Bounty Hunter Ransom

“Then I guess there’s nothing more to talk about. I stopped to see if you were really okay, but it appears you are. So I’m out of here.”

As he sauntered away, Aubrey had to bite her lip to keep from calling him back.

Chapter Two

Aubrey couldn’t wait to take a shower, to get the intruder’s feel and smell off of her, to wash the blood out of her hair—and to wash that insane exchange with Beau out of her system. She carefully locked her doors, checked that the windows were secure, then headed for the upstairs bathroom.

A few minutes later, feeling much better, Aubrey decided to tackle the mess the police had made. She could have called the cleaning service Lyle recommended, but the idea of letting more strangers into her house bothered her. This cozy frame house, once her grandmother’s, had always been her haven, her cocoon, in which she could shut out the rest of the world and focus for hours at a time on an obscure chemical equation, or grade papers, or read nineteenth-century chemistry texts, her favorite hobby.

Now she preferred to set things right herself, restoring each object to its correct place, buffing the old mahogany coffee table to a mirrorlike shine.

When she moved into the dining room, which had been converted to her home office, she immediately spotted something odd. A fat white envelope sat in the exact middle of her desk with her name on it. It was in Patti’s writing. How had she not noticed it before?

The envelope wasn’t sealed, and Aubrey opened it and withdrew the contents. The moment she read the first words on the first page, her breath caught in her throat. It was Patti’s last will and testament, drawn up by her father’s law firm and dated only a week previous.

That in itself was weird. Patti had been estranged from her wealthy father for many years. Why had she suddenly felt she needed to go to him for a will? The implications were ominous.

Aubrey scanned the document. Patti had apparently left everything to her daughter. That made sense. But she’d also made provisions for Aubrey to be named as Sara’s guardian. The gesture brought Aubrey to tears, especially given the uncharitable thoughts she’d had about Patti in the last few hours.

“Patti, girl, you better not need this,” Aubrey murmured as she tucked the will into her file cabinet.

The phone rang, startling her. She fumbled with the receiver. “Hello?”

“Do you have the money yet?” The voice was rough and low, and the words sent a chill wiggling up Aubrey’s spine.

“Who are you trying to reach?” Aubrey demanded, though she was pretty sure she knew. Callers often mistook her voice for Patti’s.

“Patti, Patti, Patti. After all that’s been between us, you’re not pretending you don’t know me, are you?” the caller cooed, his voice taking on a whispery, singsong quality.

“This isn’t Patti,” Aubrey insisted. “She’s not here. Who is this?” She checked her caller ID. The number had been blocked.

A long silence followed. Aubrey thought at first the caller had hung up. But then his creepy voice assaulted her again. “Whoever you are, chicky, you tell little Patti something for me. Tell her I’m coming for her. I want my money now. She knows what’ll happen if I don’t get it.”

The line went dead.

Aubrey hung up and immediately dialed the police again, asking for Lyle. She was soon patched through to his cell phone. He listened attentively.

“Did he make any threats?”

“Not explicitly, but dire consequences were certainly implied.”

“We can’t really do anything unless this guy makes a move.”

“What? He already made a move!” Aubrey paced back and forth in front of her desk. “Or did you forget so quickly that I was assaulted?”

“We don’t know it’s the same person.”

“Of course it’s the same person,” Aubrey said impatiently. “Can’t you put a trace on the call? Something?”

“Sure, we can check it out. But he’s probably calling from a cell phone. Meanwhile, is there anywhere else you could stay for a few days?”

Aubrey hated the idea of abandoning her home to the Fates. But she reluctantly agreed she could stay with friends for a couple of days, until Patti came home and this mess got straightened out. She could have her home phone calls forwarded to her cell, in case Patti tried to call again.

“Try not to worry too much,” Lyle said, his voice soothing. “These things have a way of blowing over. These bad guys, they don’t want to work too hard. So if you make things the least bit challenging for them, they move on to greener pastures pretty quick.”

Aubrey was only slightly reassured by Lyle’s words. Sure, he’d been a cop for a few years, and he probably knew what he was talking about. But he wasn’t the one who still had a headache from her last brush with this particular bad guy.

As she packed up a few things, and a load of books to keep her occupied—she wasn’t teaching at all this summer—she considered which of her friends she would impose on. Or she could drive down and stay with her parents, who had retired to South Padre Island on the Texas coast. But she didn’t want to put anyone else in the line of fire. And she wanted to stay close. She wouldn’t rest easy until she saw Patti and cuddled Sara in her arms.

A motel was the answer. She would stay at her favorite little hole in the wall, the Golden Sands, where she’d hidden out when she wrote both her master’s thesis and her doctoral dissertation. She’d had a little problem meeting deadlines back then, and her solution was to push it as far as she could, then check into the motel and write eighteen hours a day until the thing was done, ordering out Chinese food or pizza for every meal.

The motel was only a couple of blocks from campus, near a busy intersection. She requested a room facing Eighth Street, the main drag, where her door would be very visible to anyone passing by. This might even be kind of fun, she thought as she slid her credit card to the multipierced young woman at the front desk. She could turn the air-conditioning up, swim in the tacky little pool out back, watch trashy movies or noodle around with equations.

Maybe if she distracted herself enough, she wouldn’t worry so much about Patti and Sara.

With her maroon duffel bag in one hand and her key in the other, Aubrey coaxed the lock and opened the door. The room was stuffy, but she’d soon remedy that. She switched on the light, turned toward the window unit, then froze.

There was a man sitting on her bed.

She inhaled to scream until it registered that the man was Beau. He lounged against the pillows as if he had a perfect right to be there.

“What—how—what—”

“You’re usually a bit more articulate, Aubrey.”

Instead of trying to push one of the dozen questions she had for him out of her mouth, she folded her arms and stared until the silence became uncomfortable.

“I drove past your house again and saw you throw a duffel in the back of your Jeep,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll admit it, I was curious. Were you spooked? Had you found out where Patti was? I was worried, so I followed you here. If you’re trying to keep yourself safe, you’re not doing a very good job. Any kid with a credit card could break into these rooms.”

“How did you know which room I would be in?”

“I was standing right behind you at the front desk. You never even knew I was there, so I thought I would teach you a lesson.”

“You’ve made your point,” she said, dropping her duffel and sinking into the room’s only chair. She should be furious at his high-handedness—except he was right.

“Anyone could have followed you. Don’t you ever check your rearview mirror? I practically tailgated you the whole way over.”

Jeez. How unobservant could she be?

“You were right, I got spooked,” she said, defeated. Arguing with Beau would get her nowhere. “Patti got a phone call from some creep. Apparently she owes him some money.” She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “But there’s no reason anyone would be after me. I figured once I was away from the house, I’d be fine.”

“So what did the caller say?” Beau prodded her.

“He said he was coming after her to get his money, and Patti would know what would happen if she disappointed him. Something like that.”

“How much money does she owe this guy?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but it must be more than I could come up with easily, or she would have asked me for it.”