Vengeful Bounty by Jillian Kidd Page B

activity is the perfect thing to do when you’re upset. A lot of people tend to get drunk or zonk themselves out on drugs. I did enjoy a good drink, but I’d seen overindulgence backfire time and time again. It started to own you. A fabulous example was my dear mother. She couldn’t start her day without a cocktail and a few pills.
    Slam!
A good left hook sent the bag in the other direction.
    The large window of the second-story workout room had a good view of the gated front yard. Colt was down there, painting intricate star designs on his Charger. I’d brought Rogue over to play. His collar said, “Hello” as he sniffed Colt’s leg.
    Then, I sensed it: There was someone else in the room.
    I continued hitting the punching bag and opened my intuition to who might be behind me.
    Then I turned, just as a man with a bleach-blond Mohawk leapt at me, originally aiming to jump on my back. He ended up hugging the punching bag. Ripping off my gloves, I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and waited.
    I let him steady himself enough to turn and come for me again, and with a couple quick moves I had him on his back, straddling him, with my left knee on his right arm and my left hand on his throat. My right hand held his left wrist. He had no weapon, other than that disarming grin I’d seen on his face a million times before.
    â€œA.J.,” I said, feeling my own smile creep to my face, “that was terrible.”
    â€œI know,” he said.
    â€œYou didn’t even try that hard this time.”
    â€œWell, to be quite honest, you look scrumptious today, all pissed off, and I really just wanted you on top of me.” The grin widened. He added with a dreamy sigh, “And here we are.”
    A.J. was one of Colt’s two roommates, and he delighted in trying to pin me down (in more ways than one.) He’d succeeded a couple of times (and not in that way), but most of the time I sensed him coming and thwarted his game. I didn’t mind the challenge. He kept me on my toes.
    The tribal tattoos on the side of his head stretched down to his neck, extending underneath his sleeveless shirt. He, like Colt and me, did some bounty hunting, but he was also going to college, majoring in electrical engineering with a minor in robotics. He, Colt, and their other roommate, Bryan, made most of their money fixing computers and cars and pretty much anything mechanical or electrical. They even had business cards. They called themselves “The Fix-It Three.” A.J. also enjoyed inventing odd devices, such as the one he was working on right now.
    â€œHow’s the robot project going?” I asked, getting off of him and offering him my hand.
    He took it and pulled himself to his feet. “It’s all right, but there’s something wrong with the sleep function.”
    The invention was a synthetic gerbil that could crawl into any building and videotape the goings-on. He wanted the gerbil as life-like as possible and was currently working on a way to make it “sleep,” which entailed regenerating in a state that looked like sleep, while receiving energy through some special woodchips.
    â€œI don’t want to just plug it in,” he said. “That seems so cruel.”
    â€œBut it’s a
robot
.”
    â€œI know,” he said, smoothing out his Mohawk. “But he—
it
, I mean—looks so cute. I feel like I’m violating him by connecting wires to his butt.”
    I shook my head and laughed, and Colt appeared in the doorway. His purple hair now had gold streaks in it. It was thrown back in a red bandana. He wore gold contacts. He held onto Rogue, who was licking the side of his face as if it were an ice cream cone and happily wagging his tail.
    â€œHello!” his collar said. “Hello! Hello!”
    â€œCan he stay the night?” Colt asked. “Since you’re going to be gone?”
    â€œOnly if you promise not to keep him up all