“She’s a bounty hunter!” Shiloh exclaims the second Lucas steps foot in his apartment at the end of the workday. She’s standing at the kitchen island with his laptop open. Anxious horror sucks the color from her face.
“What are you talking about?” His eyes ping-pong from her to his laptop as he struggles to make sense of Shiloh’s fear and what it could mean for him.
“Zea Dawson. That woman moving into the apartment behind us. The same one who ordered a sandwich yesterday and was all up in my business about my black eye.”
“She was what?” Shiloh hadn’t told him that. Closing the door, he crosses the room to her, swearing at himself. He knew there was something about Zea, and he kept making excuses.
“She thought you hit me.”
“And what did you tell her?” He empties his pockets from habit, his eyes never wavering from Shiloh. He’d thought Zea was a drifter when he rung up her order, possibly an undercover cop when they spoke earlier. Nosy, eager for conversation, overly neighborly, and packing light. Yet he’d still written off his suspicions because he’d seen something of himself in her. He thought she was running from her past, too. How could he have been so wrong?
“Girl fight. Anyway”—Shiloh swoops her arms to the side—“the point is: Zea isn’t Zea. She’s using a fake name, and she has six of them. I think her real one is Sophie Renau. Most of her credit cards are in that name.”
“How do you know this?” Her mouth flatlines, and her gaze skitters away like a mouse scurrying for cover. His palms start to sweat. “Shiloh, what did you do?”
“It’s habit, I swear. I didn’t mean to.”
“Shiloh,” he warns, dreading her answer. She’s going to get them into trouble if they aren’t already.
She tosses up her hands. “I stole her wallet, okay?”
His stomach drops into his boots. “You didwhat?” If this woman is what Shiloh says she is, she’ll notify the police as soon as she realizes her wallet is missing. That is if she wasn’t sent by them in the first place. “Are you trying to bring the cops to us?” The patrol car could be on its way this very moment. Blistering-hot panic sears his limbs. His worst nightmare is coming true.
“I know. It was stupid,” she whines with a dramatic flourish of her hands. They fling in the air. “But look at these.” Her hand arcs over the counter.
Lucas tears his eyes from her and looks. Six IDs, all with their neighbor’s face, each a different name and state, just as Shiloh said. Beside them a brown wallet thick with cards and cash.
His brow quirks. “You didn’t take the money.”
She grimaces. “I put it back.”
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
“Hell, Shiloh.” His fingers trowel through his hair, taking in the IDs, wondering what it all means. Who the hell is this woman? “Tell me what you know,” he says, and mentally starts tallying what to pack and how quickly he can leave. He isn’t even locked behind bars yet, and he’s already terrified.
“The only name, the one with the most credit cards, which is also the one that got any search hits, is Sophie Renau. That proves she lives in Redondo Beach, same address as the one on her driver’s license, and that she’s a bounty hunter.”
“Show me.” He tries not to hyperventilate.
She turns the laptop toward him. A deck of browser windows fill the screen. With mounting alarm, he clicks through the windows and skims the short articles about the fugitives she’s apprehended. One of them was only last week, a guy in Temecula accused of domestic violence against his wife who’d missed his court date. While she was bringing him into the station, the fugitive’s brother, the one who’d put up his house as collateral, attacked the accused, and Sophie had been caught in the middle. She took the punch. The scuffle occurred outside the police station and attracted enough attention to make the local section of the paper.
“I bet Ellis sent her. She’s here for me.” Shiloh bounces on her toes, as edgy as him. But she’s not the one with the warrant. Genuine fear pulls at her face. Her hands tug the strings on her hoodie. “I told her my name. She knows who I am. I bet she’s called Ellis already to tell him she’s found me. He’s probably on his way here right now.” Her gaze swerves to the window by the front door. With the curtains wide open, they can see the parking lot below and road beyond. He doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but that’s not to say the cops weren’t on their way.
Panic breathes down his neck, pushing his back to the wall.
“She’s not here for you.” She’s here for him. He killed his father in Carlsbad, less than two hours from Redondo Beach. Right in the middle of her territory. She probably works the entirety of Southern California, especially if the pay is good. How did she find him?
“How do you know?” Her eyes jump between him and the door. He gathers up his wallet and keys. A change of clothes and cash is all he needs. That’ll cover him until he lands on his feet. Shiloh smacks her palms on the counter to get his attention and repeats in a shrill voice, “How do you know?”
“I just do,” he snaps. She flinches, but he’s too worked up to apologize. “Assuming Ellis sent her because he didn’t know where you are, he’d hiresomeone by him in New Mexico. He’d also hire a PI, not a bounty hunter. They chase criminals. You have nothing to worry about.” Thoughhedoes.
He takes off down the hall.
She follows him to his room. “Why’s she here, then? Where are you going?” she asks when he shoves clothes into a duffel. He changes his shirt and yanks a lightweight jacket off a hanger.
“I take that back. She could be after you now.”