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CHAPTER TWO

Violet

“What the hell was the bond agent thinking?” I asked as my gaze slid over the file.

“I guess that he had the money, just not access to it at the moment.” My mom sat on the other side of my desk, legs kicked up, twirling her karambit around her pointer finger. “From what I can tell, he moved his money offshore right before the law closed in. The DOJ tried to seize his assets… and they weren’t there.”

“Still, that’s a hell of a risk on the bond agent’s part.”

“Apparently, the guy is a real charmer. Which shouldn’t be a problem for you.” She shot me a smirk.

I mean, yeah. I did have a bit of a reputation for having an innate distrust of charming men. One might be able to trace that back to my first boyfriend who may or may not only charmed me out of my v-card, but damn near every other girl in our class. While he was still ‘dating’ me.

So, yeah, I hated a guy who was too charming.

“I’m gonna enjoy bringing him in. Do we have any idea where he might be?”

“Florida. I know, I know,” my mom said, holding up a hand.

“I mean, come on. If he’s in Florida, he’s totally going to South America.”

And while countries like Ecuador and Venezuela technically have extradition treaties with the U.S., they are notoriously selective on if they would honor them or not.

If this guy wanted to hop a private plane or boat and disappear, it was entirely possible.

Even if I followed and found him, bounty hunting was illegal in almost every other country in the world. I could put all the work in and not be able to collect my bond. If not end up in trouble with the law myself.

“Listen, there are always ways around difficult situations. Your father has a lot of contacts in that part of the world. People who would look the other way as they brought you back to the U.S. You have options. If you’re motivated enough.”

With that, she got out of her seat, pointedly placing my packed duffle bag there, then making her way out of the office.

Alone, I sat back in my chair, exhaling hard.

If—and it was a big if—I decided to do this job, it would be a metric ton of work and aggravation. But it would allow me to take as long of a break as I wanted. Or sock it away for an early retirement.

My mother was right; my father had a lot of shady contacts all over the world. A former assassin turned outlaw biker—now a retired husband and father who had struck up a fondness for critiquing action/adventure books based on authenticity—he definitely would know the kind of shady people who would allow me to illegally drag someone back to the States to cash in on my bond.

“The question is,” I said, flipping through the file, “are you worth it?”

On the last page, I flipped to a copy of the skip.

Warwick Hughs.

He was surprisingly hot, as much as I hated to admit that. Six-three with dark hair, great bone structure, and bright green eyes. He could have easily been a model or one of those thirst-trap guys who made millions on social media.

But, nope, he decided to invest in some eco-resort company his uncle owned.

From what the SEC could tell, he’d sold the stocks directly ahead of the company’s IPO and made over thirty million.

And now, he was going to spend the next ten or fifteen years in jail. If I decided to track him down and make it happen.

I wasn’t all rah-rah about law and order, don’t get me wrong. How could I be, given my father’s profession? And that of all my uncles who also belonged to the same biker club?

But I did enjoy taking cocky, entitled criminals down a peg. Frat Guy, for example. And maybe this insider trading guy who might have left a bond agent out millions of dollars if he disappeared somewhere in South America.

True, I didn’t know his bond agent personally. But bail bondsmen and bounty hunters had a symbiotic relationship. Screwing one of them over at that grand a scale was an affront to all of us.

Fine, I was reaching.

As I scrolled Warwick’s social media, I had to admit the real reason I found myself even considering the job was some soul-deep desire to be the one to wipe that smug look off his face.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, knowing myself too well.

I was already too invested.

I wasn’t going to walk away just because it was going to be a difficult one.

Besides, maybe a little trip to the jungle would be refreshing after a week in dark little dive bars.

Decision made, I unzipped my duffle bag, checking to see what my mother had packed.

It looked like she had all the essentials covered: clothes, personal care supplies, extra cash, my passport, and right there on the top—my plane ticket.

She’d known from the moment I walked in that I would be taking the job.

I guess no one knew you better than your own mother.

Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I lifted the duffle and made my way out of the front door.

“Took you long enough.”

“Mom!” I yelped, turning to find her leaning against the front of the building. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you need a ride to the airport, don’t you?” she asked, bleeping the locks to the car parked on the street.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Kid, you have five hundred thousand reasons to do this.”

“I guess.”

“And not to mention, the pleasure of taking that cocky finance guy down a peg or two.”

“You know me too well.”

“Oh, cheer up, Vi,” she said, giving my leg a pat. “If you’re lucky, maybe he will do a quick popover in Mexico so you can get some genuine tacos before you head down to South America.”

“Yes, if I die of a venomous snake bite in the rainforest, at least I know I had a good last meal.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I hate flying,” I said as we turned into the airport forty-five minutes later.

“And now you likely have two nice, long flights ahead of you.”

“Not helping.”

“Oh, just order a stiff drink and instead of counting sheep to fall asleep, imagine counting all the money you are about to make.”

“That helps.”

“Alright. Now, go nab you that hot criminal.”

“He’s not that hot.”

“Oh, hon,” my mom said, shooting me a lowered-brow look. “He really is.”

