Bounty (4 page)

I’m a pushy guy. But I can’t push too fast. Can’t lose this lead.

“Hey,” I say, putting all jokes aside, injecting as much sincerity as I can into my voice. I put a light hand on her shoulder, in what I hope is a bracing way.

Sincerity isn’t really my forte.

“Wanna get Sushi Mizu? C’mon.”

She inhales, and her exhale is just a little bit shaky under my hand. Then she blinks up at me with eyes that are like two green search beams.

“Why the fuck not,” she says, and laughs a little.

I’m in.

O
kay
, my scare-him-off-by-shooting-targets-in-the-balls strategy has obviously backfired.

Horrendously.

I don’t understand, it’s always been effective in the past. Men usually find it really off-putting. Alan
hated
it when I went to the range. He is against guns of any sort, but being a lawyer, I guess that makes sense.

There were so many little things I used to think were endearing, little details that I thought only I knew, things I loved him
for
, instead of in spite of. The little things that made me think he was mine.

I was so wrong.

Gotta stop thinking about Alan. Especially because I knew, even after we got engaged, that it wasn’t going to last. I knew he wasn’t “the one”. I was just tired of waiting. Afraid no one else would ever come along. I think, sometimes, I’m more upset at the embarrassment of having to admit that mistake than of losing the relationship in the first place.

See, this is why I shouldn’t be going out on dates, and why I should be scaring Liam off, not egging him on. I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to relationships.

But after some target practice, he seems even more interested than ever, teasing and smiling and making me tease and smile back, even when I try not to. I should have guessed he’d know how to handle firearms himself, just look at him, all those corded muscles, and tattoos. I’ve figured some of them out now — like the one of a black star and sunbeam crawling up the back of his neck. His tattoos feature quite a few stars, and barred across it, gorgeous blocks of light blue and red, with curling vines and what almost look like thorny dandelions. Perched along a shoulder blade I can see the edge of a gorgeously rendered crow.

I really know how to pick ‘em.

For some reason, it’s hard to keep my guard up when I’m around him. Like when I mentioned learning to shoot from dad.

Why I know how to shoot is a complicated question. How my dad is involved in my work is a complicated question. And in my day-to-day life I try not to think about it, thank you very much, and I don’t like to be reminded. I don’t want to talk about how I haven’t seen him in almost a year, that he’s been in “Mexico” on “business,” but that I’m not sure where he really is. That I’m afraid for him, and every once in a while,
of
him, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with what a caring father he was when we lost my mom.

Not exactly first date material. Not that this is a date.

But when Liam starts asking, I can’t really help it. I just shut down, and there’s tears again, and I feel so small. And a part of me thinks, good. Maybe
this
will put an end to this bizarre, stupid day that I never should have agreed to. And another part of me just feels incredibly vulnerable.

When Liam lay an uncertain hand on my shoulder, like he wasn’t sure what to do but wanted to help, he seemed to say the exact right thing.

Lucky guess, but there’s nothing that will cheer me up like a bowl of hot miso and some delicate, foodie, Americanized tuna rolls. And Sushi Mizu is my
favorite
. Seriously, how did he know?

I should have said no, but then there was that damn dimple.

I should have definitely said no, but it’s like I can’t summon that word when I’m around this guy. There’s just something about him.

“It’s my favorite spot in the city,” he says.

Goddammit. “Me too.”

He peels his hand off my shoulder, and places it, just for a brief moment, on the small of my back, as if guiding me away from whatever state I was just in. The warmth of his hand sends a line of heat up my spine to my cheeks, and straight down between my legs.

We walk in silence to the car where he makes a joke of opening the driver’s side door for me.

“The lady drives, of course, but a gentleman opens the door for her.”

It’s so stupid but I can’t help giggling a little. And when I pass between his body and the car, I catch a quick whiff of his cologne, or aftershave, mixed in with just a little bit of sweat, and I feel almost dizzy as I slip into my seat.

“Thanks,” I say in a daze.

He leans over me, around the frame of the car, and it’s just… I want to touch him. I feel a wash of heat go through me, from my heart to my core. I can feel my pulse between my legs.

“No problem.”

He closes the door for me and circles around while I try to get my breathing under control.

