The Bounty Page 3

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  For more short stories by Delilah Devlin, check out:

  Big Brass Buckle

  Catnip

  Dr. Mullaley’s Cure

  Dreaming by the Sea

  Drive Me Crazy

  Johnny Blaze

  How to Train Your Skjaldmaer

  Lily’s Last Stand

  Love in Bloom

  Nerd’s Blind Date

  Night at the Wax Museum

  Nip-n-Tuck

  One Track Cowboy

  Pitch Black

  Red Dawn

  Tailgating at the Cedar Inn

  The Hired Hand

  The Morning Ride

  The Obedient Wife

  The Only Game in Town

  The Out-of-Towner

  The Long Ride Home

  The Pleasure in Surrender

  The Runaway Bride

  The Weekend

  The Butler

  Two Hot

  Zombie Love

  And check out her sexy stepbrothers short stories…

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Partner

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Boss

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Professor

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Friends

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Team

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Doctor

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Pack

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Rock Band

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 2

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 3

  Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 4

  Enjoy an excerpt from Montana Bounty Hunters: Reaper…

  As a general rule, Reaper didn’t like working with a partner, especially female partners. When working a warrant, he preferred to keep his head down and follow the leads. He didn’t like the “chatter” that usually accompanied working with a woman.

  However, partnering with Jamie Burke had taught him a few things. There were women who could focus on the job at hand without letting silly distractions get in the way of his concentration. Jamie was one of those rare creatures who didn’t gossip, didn’t get into his business, and could actually be useful when shit went sideways and they had to get physical. Her methods of subduing a target weren’t ones he’d ever employ, but she knew how to compensate for her smaller frame and lesser strength. Over the months since their boss, Fetch Winter, had put them together, Reaper had come to admire the woman’s grit and ingenuity.

  Case in point was their present predicament.

  No, this time she hadn’t tripped Mark Rebos with a Jackie Chan move, and no, she hadn’t gripped his balls and twisted them so hard he begged for mercy. This time—while she’d run all out—she’d locked a cuff on her right wrist, jumped on his back, and snagged his right with the other cuff. Now, they faced each other, ankle deep in the mud. Rebos couldn’t swing without dragging her closer.

  The big man looked ready to explode. His pockmarked face was red, and his eyes bugged. Although he was six inches taller than Jamie, and outweighed her by about eighty pounds, Reaper’s money was in Jamie. Rebos tried to draw back his arm, but Jamie flopped like a ragdoll, making him pull her weight around. He was tiring.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Rebos asked, his voice thick with frustration.

  Still breathing hard, Jamie shrugged. “Your wrist was the only thing I could reach. And you’re fast. I had to jump on your back before you pulled too far ahead of me. I was not running the length of Main Street again.”

  They were both drenched. Rain fell in sheets around them. When Reaper and Jamie had spotted Rebos leaving the tobacco store at the other end of Main, Reaper hadn’t had any other option than to halt in the middle of the street while Jamie leapt out the passenger door. Thursday night was Bingo night, and the old folks had every parking spot along the street filled. He’d driven around the corner to park before following Jamie, who was chasing Rebos and yelling at the top of her lungs, “Fugitive Recovery Agent, dipshit!” Luckily, Reaver had time to draw a rain poncho over his head before speeding after them.

  When she’d leapt on Rebos’s back, she’d taken him to the ground in the middle of a deep, muddy pit dug out by the torrent of water falling from the culvert above.

  “You need any help, partner?” Reaper drawled, standing under an awning on the sidewalk above them.

  Jamie bent and placed her hands on her knees, which forced Mark to bend double.

  Their heads bumped.

  She angled hers to frown at Rebos. “You gonna give me any more trouble?”

  Rebos shook his head. “Just unlock these,” he said lifting their arms. He squinted at her in the deluge. “Hey, you’re that female bounty hunter, ain’t you?” he said, a slow grin stretching his mouth.

  “I’m a fugitive recovery agent,” she said, disgust in her voice, and then she strained to reach her left hand across her body to root inside her right pocket.

  When her shoulders dipped, Reaper grinned. “Lose your key?”

  “I think they’re in yesterday’s pants.”

  Reaper couldn’t help chuckling, which earned him a mean scowl from Jamie. He held up his hands. “All right. I have a key.” He reached into his left pocket, dug around, then frowned. “Wrong pocket.”

  “Reaper…” she said, her lips tightening.

  Yeah, he was just kidding. He reached into his right and pulled out a key. “Children, hold up your hands.”

  Rebos snorted.

  Jamie gave him the evil eye.

  Reaper was feeling pretty good about this bust. He hadn’t had to bust a nut. And Jamie had given him a nice tale to share around the office.

  He unlocked the cuffs then pulled Rebos onto the sidewalk. Jamie waved away his hand and climbed up on her hands and knees before straightening her backbone and marching away.

  Reaper wrapped his arm around Rebos’s shoulder and gave him a little shove forward. They had a little way to walk. “So, buddy, did I read your arrest warrant right—you stole the sheriff’s car?”

  “How was I supposed to know that piece of shit Hyundai was his?”

  Reaper patted his shoulder again. “Bad break, man. Hey, I’m gonna have to cuff you before I put you in the car.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” He held still while Reaper snapped the cuffs around his wrists. “So, tell me. The chick, your partner…she single?”

  Reaper was beginning to feel like it was Christmas. “She is.” Not a lie. Jamie’s wedding was in a month.

