Page 2 of Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Katrina Dobbs wasn’t just beautiful, she was a dangerous type of pretty, the sort of gorgeous that made men launch armadas and write terrible poetry. Or go to war.

Fuck you, cousin John.

CHAPTER 2

Katrina

“Look, I know I shouldn’t be saying this at a first interview.” But what other choice had Pete left me? “I really appreciate everything, and I understand if you don’t want to hire me because of it, but is there any possible way I could be paid in cash?” I didn’t even have the strength to feign a smile or a giggle to lighten the request. Desperation did that to a person.

Across her mahogany desk, minimally outfitted with a computer, mouse, and a sparkling crystal glass of ice water, Clara Dryden arched one perfectly-tweezed brow. I tugged the ends of my shaggy hair, well aware of the massive chasm of differences between us.

She tapped one long, French-tipped fingernail on the wood of her desk. “This is highly irregular, Ms. Valdez.” She pushed back slightly in her ergonomic chair and opened a drawer. “Our accounting office is very thorough. They’ll notice any discrepancies.”

She kept her ice-blue gaze on the drawer, which was a relief. I relaxed a centimeter in my chair and wrapped my cardigan around me. “I understand.” Don’t explain, my mother had told me before dropping me off at Serenity Bay for my interview. Keep your head up.

I straightened my back, pulling my shoulders together. The strain felt unusual after so many years of cowering, but good. Strong. No more hunching.

“As do I.” Clara sat up, an envelope in her porcelain hand. She pushed it across the desk toward me. “You’re hired, on two very specific conditions. One is that you will come to this office, and only this office, once a week for your pay. Two is that you tell absolutely no one in town that I am doing this for you.” Her expression barely changed as she steepled her hands on her desk. Everything about Clara Dryden screamed privilege, from her too-perfect magazine-cover-worthy blonde blowout to her pristine white sheath dress.

I was in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth. I took the envelope and slipped it into my beat up old canvas messenger bag. “Why don’t you want anyone to know the good you do?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “People expect certain things of me and my position. I’ve found fear to be an excellent motivator.”

That rang true deep in my core.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Question of the year. I knew it wasn’t the best idea to return to my hometown, but, well, desperation.

“I only came in here to apply for the landscaping position.” Technically, it was a job cutting topiary into various shapes based on the seasons. Foxes and rabbits and other grassy wildlife, predators and prey strangely united for once. I promised myself I would not make them creepy.

“I’m well aware. But you must need a place to stay. Your parents’ house is convenient, but people will look for you there.” She didn’t frame it as a question.

Yes, was the sad truth. Coming back to St. Olaf had been a reflex, an aching need to be filled, but it was not safe here, and I knew that. I couldn’t drag my wonderful, loving parents into the pit with me.

Still, I picked my head up and stared at this woman who was giving me everything. “I’ll figure it out.”

Clara scoffed, pulled open another drawer, and tossed me a worn-looking key attached to a plain brass ring. “We have a small cabin on Elk View. It’s not much, but it’s habitable. At least for a few days while you figure out your next steps.” She sighed, as though this conversation bored her. How many times a day must she have this conversation to be boring? Maybe I was glad I wasn’t Clara Dryden. “You may start today. The topiary near the lakeside labyrinth is shabby. The last landscaper did a terrible job. You’ll find all the tools in the garden shed behind the conference center.” She handed me another, much nicer looking key. “Do you need someone to show you around?”

“No, thank you.” My parents had worked at the lakeside resort since it had opened, my father as head chef and my mom as a concierge. I clutched the two keys in one hand, my golden-brown knuckles turning white. “Thank you so much, Ms. Dryden. I can’t tell you what this means to me and my family.”

Clara’s expression again did not change. She glanced down at my application and her fingernail paused beside the number for the burner phone I had in my purse. “I’ll text you the address in Elk View. Welcome to the Serenity Bay family, Ms. Valdez.”

I worked steadily for the next three hours, losing myself in the contrasting pleasures of warmth in my muscles and chill in the air. The pruners were not nearly as heavy as I remembered from high school, when I had worked for a landscaper until Pete told me he “didn’t want his girl working blue collar.”

Hah. Which of the two of us had graduated college? Which of the two of us held down a job for more than a week? Which of the two of us—

Okay, there were many good reasons I never should have married my high school boyfriend. Never trust instant attraction, that was my motto. Now, anyway.

Darkness fell quickly during a Wisconsin February, and before I knew it, I could barely see the shapes of the snow leopard I was crafting by the lakeside labyrinth. The path had been swept mostly clean of snow, except for the drifts that had wafted across it during the afternoon. It was a beautiful walk, lined with dark-colored river stones that stood in sharp contrast to the white of the snow.

I stowed the pruners in the garden shed and removed my hat, letting my scalp breathe for the first time in hours. My sweaty skin itched something fierce after working for so long under such thick wool.

Holding my car key between my second and third fingers, I walked toward the car I’d bought for eight hundred dollars cash in Appleton. Had it used up the bulk of my savings and yet looked like I’d made it myself out of cardboard boxes? Yes. Did I care? No. St. Olaf wasn’t exactly a bustling hub of public transportation.

“Katrina Dobbs?” A low, masculine voice behind me said. It was thick and muffled, unrecognizable. Every hair on my body stood to attention. Safety was an illusion, after all. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I saw a tall man in a dark-colored puffer jacket, advancing toward me. A stranger, someone who shouldn’t know my name but did.

---