Page 1 of Fugitive Flirtation

1

“Okay, guys, let’s get this show on the road.”

Ice drops a bunch of folders on the conference table. Some of us frown at the sight. He’s old school, resisting going all digital.

As if reading our minds, he frowns and grumbles, “Y’all can store your info in your cloud if you want. I’ll stick with the reliable stuff: a notebook and my memory.”

Cobra looks at me and winks. Ice’s memory ain’t what it used to be anymore but that’s fine; when he hits the streets, he still rocks. And most importantly, he’s still the unchallenged president of the Iron Tornadoes. He’s turned the MC into a very profitable enterprise. Mostly legit businesses too.

Ice will deny it, but many say that’s because of the influence of his wife, Lisa. Before I joined, she was our local DA for a bit. I guess it would have made for interesting dinner conversation if she’d had to prosecute him or one of his guys. But it’s no longer an issue. Years ago, she opened her own shop. Her firm has a big criminal law practice and yet, our orders are to do our best not to give her any extra work.

“Soooo…” He scratches his head and laughs. “Looks like it’s ladies’ week. Actually…”

“Yep, you’re right. Most of those gals are no ladies,” Sally confirms.

She runs the PI agency with Ice and Whizz. Those three have been business partners forever. I don’t know which one of them came up with the idea of adding bounty hunting to our activities, but it doesn’t matter since they’re all on board now.

“You’re sending us out to hunt fucking broads?” Falcon protests.

“Yep!” Ice seems so happy with himself, it’s annoying.

Why? Because I’m worried. I have a thousand questions about the new bond place we’re working with. They sure have a fancy name: “Hunter’s Guild: Elite Bounty Services,” and it seems they’ve been around for a while. I’m sure the bosses checked them out, so it should all be above board. But still, I don’t like change.

“Yours is a doozie, Falcon. A high roller, a con artist. Look at that angel face. Any Hollywood producer wouldn’t think twice about casting her as a choir girl.” Ice tosses the file across the conference table. “But guess what—she ran away with the collection basket.”

Falcon opens the folder. On one side, there’s the summary sheet with all deets the bond place has about the case; on the other, a stapled picture of the woman he needs to find.

Hell, it’s true, she does look angelic!

“Ace,” Ice calls out. “Don’t be jealous. Your gal’s cute too, and she does look like a sexy lady.”

I catch the thin folder he sends flying to my end of the table.

John Hunter’s team obviously wasn’t able to get much on her: a one-page summary about the case and the mug shots. A quick check confirms I have all the intel I need to start digging.

While Ice continues his distribution, I tune him out and study my prey. Alicia Floyd, thirty years old, chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, big brown eyes, pouty lips. In the pictures, she’s got no makeup. She’s cute in a girl-next-door way. The type that doesn’t stop traffic but grows on you. Though, I could be getting ahead of myself, maybe—all made up and with her hair flowing around her face, she could be spectacular.

But I know better than to get distracted by a pretty face. I’m a pro.

The summary of the case is succinct: she was a high-ranking executive in a big family-owned real estate business in Miami. She took advantage of her position to skim money from her employer. And we’re talking real money here, more than a million dollars over a six-month period. Good job, girl! And if not for a tax audit, looks like she would have gotten away with it too. This may be the first time in history a taxpayer will be able to thank the good old IRS for checking their books!

“Okay, don’t screw this up,” Ice growls, getting up from his chair. “The guys behind the Hunter’s Guild are now the most active bondsmen in Florida. They’re sitting on a fucking gold mine, and to get access, we need to show them we’re the best around.”

“We’re on it, boss,” Cobra calls after him as Ice and Sally leave the room.

My buddy comes to sit next to me with his folder and his laptop. I pull my machine out from my backpack, and while it boots, I ask, “What did you get?”

“A twofer.” He opens his thick folder and slides it over.

It takes me a few seconds to process what I see, but I finally get it. “Twins!”

“They look so much alike the cops took a picture of the two of them together so people wouldn’t think he had processed the same woman twice.”

“What’s the crime?”

“I haven’t looked yet. What’s yours?.”

“Embezzlement or whatever it’s called when you confuse your boss’s money with yours. It shouldn’t be hard. I’m willing to bet dollars to pennies, I’ll get her in two days max.”

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