  Rebos straightened his shoulders and thrust out his chest. “Think she’d wait for me?”

  Reaper didn’t dare laugh.

  Back at the office, they dropped their copy of the jail’s paperwork on the office manager’s desk.

  Brian Cobb was still bent over in his wheelchair laughing. Every time he glanced up at Jamie, he burst out laughing again—and he still hadn’t heard about lovesick Rebos.

  Reaper shook his head as he stared at the muddy mess she’d made of the floor. “Think your boyfriend Sky’s gonna let you in the house, looking like that?”

  Her lips curved. “I imagine he’ll make me strip on the porch.”

  Reaper glared. Damn, sex on the porch sounded nasty. And fun. He didn’t need a reminder of the fact his latest place to crash had taken back her key. Something he’d mentioned to Jamie that morning in the spirit of “sharing.” Women seemed to like that shit, but Jamie hadn’t commiserated. No, she’d raised her fist to Girl Power and told him he needed to find himself a real girlfriend. One he’d actually have to ta
lk to. Reaper shuddered at the thought.

  He turned, ready to head to the door. He had places to go—well the nearest bar. Maybe he’d find his next bed to crash in.

  “Not so quick,” Brian called out.

  Reaper turned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Fetch has something special planned for you.”

  Reaper glanced at Jamie who was busy trying to wipe mud off the side of her neck with a tissue.

  “Not her. She’s off for the next few days. Wedding stuff. You,” Brian said, and then smiled.

  Sometimes, he really couldn’t stand Brian. He was part of Team Jamie. That smile was too wide and held more than an ounce of smugness. “What’s he want me to do?”

  “You have a ride-along for the rest of the week, starting in the morning. An author friend of his.”

  Reaper groaned. “Why me?”

  Brian’s smile was angelic. “No clue. But he said you’re to behave.”

  Reaper grunted. Fetch shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t he know better than to throw down a challenge like that? “Author. Huh. He better not be late, or I’ll leave his ass behind with you.”

  “Not a he…” Brian said, laughing again.

  Reaper flashed a look of disgust at Jamie who was chuckling softly. No way in hell. Training Jamie not to get herself killed had taken every bit of his patience. He didn’t have any left for some author-ess who wanted to pick his brain and wouldn’t know how to keep the hell out of trouble. No way. No how. Reaper growled. He’d just have to make sure that one day spent in his company was long enough.

  With their laughter following him out the door, Reaper slogged through four inches of water that had accumulated in the parking lot toward his SUV. Once seated behind the wheel, he let out a deep breath and let his head fall back against the headrest. Not a bad day. And still he felt… He didn’t quite know. Restless, maybe? Dissatisfied? And why? Everything was going great. His success at Montana Bounty Hunters, as well as Jamie’s, had led Fetch into trusting them opening this satellite office. Already, they were showing a profit. He liked his crew. Sure, he’d given Jamie a hard time when they’d started working together, but she’d more than proven herself over the months they’d partnered. Her friend Brian, even if he did get under his skin, was a good man and great support. He made their lives easier in measurable ways, handling much of the computer end of their job—something Reaper didn’t love.

  Work was great. His crew was great. So, why wasn’t he happy? Maybe Jamie was right. Perhaps, he needed someone in his life to give him something to look forward to when he walked out the door at the end of the day.

  Or maybe he was simply pissed Sylvia had kicked him to the door the minute he’d made a face when she’d asked who he was taking to Jamie’s wedding. Like she expected him to ask her. Fact was, he hated weddings, and the thought of taking a woman he “dated” to something like that made him feel as though a noose was tightening around his neck. So yeah, he’d grimaced.

  “Fuck. Why am I such a fuckup?”

  His phone lit and the strains to White Buffalo’s “Come Join the Murder” played. What did it say about a man when the bartender at his favorite watering hole had his own ringtone? “Yeah, Brady?”

  “Uh, Reap, you need to get on down here. I just cut your brother off.”

  Which meant Sammy was getting ugly. “Hell, I’m five minutes away.” He tapped to end the call, hit the ignition button, and sped out of the parking lot. Sammy, drunk on his ass, usually ended in a pricey bar bill for broken windows and splintered furniture—if not time in lockup at the county jail.

  When he arrived at the bar, he removed his holster and secured it in his glove box. He also stored his badge.

  Inside the bar, a fight was already in progress. Members of Sammy’s motorcycle club stood in a circle around Sammy and another club member, Bear McNally. Standing a head taller than most of the men crowded tightly around the pugilists, Reaper made note that the fight must have just started because neither was bleeding.

  Standing behind the bar, Brady waved to catch his attention.

  Reaper circled around the edge of the crowd to reach him. “How’d it start this time?”

  “Sammy groped Bear’s old lady.”

  Reaper sighed. Sammy was looking to get ass kicked. “I’d appreciate it if you held off calling the cops.”

  His arms crossed over his burly chest, Brady nodded. “I know you’ll make it right.”

  Reaper pushed his way through the crowd.

  “Hey, it’s the bounty hunter,” one of the club members shouted.

  “It’s Fugitive Recovery Agent, dipshit,” he muttered, and then smiled. “Unless you have a bench warrant, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He rolled his shoulders, raised his fists, then waded in. Reaper’s heartrate sped up. So did his spirits. A fight on a Friday night was almost a Stenberg tradition.