Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry (4 page)

James Huxtable picked up a leather case next to him. Glancing around the room as he placed the case on the table next to him, he exhaled slowly as he pushed the snaps on either end to open it.

"You've flown all the way out here to ask us to go to Chicago and work with your daughter?" Greg also tossed his napkin, but he dropped it on his plate, indicating he was done eating. "Mr. Huxtable, I'm sure we were clear on the phone. We're not private investigators. My caseload is so high right now I barely have time to hug my wife. I sure as hell don't have time to go to Chicago."

"Please." James held his hand up to silence Greg.

Jake didn't have to glance at his father to know what look was on his face. Greg King didn't like being silenced by anyone. Jake didn't blame him. The gesture offered little respect, and Jake would tell James Huxtable that much if he cared. The man wasn't presenting his case very well.

"Are you familiar with a man named Mario Mandela?" James pulled a glossy eight-by-ten out of his briefcase and closed the lid. "He's the most recent member to enter the game. The reason I believe Evelyn Van Cooper isn't playing the game is we know she approached him, offering to sell her new drug, the one the media is calling slave juice, to him as an aid in controlling his captives, or board pieces, if you will."

"Did he accept her offer?" Greg asked.

"Yes. We're pretty sure he purchased an incredibly large quantity of the drug, which makes us think he's already kidnapped quite a few people to turn into his army." James sighed, fingering his briefcase. "You've worked the game twice now. You understand how tortured a family is when they don't know if their loved one is dead or alive, or worse," he said, giving Greg a knowing look.

"The game is terrible. The FBI were involved in fighting to end it when we were in Mexico. I'm sure they're still on the case," Greg offered.

James nodded. "They haven't solved it yet."

"The game is global. It will come down, though."

Jake decided to make the best of the lunch break and down his food. Huxtable was a disappointment, thinking he could fly out here and convince them to drop their caseload to go assist him in Chicago. Talk about an arrogant chump.

James slid a glossy eight-by-ten across the table. "This is my daughter."

Jake stared at the woman in the picture. For a moment he didn't hear what either James or his dad said. The young woman laughing at the camera had the most beautiful long black hair Jake had ever seen. Her olive-colored skin implied her mother might not be Caucasian, but in Jake's opinion that added to her sex appeal. It was something in her eyes, though. They were a unique shade of green, and even in the photograph the camera had caught her defiance. It was as if she laughed at the camera with a dare in her eye, something in her gaze saying,
Come find me if you can.

Jake swore she stared right at him. His insides hardened as he tried processing this new angle. Jake had never thought he'd see her again. He'd already tried to find Angela once, although he hadn't known then she was a private investigator. KFA's case had ended and he'd figured he would never see her again. Now here she was, staring up at him in a glossy eight-by-ten. What were the odds?

"Once we determined Mandela was in Chicago and had set up housekeeping in a rented mansion, Angela started doing some undercover work." James had another picture with him, one Jake hadn't noticed he was holding until now. "She met him for drinks at a country club he belongs to in Chicago. While Angela was entertaining the Italian Mafia lord, I was able to do some snooping around his place. And I have more pictures, along with some recorded conversations. Nothing, though, to warrant taking him down. Not yet."

"If sounds as if the two of you are well on the right track." Greg King didn't praise another person lightly. "If the two of you are this close to nailing a member of the game, why come to us?"

James placed the picture of a dark-haired man on the table next to the picture of his daughter. "Angela is determined to take down Mandela, but she's put herself too close to the monster. The other day I got a phone call." Again something crossed over his expression. It was like a shadow, a shift of sunlight. In the next moment it was gone. "I have a missing-person case I need to give all my attention to but can't leave my daughter without sufficient backup. I don't make a habit of asking for outside help."

"What would her backup do?" Jake asked, once again focusing on the picture of Angela. His father gave him a hard look, but Jake ignored it, not focusing on either one of them but staring at the seductress in the picture. He couldn't help wondering if she'd suggested her father seek them out or if she knew her father was here.

"You're going undercover with my daughter." James leaned back on his side of the booth. "You're a father," he said, sounding imploring. "Angela is my own flesh and blood. She's worked hard to impress me, to show me that she knows the business as well as her old man. You have to know what that feels like."

"I thought you said she's done undercover work before?" Greg asked.

It didn't surprise Jake his dad wouldn't comment on his feelings toward his sons. Greg was proud of his boys and he'd told them so on numerous occasions. It wasn't something he'd brag about to a stranger, though. Jake wouldn't want him to.