This is going to be a long car drive.

T
o defend
myself against his stupid aftershave smell and his stupid delts and biceps and pecs, I crank up the music and sing along. Green Day, the dorkiest of bands to still love. Maybe that’ll drive him off? At least his one dimple is pointed the other way so I don’t have to see it out of the corner of my eye when he smiles at me. Which he keeps doing, despite all of my efforts to let my freak flag fly, warbling along to Green Day’s greatest hits.

All of my plans seem to be backfiring. He sings along
with
me, and now we’re belting out “21 Guns” at the top of our lungs and it’s
fun.
Fuck everything, I’m having actual fun. He rolls down his window and then I do too and now we’re howling into the late afternoon, bouncing in the car seats, glancing at each other every so often and laughing.

Fuck it. If trying to drive him off isn’t working, if crying in front of him wasn’t a total deal-breaker, if I’m a huge mess right now and I don’t know what I want, but he’s really hot and this is fun,
why not
?

For the rest of dinner, I stop trying to push him away. I stop trying to end our date – fine it’s a date – or scare him off, or weird him out, and we end up having a great time. We get a coveted seat on the roof at Mizu (a moment when I’m reminded that Liam seems to have
quite
a lot of money, because the hostess greets him as Mr. Liam and shows him right to the best table) and watch the sun set over the city, eating tempura and drinking hot sake, and I’m completely underdressed in my sweaty beater. But so is he, and it’s great.

And we talk about all sorts of stuff. Even Alan, and once I get started on that, it’s hard not to let the whole story spill out. Our sensible, long-term-planning romance, our perfect courtship. And finding him in bed with the waitress from our favorite restaurant. At least this time I don’t cry. Usually the humiliation of reliving that detail brings on the tears.

Liam also asks me a ton about my clock shop, seems really interested in my process and my business. He seems a lot more interested in getting to know me rather than talking about himself — it’s refreshing. With Alan we were always talking about his cases, the politics,
his
world. There’s only so much to say about making clocks, is what he always said. But Liam seems really interested in the details of my life.

“Bluebird happens to be a great name for a clock shop,” he says. “I guess. I mean I don’t know about that stuff, but sounds good. Like… birds pop out of coo clocks, right?”

I laugh. “You mean coo coo clocks? I don’t even make those.”

“Maybe you should,
Bluebird,
” he smiles.

“Oh, and that’s not my real name,” I say, feeling daring.

“Excuse me?”

My dad’s warned me against this, many times, stressing the importance of maintaining my ‘stage’ or ‘art’ name, especially with anyone who’s been in my shop. But fuck it, I’m so tired of doing exactly what he says.

“My name is April Fitzpatrick.”

Liam’s face does something strange, and the only way I can think to describe it is
quiet.
His face goes quiet for a moment. Is he mad I lied to him?

“It’s just a business name,” I say. “You know. Branding.”

Liam’s face is carefully blank for one more moment, and then he breaks into a grin, his eyes bright. “You
chose
Bluebird? You total
nerd
,” and we’re back to teasing and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Well, it sounds cuter, doesn’t it?”

But it’s so nice to use my real name. Even though Fitzpatrick isn’t as glamorous, it’s mine. My mother’s, to be exact.

“I don’t even know your last name.” Suddenly it strikes me how strange and reckless and
unlike me
this whole thing has been.

“It’s Copperhead.”

“Like David Copperhead?”

He laughs at me. “Copperfield you mean?”

I try not to blush. “Sure. The magician.”

“Have I cast a spell on you yet, darling?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Kind of,” I confess, and immediately feel my face heat up. “I mean, in more of a
stupefying
way than—”

He reaches across the table and traces his fingers across my elbow, down my forearm, to my hand. His fingertips grazing across my palm are like electricity. My heart leaps in my chest. It’s almost unbearable — I miss being touched like this, and it feels so good. And Liam is unbearably attractive. Just watching his forearm muscles twist and bulge back and forth as he traces my wrist is mesmerizing. I can see each tendon, imagine the strong grip of those hands. How firm, how sure they would be, grasping my waist, my hipbones, holding me down and making me whimper with need. How amazing his fingers would feel, deep inside me, pressing into me, opening me wider. How wet could he make me with those wide, rough fingers and strong hands?

