bed, food, and a toy, I packed them in a sack and headed over to Mrs. Newton's.

I hardly remember the ride there. The traffic could've been great or horrible; I honestly went onto autopilot and didn't pay attention. I tried calling Jackson again. No answer. Rogue was good, sat in his seat and looked out the window into the night. No squirrels or birds to excite him. I gave him the occasional scratch on the chest to reassure him that I hadn't totally flipped my wig. I think he was mad at me. He didn't understand what was going on. How the hell could he? Even I didn't.

When I arrived at Mrs. Newton's, she answered the door and bluntly said, “You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“I have,” I said, setting Rogue on the ground.

He sniffed her feet, and she bent down, drowning him in loving rubs and kisses. They took to each other like soul mates. Good. I don't think I could've handled another mishap.

“Oh, he's a sweet one!” she said.

“Yes, he is.” My mind was reeling. I couldn't get Jackson's face out of my mind. “He's a good little boy.”

Standing up, she looked at me and turned her head to the side. “So was it an old flame?”

“How'd you know?”

“You have that look.”

We stood in the entryway as Rogue sniffed around the place. I set his bed and bag down next to the wall.

“Exes have their own special deserved place in hell, honey,” she said. “Don't let him get to you.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“At least you weren't married to him for years on end—or were you?”

“No, we weren't married.”

She smoothed out her pantsuit and watched Rogue for a minute. He'd found the afghan on the couch and scratched it until it was bunched up enough for him to properly lie on it.

“I see he's a fan of my work,” Mrs. Newton said. “We're going to be fast friends.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Really, though. Life's too short. They're all idiots. This guy had to be if he hurt you, of all people. You are a fantastic person, Miss Mina.”

“Well, thanks.” It helped. But not enough.

“Just come back and get him when you're ready,” she said. “We'll be just fine. Just go on home and defuse. Remember, life's too short.”

I nodded.

I didn't remember much of the ride back, either, other than the Metallica music blaring at levels that could not be good for my eardrums. I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex and sat there with my car running.

Both hands gripping the top of my steering wheel, I stared up at my window, knowing Damon was good and gone for now, but that he'd be back. He wouldn't return for a while, but he'd left that metaphorical door open, whether I liked it or not. He'd never seen me get angry like that. I didn't let many people ever see that side of me because I wasn't proud of it. But he deserved every millisecond of it. I was certain. I had no regrets.

No, wait.

I had one.

One very large regret that was not answering my calls.

I bit my lower lip to hold back tears until I tasted blood.

On an impulse that surged through me stronger than the rage with which I'd attacked Damon, I punched the car in reverse.

I floored the gas and actually drove as insanely as my brother, Colt.

Away I sped from my apartment, onto the highway, and toward the ritzy neighborhood in uptown Dallas where Jackson resided.