“If you say so.”

“Try not to fall in love with him,” she said as I shoved some of the things out of my purse into my duffel.

“Right. Like that’s going to happen,” I said with an eye roll. As she rolled up to the drop-off line, I grabbed my ticket and ID.

“Hey, you never know.”

“He’s a criminal.”

“Bad boys make really good men.”

“If you say so.”

“You sound like you need to eat something.”

“And you sound like you are moments away from asking me when I’m going to give you grand babies.”

She tried to hide her guilty look.

“I wouldn’t mind grand babies. But you would probably need to be having sex to give me one.”

“Hey, that’s…”

“Totally fair?” she asked. “You’ve been working nonstop for six months. There’s no way you’ve had any time for dating.”

“True,” I admitted, exhaling hard. “But I’m not going to be banging a skip. Let alone falling in love and having babies with one. He’s going to prison , remember?”

“Hey, at least you won’t have to trip over his clothes on the bathroom floor. Okay. You have to go. Shoot me a text when you land. And if you are hopping a plane anywhere else.”

“Will do.”

“I mean it,” she said, voice firm. “You always forget to check in.”

To be fair, it wasn’t that I forgot; I was usually just busy. Or sleeping. I could remind her that for most of her bounty-hunting career, she had no one she needed to check in with, but she would only tell me that this was different, that she had people who cared about her coming home safely.

“I will text you,” I promised.

“You better. If I have to drag my ass all the way to Florida, let alone South America, I’m going to be pissed. Okay. Go. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, climbing out of the car.

I was cutting it close with my flight. So after I got through security, there was no time to stop for some much-needed coffee, let alone any food. I had to run to the gate to just barely make it on the plane.

By the time I was in my seat, I was in a sour mood. And too hungry to sleep, like my mom suggested.

So I gripped my armrests and comforted myself with thoughts of slapping cuffs on this Warwick guy’s wrists, dragging him to the police station, and getting my little finder’s fee. Then doing nothing for months.

Hell, maybe I would finally get my own apartment instead of crashing on the couches of my friends and family. Or, on occasion, the couch at the office.

It always felt pointless to pay for an apartment that I would almost never be spending any time in. Plus, it was just begging to be robbed.

But with half a million dollars in my bank account, I could cut my workload by half or a third.

I wouldn’t even know what to do with that time.

As things stood now, when I wasn’t working on a case, I was mostly sleeping, catching up with my family, or trying to figure out what my next case would be.

What would I do if I had every weekend free? Maybe even weekdays? Pick up a hobby?

I was still mulling over such a different life when we finally landed in Miami.

The humidity had my hair sticking to the back of my neck as I walked down the jet bridge, making me rummage around in my bag to find a hair tie.

I blamed my distraction for what happened next.

I was still trying to tie my unruly hair up in the tie as I walked into the concourse, so I was only half paying attention to the various sights around me: shops, boarding areas, and gates.

But I felt this strange—I don’t know—shiver move up my spine that had me stopping dead.

“Watch it,” someone grumbled as they rammed into me, sending me forward a step.

In my line of work, you had to trust your gut instincts. And something was telling me to turn back around, to look closer at… something.

I spun around, trying to see past the small rush of people walking right toward me. I scanned their faces, but nothing was clicking.

Not until I looked toward one of the gates.

My gaze landed on one man. He was tall and fit under his fitted white tee and cargo shorts.

I was just looking at the back of his head, so I had no idea what was calling me to him.

Then he turned, looking around the airport one final time.

It was the eyes.

Because half of his face was covered in a beard that made his features difficult to see.

But those bright green eyes had my stomach flipping.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I mumbled to myself, reaching for my phone, powering it back on as my heartbeat tripped into overdrive.

I needed to be sure.

I couldn’t go making a scene at an airport. I’d get my ass detained by security and likely questioned like the crazy person they’d think I was.

My phone took a frustratingly long moment to load—long enough that the line he was in started to move, getting onto their plane, possibly taking him away from me.

Then, finally, the screen loaded.

And there was his face.

No, I couldn’t rely on his jaw or chin.

But it was the same brow, forehead, nose, cheeks, and, yes, those extremely distinct green eyes.

“Wait!” I yelled, pushing my phone into my pocket as I turned to run toward the gate. “Wait!” I yelled louder, seeing his white tee disappearing from sight.

“Ma’am,” the flight attendant said, stepping in front of the doorway. “Do you have your boarding pass?”

“No, I don’t have a ticket, but that man—“

“Ma’am, if you don’t have a boarding pass, you need to leave.”

“But—”

“If you don’t move along, I’m going to have to call airport security.”

Dammit.

“I’m going,” I assured her, holding up my hands. “Sorry,” I added, looking up at the digital screen for the gate.

Flight 1254.

To Cuenca.

That certainly sounded like it was in South America.

A quick search on my phone confirmed that suspicion.

He was going to Ecuador.

“Shit.”

I paused, staring up at the ceiling and sucking in a deep breath.

I guess I was getting a ticket to South America.

And asking my father to keep his criminal friends on standby.