Oh, fuck. No. That’s a terrible idea.

I let his hand rest on mine across the table anyway.

“Shall we head back to the car?” he asks, and a shot of heat moves through me, centered between my legs. There’s no denying it — I want to fuck him. My pussy is literally aching for him. I feel it throbbing, beating into the chair below me.

“Okay,” I say.

He drops my hand, and we get up to leave. It’s like a spell really has been broken.

He’s quiet on the walk to my car. Maybe he’s tired. I’m tired too, but it’s the soft, glowing exhaustion of a good day. The warmth of sunset on my skin. My insides are still aching for him and I feel almost dizzy.

“You okay to drive?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say distantly. “It’s really close, actually. Basically just around the corner.”

“Let me just walk you home, then,” he says. “Just to be safe.”

I don’t need the help, but…

“Sure,” I say, and he smiles, and again my traitorous heart leaps.

It’s only a five-minute walk, and the entire time I am hyper-aware of his shoulder mere inches from mine. What his hand felt like. I want to take it and interlace our fingers together. Or, rather, I wish he’d take mine. But I can’t give in, I don’t want him to know his charm works so well. And besides, guys like him aren’t gonna walk down the street holding hands sweetly with someone they haven’t even fucked. I mean, he’s probably just interested in sex. If that. And as much as I could probably be okay with that, I know I’m a wreck right now. My feelings are all over the place. I wouldn’t want to accidentally get too attached to a rich, tough playboy who would probably just fuck and run.

Too quickly, we make it to the front of my complex.

“So, um…” I say, and trail off. I want him to ask to come up. I don’t want to be the one to ask. I thought this was a bad idea to start with. I don’t want to look desperate. I don’t want him to know how goddamn attracted to him I am, how quickly he won. I-

“April,” Liam says, and pauses.

My body feels like it’s on fire. I’m suddenly very aware of my nipples rubbing against the cups of my bra. The seams of my jeans hugging my hips. The way my panties are pressing into me… I feel wet already.

He leans forward and presses his lips to mine, softly. His lips are warm, the puff of his breath is electric. His chest pressing against my breasts feels amazing. My pussy aches.

“I —”

“Goodnight, April.”

My breath goes out of me in a whoosh. That’s it. Good. I guess.

“Goodnight, Liam.”

I head up the stairs quickly so I don’t have to watch him walking down the street, and throw myself onto my bed, my whole body hot and shaking.

This is an unmitigated disaster. How did I let this happen?

E
very nerve feels
like it’s on fire. April is the best lead anyone’s ever gotten on Devlin Sullivan.

And my cock is hard as a rock just thinking about her.

I don’t know if it’s the danger, or the way her bottom lip puckers out when she locks eyes with me. It’s like she’s just begging me to kiss it. Begging to wrap it around my…

Yeah. I’ve got a massive hard-on for my lead.

Not a good situation.

I walk briskly away, hoping the cool night air will help calm things down.

April Fitzpatrick. Not Bluebird. Something has been tickling the back of my brain since she told me that. Suddenly something clicks, and a crazy thought leaps into my head.

I text Vicente:
What was the dead wife’s name?

Always the consummate workaholic, Vicente texts me back immediately:
Caitlyn Fitzpatrick.

Shit.

I tap out:
Can you look up head-shots?

Sure. You got a lead?

I’ve got a lead, alright: April is Devlin Sullivan’s daughter. I’m 90% certain. Fitzpatrick isn’t a completely unique name, but it’s not that common. And she’s fronting his shop — at the very least, there’s no way the crime lord is unaware that there’s a girl with his late wife’s name running one of his laundering operations.

And someone called the shop urging her to attend a party, and from what I can tell, for business purposes.

It’s very likely that Devlin Sullivan just had a conversation with his daughter right in front of me. And I missed it.

I briskly walk to one of Vicente and my meeting points, texting him as I go.

Lead is good. We’ve hit the jackpot, potentially. Meet me at Copley Park.

