Page 3 of Babe's Bounty

“You sure you don’t need us to get closer?” The guard asks after I explain who I was and how I saw the bust going down.

“I doubt I’ll need your help,” I explain, listing not only my credentials, but the list of martial arts skills I know and teach.

“Fuck, maybe we should protect him from you,” he says with a smirk. “Just kidding, we don’t need his type in here. Plus, he’s winning too much.”

I snicker before striding away. Catching Humphrey’s eye, I give him a shy smile before glancing away. Using the reflective surfaces throughout the room, I study his reaction to me. He’s watching me, but not showing signs of getting enough courage to approach me. Damn. I was hoping to lure him to a remote location. With that plan dead in the water, I watch the other games until the man sitting next to Humphrey vacates his seat. Before anyone else can take it, I slide in next to my mark. Taking care to brush my breasts along Humphrey’s arm. The lust in his eyes says I won’t have too much trouble leading him away.

“You win much?” I purr, leaning toward him.

“I do alright,” he stutters. “But I can’t afford a hooker.”

Despite wanting to deck him for assuming I’m a prostitute, I realize I can use his assumption to my advantage. “Maybe you can teach me how to play poker, and I can teach you other things.”

He gulps as he looks me over. His skin turns a light pink as beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. No one can accuse this man of being a hardened criminal. I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t so stupid.

We spend the next hour playing poker. I have to admit that Humphrey has some talent. He gives me some useful pointers and by the time he’s ready to cash out, I almost feel bad about my next move. Almost.

“Can I buy you dinner?” He asks after he collects his winnings. He has just over $10,000 that he puts in a wallet tied around his waist.

“We could order room service. I have a room upstairs,” I suggest. I need to hurry him along. Our flight back to San Diego leaves in two hours.

He turns pink again, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at his innocence. He dutifully follows me into the elevator. At my room, I take out my key card and gesture for him to enter first.

“My mom would smack me if I entered a room before a lady,” he protests.

After a brief hesitation, I slide past him, but grab his hand to pull him into the room with me. He stumbles, but before he can right himself, I have him on the floor and handcuffed.

“What the fuck?” He explodes.

“I’m a bounty hunter with DDMC Bond Agency and I’m taking you back to San Diego,” I inform him as I help him back to his feet.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” he asks. “I should have known you weren’t interested in me.”

“Sorry, Humphrey. Now, let’s get to the airport and back to San Diego.”

“Wait, can we stop at my room first? I left some money in there and other items. Please. I promise I won’t try to escape and I won’t give you any problems.”

I study him and consider saying no, but since he said please, I pull out his wallet and remove the room card. Grabbing my bag, I lead him back to the elevator. “Just so you know, the warrant doesn’t say dead or alive, but it also doesn’t say I have to bring you back unharmed. So, fucking behave yourself.”

“I will, I promise.”

Surprisingly, he keeps his word and we’re in and out of his room in less than five minutes. He had another fifteen grand stored in the safe. On the bedside table sits a photo of a pretty little girl with Humphrey’s light brown hair and hazel eyes.

“My daughter, Emma,” he says when I pick it up and place it with care in his duffle bag, along with his money.

“Where is she? With her mom?” I ask him as we’re riding the elevator back down to the lobby.

“With my mom,” he corrects me. “Her mom is even a bigger screw up than I am. If you can believe it.”

“Is that why you robbed the convenience store?” He nods, but doesn’t elaborate. “Can’t get a job?”

His shoulders sag at my question. “Not too many tattoo parlors who want a tattoo artist who can’t keep a steady hand. I busted my hand a year ago. My ex slammed it in the car door when I tried to stop her from kidnapping my kid. I lost my job because I couldn’t work while it healed, but even after it healed, I can’t hold the gun for long without my hand shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, although I can’t help but think he’s just playing on my sympathies.

“Not your fault. I’m trying to find other work, but so far, I haven’t had much luck. I can’t do much else.”

“Except commit armed robber?” I ask.

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