"Of course she has," James hissed, coming forward and hitting the table with his fist. He ignored those sitting around them who glanced their way curiously. James did have enough sense to lower his voice: "My daughter is an outstanding detective, as good as me. But she's in over her head without me beside her. I won't have anyone helping her in this case who isn't top-notch, which is why I was willing to fly out here to meet you. My time is limited. We need to return to Chicago."

"If your time is so precious, why did you fly out here when you knew we don't do cases like this? We're bounty hunters, not undercover cops."

"I've made a mistake coming here," James grunted. "My daughter needs me and she needs serious protection. I was wrong thinking I could find it with you."

James pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple twenties on the table, then grabbed the pictures and his briefcase and slid out of the booth. Greg didn't hesitate but slid out of the booth as well. Jake followed him. He didn't try to chase down James Huxtable but instead smiled when the waitress hurried to them.

"The food was great," he offered gallantly. "Our business meeting is over, though."

Her expression lightened considerably when Greg tossed another ten onto the table. "I understand completely," she said, smiling, and winked at Jake before he left the restaurant.

"What did you think about all of that?" Greg asked, squinting against the afternoon sun as they walked outside.

Jake scanned the parking lot and spotted James Huxtable climbing into a compact car, possibly one he'd rented at the airport since it appeared a rather tight fit for him. "Dad, I know Angela."

His father stopped before reaching their truck and stared at his son. "What? Why the hell didn't you say something? How do you know her?"

"Remember the night Marc and I got thrown in jail when we were in Mexico?"

Greg grunted. "Pissed your mother off to no end."

"There were two ladies in the nightclub. We escorted them to their cars and they offered us some information on finding Marty Byrd. The next thing we know, we're being hauled off to jail and accused of paying the ladies for their time."

"Yup. I remember. Your mom and I didn't buy into that for a minute. Neither of us believed you two would pay for something that is so often offered to you for free."

Now Jake grunted. "Thanks, I think."

Greg opened the driver's side door of his truck but Jake glanced over at James Huxtable once again. On an impulse, Jake walked across the parking lot, grabbing James' attention as he put his car in gear. James watched Jake instead of driving away, his expression masked, before slowly rolling down his window.

"I'll take your case." Jake stopped next to James, feeling the cold blast of AC hit him when he leaned over to better see the man. "Give me a card that actually has your number on it."

Chapter Two

Angela Huxtable, or Angela Torres, the name she was using while undercover, took her time walking across the lobby of the Drake hotel. Her snug-fitting mini-dress, complete with high heels, too much makeup, and bags from some of the most expensive shops in Chicago, would hopefully convince anyone she was loaded, with too much time on her hands.

Angela wasn't trying to convince just anyone, though. Mario Mandela was the deadliest, most heartless son of a bitch she'd ever met. For almost a week, she'd played the part of the rich socialite, presenting herself as the type of lady Mandela liked. All she'd had to do was come across as a wealthy slut and she'd grabbed his attention. Undercover work could seriously suck, especially when a murdering, demonic asshole groped and fondled her all evening. It had paid off, though. Angela had spent the entire day with Mandela, which was a major step forward.

Mandela thought he was buying himself a slut, a young, carefree, and bored rich lady who thought the idea of being seen on the arm of an Italian warlord was a serious turn-on. It unnerved Angela how Mandela made no secret about who he was. If anything, he'd bragged to her how he'd made his millions crushing anyone who wasn't intelligent enough to get out of his way. She'd actually pulled off laughing when he'd said that, fluttered her painted nails in front of his face, and informed him lightly that she loved a dangerous man. The chills rushed over her body when she remembered the sinister smile he'd given her at that comment.

Just be careful, she reminded herself, nearing the elevator and slowing, making sure to keep her feet together and her legs straight, a pose that allowed her to look her best in the getup she had on. God, she couldn't wait to get out of these damn high-heeled shoes. Were there really women out there who wore shoes like this by choice?

Several older ladies stood huddled near the elevators, occasionally glancing up to see which elevator door might open first, as they discussed a meeting on something about insurance. Angela glanced their way, then lowered her head, looking at one hand, then the other, as she gripped the bags in each of them. Mandela had spent a hell of a lot of money on outfits for her. Clothes she would willingly burn the moment this case was solved.

She shifted her weight, having half a mind to slip out of her heels and head up to her room barefoot. The Drake was expensive, elegant, and very classy. For the price she was paying a night for a suite, if she wanted to gallop across the lobby barefoot she should damn well be able to do so.

The thought calmed her nerves a bit and she continued looking down as she smiled. Then relaxing her expression, she glanced up when the elevator doors in front of her dinged. Everyone lingering around her closed in, anxious to be the first ones on when the doors opened. Which was fine with Angela; she hated being crammed in the back of the elevator. If her feet weren't killing her and her room was not on the twelfth floor, she might have taken the stairs.