I’ve got him. Devlin Sullivan’s daughter, his own flesh and blood. At my mercy. This is exactly what we need to not only track down his location, but force his hand, bring him in. Take down one of the most intractable crime organizations, too. This collar could dismantle a third of the drug trafficking infrastructure in Boston. I’ll be a hero, and earn the biggest bounty this city has ever seen.

And April will lose her father.

For a split second, I imagine her tear-rimmed lashes, her downturned head.

Whatever. He’s a criminal. That’s not her fault – unless, of course, she knows – but she will be collateral damage. That’s
his
fault. That’s just bad parenting. Not my fault, either. Even though I’m the one feeding information to the FBI.

I can’t follow that line of thinking. Not too far. And anyway, Vicente is here.

I can see him googling furiously as he approaches. He’s excited, I can tell, though he always tries to stay cool and collected.

“Here,” he says triumphantly, flashing his phone in my face.

It’s a picture of a pale, redheaded woman with exactly April’s eyes and the same sly smile, the same sharp jawline.

“Yeah,” I say, and my lungs seem to have done a strange whooshing thing. I clear my throat. “Yeah. Clock shop girl is definitely this woman’s daughter.”

“Well, Copperhead. I gotta hand it to you, homie. This is the best lead on Sullivan we’ve had in years.
Years.
”

“Uh huh,” I say. I should be gloating now.

“This goes beyond just bringing him into court. This could have a huge impact on the case, and on the entire investigation into his network.”

“Sure,” I say. “But I’m no cop. My job is to find the guy, not gather evidence or… get in with his daughter.” Though that’s not entirely true. I’m pretty used to pumping family members for information. It’s almost always the quickest way to bagging a skip. And I’m no stranger to flirting or even fucking on the job.

This just feels different. I try to shake it off.

“Sorry Copperhead, but this changes our M.O. If this is really his daughter, we need you to stick close to her. We can pay you. Above and beyond the agreed upon bounty value, we can pay you to keep dating her, get info on her dad, on the organization, on
her.”

That catches my attention. The bounty is more than enough, of course, but there’s no guarantee on that – I don’t get it unless I take him down. This would be money now.

“Yeah? What kind of budget are we talking for an ongoing investigation? And why not just take over the lead yourself?”

“You’re already in, and what you’re going to be able to do, capitalizing on this relationship you’ve formed with the perp’s daughter… there’s no way my team can match that. Not through legal channels. You’re our best bet.”

“I don’t know —”

He shoves his phone in front of my face again. There’s a number on it. A big one with a dollar sign.

“That’s up front. You’ll get twice that on completion.”

Well, shit.

“Okay, never mind,” I say.

“Right. So we need you to keep seeing her, gather what you can verbally, wear a wire. Or better yet, just use our wire app on your phone. I’ll show you how. And then we need hard-copy evidence, too. Her paperwork can help us trace Sullivan: her birth, her mother, their business. We might be able to pinpoint his whereabouts. His real name. His history. You know the drill.”

“Laptop, phone, bank account,” I say. Hacking and tracking each of those will put us in a good position to gather any connection he makes to her.

“Though, Sullivan must know that. April has a landline in her store, didn’t talk to her dad on her cell. Could we potentially tap the shop phone?”

“Yep,” Vicente says, “though we’re gonna have to talk about what, if anything, we need to be admissible.”

“I thought that was the point of having me do it? Doesn’t need to be admissible?”

“Man, you found Devlin Sullivan’s daughter. This isn’t an under the table bag anymore. This is gonna get messy. I’ll send you intel.” He thumps me on my shoulder, beaming. “Hey man, you tired or something? Perk up. You’ve just landed the mark of the decade!”

“Yeah,” I say. “But this ain’t exactly what I signed up for.”

“Well you got lucky,” Vicente shrugs. Then pauses. “You could
get
lucky,” he amends, and there’s the Vicente feral grin.

I mirror his smile, though it feels a little strange on my face. Maybe I really am just tired.

“Alright, boss,” I say. “I gotta see a lady about a clock.”

Seems like I’ll be visiting April again even sooner than I had expected.

“Keep me posted,” Vicente says. “I want an after action report on every encounter. I want everything you get, or no deal.”

Okay. I can do that. I’m not used to being monitored so closely, but I can seduce a lady with an audience.

“No problem.”