he’d arrived at the inn, his first thought was that he was at the wrong B&B. But the address was right and the innkeeper’s name was right. And, once he’d gotten into his room, unpacked and had a chance to go over his paperwork and photos, it was clear. This was the girl. At least she was the one Al thought was guilty. Bryce wasn’t so sure.
It was rare that he had the problem he had now. Crooks were usually exactly as described. There was nothing appealing about them. The ones he tracked down were often slimy and unkempt. They radiated guilt. He never questioned bringing any of them in. After all, his job wasn’t distinguishing the guilty from the innocent.
What was his job, anyway? Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure. He thought of himself as a private investigator but knew that wasn’t his reputation. He was known more as a bounty hunter, though he disliked that label. He wasn’t required to research whether or not the person he tracked was guilty. The people who hired him, those on the right side of the law and those not, determined guilt or innocence. They chose the target, gave him instructions, and he brought the person in. In exchange for the delivery, he got paid. And paid well, he had to admit. Still, it was just money. He wasn’t righting wrongs or making the world a better place. When it came down to it, his life was more or less a scavenger hunt. Take a list, locate the items, turn them in and earn rewards.
But something felt wrong this time. Sure, Molly was pretty and looked more like a Girl Scout than a thief, but that wasn’t all. He’d already set aside the stirrings of attraction he’d felt when she’d greeted him the night before at check-in. This wasn’t personal. He’d learned his lesson in that department.
That was one mistake he’d never make again, getting involved with a target. The glamorous, buxom blonde in Rio had almost cost him his life. She’d wined and dined him until he couldn’t see straight, taking him to all the hottest nightclubs in the city. As it was, it cost him fifty grand, since she managed to slip through his fingers – literally. She left him oiled up and massaged asleep in a poolside cabana. That should have been an easy twenty-four hour turnaround. Instead he’d had to use inside Brazilian connections to get away from her henchmen, not to mention her jealous lover. Add to that the ten grand he forked out to appease the guy who’d hired him. Rio had been a bust.
This was different. Something deep down in his gut said he was on the wrong track. It might be the right town, the right address, even the right person, according to the job description. But she wasn’t the one who’d taken the money.
If only this could be considered good news, but it wasn’t. He was expected to bring her back with him within the week. Normally, he wouldn’t be worried. There was always a local police department, if not the FBI, watching his back on these assignments. He usually handed the subjects he brought in over to the authorities who transferred them to a jail or delivered them to a courthouse. Usually. But the people involved this time were heavy handed and crossing them could be a mistake of epic proportions. Still, he’d escaped the Rio disaster, so he ought to be able to escape this.
Bryce tossed the ice in the basin and shook out the container, setting it aside to dry. Moving to the front window, he leaned against the sill and looked out across the bluff, at the ocean. He needed to think the situation through. Not taking her back would put him in danger. Taking her back would put her in danger. There was only one answer he could come up with. He was going to have to prove she was innocent. The question was, how?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Susie strolled a good six blocks from the bed and breakfast, zigzagging from one street to another, until she was far enough from the inn to be out of sight. She hid behind a water tower and sat on a low bench, knees propped up in front of
It was rare that he had the problem he had now. Crooks were usually exactly as described. There was nothing appealing about them. The ones he tracked down were often slimy and unkempt. They radiated guilt. He never questioned bringing any of them in. After all, his job wasn’t distinguishing the guilty from the innocent.
What was his job, anyway? Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure. He thought of himself as a private investigator but knew that wasn’t his reputation. He was known more as a bounty hunter, though he disliked that label. He wasn’t required to research whether or not the person he tracked was guilty. The people who hired him, those on the right side of the law and those not, determined guilt or innocence. They chose the target, gave him instructions, and he brought the person in. In exchange for the delivery, he got paid. And paid well, he had to admit. Still, it was just money. He wasn’t righting wrongs or making the world a better place. When it came down to it, his life was more or less a scavenger hunt. Take a list, locate the items, turn them in and earn rewards.
But something felt wrong this time. Sure, Molly was pretty and looked more like a Girl Scout than a thief, but that wasn’t all. He’d already set aside the stirrings of attraction he’d felt when she’d greeted him the night before at check-in. This wasn’t personal. He’d learned his lesson in that department.
That was one mistake he’d never make again, getting involved with a target. The glamorous, buxom blonde in Rio had almost cost him his life. She’d wined and dined him until he couldn’t see straight, taking him to all the hottest nightclubs in the city. As it was, it cost him fifty grand, since she managed to slip through his fingers – literally. She left him oiled up and massaged asleep in a poolside cabana. That should have been an easy twenty-four hour turnaround. Instead he’d had to use inside Brazilian connections to get away from her henchmen, not to mention her jealous lover. Add to that the ten grand he forked out to appease the guy who’d hired him. Rio had been a bust.
This was different. Something deep down in his gut said he was on the wrong track. It might be the right town, the right address, even the right person, according to the job description. But she wasn’t the one who’d taken the money.
If only this could be considered good news, but it wasn’t. He was expected to bring her back with him within the week. Normally, he wouldn’t be worried. There was always a local police department, if not the FBI, watching his back on these assignments. He usually handed the subjects he brought in over to the authorities who transferred them to a jail or delivered them to a courthouse. Usually. But the people involved this time were heavy handed and crossing them could be a mistake of epic proportions. Still, he’d escaped the Rio disaster, so he ought to be able to escape this.
Bryce tossed the ice in the basin and shook out the container, setting it aside to dry. Moving to the front window, he leaned against the sill and looked out across the bluff, at the ocean. He needed to think the situation through. Not taking her back would put him in danger. Taking her back would put her in danger. There was only one answer he could come up with. He was going to have to prove she was innocent. The question was, how?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Susie strolled a good six blocks from the bed and breakfast, zigzagging from one street to another, until she was far enough from the inn to be out of sight. She hid behind a water tower and sat on a low bench, knees propped up in front of
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