Angela joined the three older ladies, one man in a suit, and two teenagers. She was the last one on and turned, facing the doors as the gentleman made sure everyone's floor buttons were pushed. She stared at the lobby, waiting for the doors to close. A man across the open space watched her.

Her heart began beating faster as she locked gazes with the incredibly tall, well-built man. Tousled brown hair bordered his attentive face. Even from across the lobby, with people walking between them, Angela swore dark forest green eyes latched onto hers, not only capturing her attention but also sending a silent message only she would understand.

I've found you.

Suddenly her palms were damp. Angela ached to rub them down her sides but instead readjusted the bags she carried and waited for the elevator doors to close. She stared at the man. The doors were taking forever. Either that or possibly time really could stand still when the situation called for it. As much as Angela loved a sensual moment, she was a far cry from what she considered a romantic. But the man she stared at wasn't into romance. He was as hard and ruthless as his body, impermeable, reckless yet filled with a level of honor serious pricks like Mario would never comprehend.

All that honor Jake King possessed probably made it easier for him to strike the pose of royalty. His last name fit him. He stood in the middle of the lobby, not in anyone's way yet not moving for a soul. People eased their way around him as if asking him to shift his weight would be something close to a mortal sin. The way he was poised, relaxed yet ready to spring into action the moment anyone or anything around him was threatened, reminded her of that night a year ago. Angela would never forget what it was like being in his arms.

Men like Jake King didn't ache to protect and care for a lady; they commanded the ability to do so. Not that there could be another man like Jake King. They weren't right for each other, never would be. No one would ever control her. Nonetheless her fingers tingled as she remembered stroking all that hard-as-rock muscle. Jake had been wound tight that night about a year ago. He and Angela had torn up the dance floor, dirty dancing to the hard-pounding sexual music and clutching each other during slow dances. For weeks after parting ways with Jake King she'd regretted the hell out of not sleeping with him.

His hair was still shaggy, thick brown waves that just touched his collar. And those eyes. They were watching her now just as they had in Mexico, and just as they had in the fantasies she had had of him for weeks after they parted ways.

Damn it! He shouldn't be here. That night in Mexico he looked at her as if he already knew her darkest sexual fantasies. A man like Jake King was nothing but trouble. Angela had come to terms with that. She hardly ever fantasized about him anymore.

Jake continued watching her. He was larger than life, taller than anyone else in the lobby. More than one woman gave him an approving once-over. All those deep, kinky scenarios she'd created about him resurfaced. Angela returned his stare and worried that he'd already guessed where her thoughts were headed. Angela watched as Jake moved his hand, raising it to his forehead, and saluted her right before her view of him was replaced by the closing elevator doors. She stared at her reflection, fighting to regain her breath. Suddenly she felt as if she'd raced across town in her high heels to get here. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down and dismiss her emotional and physical reaction to Jake King. The last thing she needed was a distraction so strong she wouldn't be able to focus on her work.

What the hell was he doing here? Angela didn't believe in coincidence any more than she believed in chance. Things happened because people made them happen. People plotted, schemed, and manipulated. Especially men like Jake. He was here for a reason. She'd barely regained control over her breathing and managed to get her heart to quit pounding in her chest when nervous energy damn near sent her to the edge again.

He sure as hell better not be here because I'm here.

Oh, God. Or worse yet, he'd better not be here because her father had arranged it. Just the other morning her dad had told her he would accept only the best running backup for her if he wasn't able to be there himself. Anyone else would be second-best, though. Angela would only be safe if her dad was the one at the helm, watching her back when she went into the lion's den, or with this case it would be more like the devil's pit.

The doors dinged, sliding open, and the three ladies left. The gentleman in the suit got out on the next floor. The teenagers followed suit a few floors up. Angela rode alone to the twelfth floor, trying to organize her thoughts.

Even then, Jake's image remained in her brain. He was well over six feet, with sex appeal that would put a god to shame. As tall and muscular as he was, he didn't stand out as much as one might think such a large man would. It was his casual demeanor. He was dressed well, but not overdressed, in clean jeans and an untucked T-shirt. The duffel in his hand suggested he might just be arriving at the hotel. He certainly wasn't checking out. Angela had been here for several days and would have noticed him if he'd been in the hotel before.

No one was in the hall during the time it took her to slide her card into the lock and push her hotel room door open. It closed and locked automatically behind her and Angela dumped her bags on the king-size bed, then put her purse next to them.

