Bounty Hunter Honor

She’d probably look okay in a bikini, too.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t miss the terror that lay just beneath the surface of her demeanor, which could mean one of two things, or possibly both: abusive husband-boyfriend, or missing child.

He was not in any shape to take on either of those types of cases right now. One, they didn’t pay enough. Two, in about five minutes he was officially on vacation.

But, damn it, he was the only one at the First Strike office. Everybody else was out working cases, even Lori.

“I’m looking for Rex Bettencourt,” she said, her voice soft, sure, but not without a tiny tremor.

It figured she’d be looking for him. He considered denying all knowledge of any Rex Bettencourt, but he couldn’t turn his back on a woman in trouble. Never had been able to. “That would be me.”

“I read about you in that magazine. They say you’re the best.”

“I am the best,” he confirmed, not out of any need for an ego trip, but because it was true. In the four years since he’d come to work for First Strike, the agency co-founded by his father and his father’s army buddy, Ace McCullough, he’d amassed more reward money than any other bounty hunter in the country. Mostly he managed to do it working in conjunction with law enforcement, so police and federal agents not only welcomed him, but sought him out on tough cases. His success sometimes afforded him unwanted publicity.

“My daughter has been taken.”

Score one for Rex’s instincts. “By her father?”

The woman nodded.

“Why don’t you let me refer you to one of my—”

“No. I want you. You’re the best.”

“The best doesn’t come cheap,” Rex said. Though the First Strike office was his home base, Rex was an independent contractor. Ace, sole owner of First Strike since the death of Rex’s father almost two years ago, let all the bounty hunters charge what they wanted and pursue the cases that interested them, paying a small percentage to the agency in return for an office and administrative support. So long as each brought in a certain minimum—and Rex always far exceeded the minimum—they could handle the job any way they chose.

“I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes,” the woman said.

“I charge five hundred dollars a day plus expenses.” He figured that would scare her off.

She didn’t even blink. “It’s not a problem. Just get my daughter back.”

Rex sighed. He couldn’t say no. The case sounded routine enough. Maybe he could wrap it up in a day or two. He got up, dragged over a chair from a neighboring desk and situated it next to his, rather than on the other side of the desk. He didn’t want any barriers, physical or emotional, between him and his potential client. If he took on her case, they would have to trust each other completely. He refused to work any other way.

She sat down, clutching her brown leather purse in her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Rex picked up a pen and a legal pad. “Your name?”

“Nadia Penn.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Nadia. After I hear your story, I’ll decide whether I can help you. Do you have legal custody of the child?”

“Yes.”

“And the child’s father?”

“My ex-husband. He gave up all parental rights when we divorced six months ago.”

That admission gave Rex pause. What kind of man gave up all rights to his children?

“He was abusive,” she said without hesitating a beat. “He sent me to the hospital with a broken jaw. No court was going to give him custody, and he didn’t want to pay me child support.”

The thought of any man using his fists on such a delicate, defenseless creature made Rex’s gut churn. It was that sliver of compassion he felt for the fairer sex that had ruined him, ended his military career.

“Legal rights aside, has he had contact with his daughter prior to this?” Rex asked. “Have you allowed him to visit?”

“Peter Danilov has no personal interest in Lily. He cares nothing about her. He took her to blackmail me. I have access to something he wants very badly, and he intends to barter for it with my child’s life.”

Good Lord. So much for the simple, straightforward case he’d envisioned. “So, whatever it is, give it to him. Nothing is worth a child’s life.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

He sighed. “This sounds like a matter for the police.”

“Do you know how many children are kidnapped by noncustodial parents? And do you know how little the police care? Anyway, I couldn’t risk it.” Nadia opened her purse and pulled out a plain white sheet of paper, folded. She handed it to him.

He took the paper gingerly by one corner. Ah, hell, why bother? She’d probably already destroyed any potential forensic evidence.

“You can touch it,” she said. “It’s already been analyzed. No prints but mine. Common photocopy paper, Canon Inkjet ink. Nontraceable.”

“I thought you didn’t go to the police.”

“I didn’t. I work in a research lab. I did the analysis myself.”

“Ah.” He tried not to show his surprise. He wouldn’t have pegged this delicate, fairylike creature as a hard-nosed scientist, though he ought to know by now not to let anyone’s outward appearance surprise him. His last stint in Korea should have burned that message into his brain once and for all.

He read the note, which set forth the terms she would have to meet if she wanted to see her daughter alive again. She would be required to deliver a package to a certain place at a certain time, then leave. The package would be picked up, the contents verified. Only then would the child be released at an undisclosed location. She would be notified after the fact.

If she agreed to these terms, she was to go today at 3:00 p.m. to the Forest Ridge Mall food court wearing a red shirt and wait at least fifteen minutes, after which she would be contacted as to where and when to make the drop.

Peter Danilov obviously liked cloak-and-dagger games. Such an affinity for drama could be used against him.

Rex asked Nadia the obvious. “What does Peter want from you?” The note simply referred to a “package,” which Rex assumed meant Nadia knew what it was.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“And I can’t win this game playing with only half a deck.”

“I can’t tell you without breaching the security of the United States,” she said quietly. “But suffice it to say, it’s something very dangerous. I could never put it into Peter’s hands. Which is why I need you to get my baby back.”

National security? Dangerous?

“Whoa, wait a minute. You don’t by any chance work for—”

“JanCo Labs.”

Ah, hell. JanCo Labs was a huge facility tucked away in the piney woods of East Texas a few miles from Payton. The lab worked almost exclusively on top secret government contracts—everything from gene splicing to weapons technology.