“You’re under arrest for jumpin’ bail. You skipped a court date.” She flashed her badge. “Now turn around.”
Over her shoulder, she yelled, “I’ve got him.”
She wasn’t alone. Resisting arrest would land him in more trouble with the law, not to mention getting the crap beat out of him. He’d heard stories about bounty hunters and even seen them in action on cable.
He took a deep breath and did as he was told. She shoved him against the wall and cuffed him, frisking him for weapons after she’d subdued him. He heard her speaking to someone he couldn’t see, but when she shoved him toward a blue van outside the motel room door, he realized he’d been tricked again.
“Shit! You were working alone.” He launched into a tirade of curses.
“Not exactly, Charlie. I’ve got my summer intern with me…and if you don’t cooperate, he might give you a paper cut.”
Charlie shut his eyes and kept walking toward the van, conceding his fate.
After securing her prisoner in the back, Fugitive Recovery Agent Jessica Beckett jumped into the front passenger seat next to Seth Harper, a new hire she jokingly called her “summer intern.” She hadn’t lied about everything.
Harper greeted her with a big grin, handing her ten bucks. “I’m not betting with you anymore. All you had was his cell phone and an old girlfriend’s name and you still tracked him. Un-fuckin’-believable.”
“Just remember the horn dog factor, Harper.” She took his money. “You can always track a guy through his woman. The love muscle is nothing but an Achilles’ heel. Beckett rule number one.”
Charlie Swain was a no account scrub—a fringe dweller on the edge of humanity—hustling drugs and stolen merchandise. He was wanted on two warrants, including skipping a court date on robbery charges. A real charmer, but relatively harmless in her world. She made a note to the file she’d compiled on the guy, a record of the case and her authorization for the arrest—a certified copy of the warrant.
Top-notch Fugitive Recovery Agents got paid better working directly for specific bondsmen. Most were ex- military or former police officers. She didn’t have the qualifications, discipline, or temperament to land her anything more than being a freelancer, catching the odd jobs that usually didn’t pay as much. She had to work twice as hard to make ends meet, earning her negotiated percentage of the bond money.
As a woman, building a reputation in this business had been tough. She realized she could have done better, but kissing ass wasn’t her thing, not even if the ass was Grade A prime. To date, cops had been her biggest critics, mostly because she had to live down the cable TV bounty hunter image. Yet she had to admit that some of her rep had been well-deserved.
It had been a gamble to hire Harper, but she hoped that with the proper training she might gain an eventual partner to help with the tracking aspects of each case. The quicker she gathered intel, the better the cash flow would be. Although she’d never put him at risk by placing him in the line of fire, Harper had been the one asking to come along on her arrests.
“Call it in, will ya? And let’s get this guy to the cops. A girl has gotta pay the bills.” Jess took a long swig of water, listening to Harper as he made the call to the bondsman for the Swain job. “God, this heat is killer. I’m sweatin’ like a pig with an invite to a luau.”
To cool off, she took off the Kevlar vest that she wore under a windbreaker as Harper finished up. After he started the van and pulled from the motel parking lot, she got another call on her cell. She recognized the phone number, even though NO NAME appeared on the display. Fingering the scar above her eyebrow, she prayed the call meant what she thought it would. She took a deep breath and answered.
“Yeah.”
“I got a lead on Lucas Baker, but it’s gonna cost ya. And you have to move tonight. No guarantees he’ll be there tomorrow.”
After a quick glance at her watch, Jess clenched her jaw and pictured the face of Baker. The image triggered a flood of dark memories that she thought she had under control…until now.
“Gimme what ya got.” Jess grabbed paper and pen. “I’m ready…more than ready.”
CHAPTER 2
Chicago, Illinois
Mid-June
On the other side of midnight, the nasty oppressive heat lingered and made the air dense and sluggish. It clung to the body of Jessica Beckett like a film of wet gauze, stifling her breath. The customary cooling effect off Lake Michigan cowered from it, avoiding the thick and stagnant mass of unseasonable heat. Dressed in dark jeans, a black tee under her Kevlar vest, and a ball cap, she jogged down the street, keeping to the shadows, then made her way across the road. Her gaze shifted to the second floor as she did, counting the windows so she’d know which room. A dimly lit one had its shades partially drawn.
A man inside.
She’d paid good money for the tip that the bastard had a room here, living off the grid, trying to escape his pathetic excuse for a life. And she had done her best to contribute to his problems, targeting Lucas Baker with her obsession. He had been one slippery weasel to corner, but she recognized his ugly mug, even from the street below.
Once Jess got across the street, she headed for the side entrance, down and to the right. Nearing an alley, she reached for her .357 Magnum Colt Python with its four-inch barrel and a trigger as smooth as butter. With gun in hand, she thought of a thousand other places she could’ve been tonight, but being a woman on a mission left her little choice. And she wasn’t one to squander an opportunity.
“You see our target?” She spoke into a two-way com set with a radio on her belt, a mic clipped to a sleeve of her tee, and an ear bud. With a shoulder to a brick wall, she peered down an alley to make sure everything was clear, and maintained her position.
“Affirmative.” Her backup, Seth Harper, cleared his throat and nearly blew her eardrum with the sharp abrasive noise. She winced.
“Uh, 10-4,” he added.
Jess fought a smile when she heard Seth dishing out the cryptic lingo, resisting the urge to add “good buddy” after everything he said. She could picture him now. The kid was situated in his old beat-up Econoline van across the street and down an alley, probably using binoculars.
“Talk to me. What’s he doing?” she prompted, keeping her voice low. “He got any company?”
Out of habit, she traced a scar along her right eyebrow with a finger, an old injury from a lifetime ago.
“Negatory. Target at a table, working on a computer. Laptop, I think.”
Baker would have his life on that computer. She could score big if things went as planned.
She wanted to avoid the clerk at the front desk. The tip she got on Baker’s whereabouts had warned her the sleaze was tight with the so-called management of the joint. She had to find another way in. With plan B in mind, she ducked into the dark alley and crept along a brick wall, dodging Dumpsters and broken bottles, keeping a firm grip on the Python. The faint stench of puke invaded her nostrils, the rank odor made more caustic with the heat.
She held her breath and moved on, hoping she hadn’t stepped in it. With her luck, she’d be wearing it home.
As Jess neared the back of the dilapidated hotel that rented rooms by the hour, she flipped her black White Sox ball cap backward, rally style. Sweat-drenched strands of her dark hair stuck to her neck, aggravating her mounting discomfort. She wiped her palms down a pant leg. Carrying a weapon, now was no time for a slick grip.
Once she got to her destination, she tested the alley door into the old hotel. Locked. After slipping the Python into the custom holster she carried at the small of her back, she pulled out a lock pick kit from her pocket. She didn’t need a light to work by. She’d done this a thousand times. When the door creaked open, she stashed the kit and reached for her weapon again.
“I’m going inside. Let me know if he moves,” she muttered into her mouthpiece. “No matter what happens,