"There's work to do," she told herself, trying to keep her brain focused. There wasn't any getting Jake's image out of her head, though. His hair seemed a bit longer than she'd remembered it and a shade or two lighter, possibly from all that California sun. She dragged her large suitcase out of the closet and brought it to the middle of the room.

He didn't seem surprised to see me, either
. She shook her head as she narrowed down possible reasons for Jake King, son of the great bounty hunter Greg King, being at the same hotel she was, halfway across the country from L.A., where he lived. "He's obviously here on a case."

Was he once again trying to end the game? It was why they'd crossed paths in Mexico, although he hadn't known who she was at that time. Something told her he knew a lot more about her now. The way he looked at her, confident, relaxed, as if he'd expected to see her standing in the elevator. He sure hadn't acted surprised.

Kicking off her shoes and sitting on the floor, Angela reached inside her large suitcase and released the fake bottom. Tools of the trade were neatly nestled away just how she'd left them. If anyone had snooped through her room and discovered what she had hidden there, the contents of her suitcase would have been out of order. She'd made incredible progress today, taken a giant step forward with her undercover work. That was all the more reason to make sure her cover hadn't been blown and that no one had planted any bugs.

Hopefully, the asshole saw her as a rich, bored prima donna, which was necessary to lay her trap.

Angela was damn proud of herself for teasing the prick into a pathetic horny and whining asshole before leaving him. She had the prick's eyes rolling back in his head from his sexual suggestions. Not that he would ever lay a hand on her and live to talk about it. Angela might not be six and a half feet tall with muscle bulging all over the place, but she did know how to take care of herself. Unfortunately, she couldn't kill Mario until she connected him to the game and took him down, along with all the other players.

"I can torture the crap out of him until that precious moment arrives, though," she mumbled under her breath, grinning and feeling rather evil herself, at the moment.

Which was why she needed backup. Her father had tailed her when Angela and Mario spent the day driving around Chicago and shopping. She couldn't imagine any case being so important that he thought someone else should be watching her ass. What she was doing could turn deadly without a moment's notice. The best of investigators wouldn't do what she was doing without top of the line backup, someone with enough skills and training to remain invisible but close enough to have her back if needed. Angela trusted only her father.

She had laid low while he'd been in L.A., a trip he'd been rather vague about. When he'd returned to Chicago, he hadn't said a thing about his trip. Angela had been anxious to talk to him about her case.

"That was because I didn't think he was doing something sneaky behind my back," she grumbled, keeping her voice quiet and pulling everything out of the bottom of her suitcase.

She spread all of her spy equipment around her on the floor, getting comfortable and sitting cross-legged, still anxious to know what Jake King was doing in Chicago. Now that she had bugs planted, setting up her equipment would help keep her focused and grounded. She loved all this high-tech stuff. When she had it up and running, listening to the bad guys reveal their secrets was the best damn adrenaline rush in the world.

The highly sensitive listening devices she'd planted in the backseat of Mario's limo would, she hoped, bring in enough damaging evidence. She needed to know where he was keeping the people he'd abducted to play the game. And she had to find out where his first attack would be. In the time she'd spent with him today she'd overheard a couple phone calls that suggested he already had his board pieces, or the people he'd abducted and drugged so he could turn them into murderers and terrorists, lined up and ready to go. If she didn't move soon enough, the people Mario had abducted would kill, or be killed. An arrest had to be made before innocent people died.

Angela pushed herself to her feet, picking up a small black box and taking it over to the round table by glass doors that led out to a small terrace overlooking Lake Michigan. Heavy curtains were pulled closed and blocking the view. This wasn't a vacation. Her job had never been more serious.

After placing the box on the table, she grabbed her sweeping device off the floor. A couple times Mario had led her into a shop and walked straight up to a rack, pulling off an outfit and insisting it was perfect for her. He might have made previous arrangements for the clothes he purchased for her to be bugged. Angela knew she had a wild imagination, but she never ruled anything out until proof swayed her one way or another.

Today's listening devices could be so small they were barely detectable with the naked eye. Angela went over every inch of the hotel room, ran the detector over her body and purse, then finally the shoes she'd kicked off. She double-checked her body and clothes just for good measure. Mario's hands had been all over her. There weren't any bugs, which meant Mario didn't suspect her of being anything other than what she had told him she was. "I'm definitely taking a shower," she grumbled, her stomach churning at the thought of how often he'd groped her.

It had been a necessary evil. She'd learned Mario conducted a lot of his business while in his limo. He didn't seem to care if she overheard his conversations when his phone rang. He would interrupt their conversation to talk on the phone. Angela had overheard enough to help convict him, once she had her proof.