Page 14 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

Ever have that lighter-than-air feeling when you find something valuable after looking all day and turning over everything in your house? This is how I feel right now, except I’m not lighter than air. I’m halfway to the moon.

It’s her.

My body follows like it’s tethered to her as she heads around the corner. Her hair is down, and it falls in waves to her waistline like a coppery waterfall. I’ve never seen so much hair.

I’m about to call after her when a man steps in front of me, nearly body-checking me as he follows her around to the next aisle. He has the look that’s all too common these days in our friendly cow town. Bitch-baby face. Pressed khaki pants. Hiking shoes. Untucked black polo shirt with the tell-tale bump on his hip from his concealed-carry holster. He smells like fragile masculinity—cologne and an unwashed tiny ballsack.

The dude in the polo shirt follows Georgie at close range, so I follow them at about 15 paces.

She pauses in front of a row of notebooks in the office section. My heart may beat out of my chest at seeing her delicate fingers grazing over the cardboard and leather covers. Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

I watch as her hand skims over the books, stopping at one light blue one with flowers and whatnot on the cover. Then another one with rainbows. She is indecisive, and the man with her, who looks like he might be related to her, grows impatient.

Finally, she picks the one with flowers and whatnot, and they leave. I quickly grab the other book she was looking at, the one with the rainbows. I zip through the self-checkout.

Just as they approach the automatic doors, I pounce. “Ma’am? I’m going to have to check your bag.”

The man steps in between myself and her. I briefly flash him my ID for half a second, which is only my driver’s license, but I have the confidence to carry it off.

“No, sir,” he says.

“Store security,” I say. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw you take something without paying for it.”

“This is horse crap,” says the dad. Damn, the dude even swears like a dork ass loser.

“Dad, it’s okay,” Georgie says calmly though her hands are shaking.

I come in close, placing myself between her and her father. The exit doors open and close chaotically as we stand in the vestibule. She opens her bag and I drop the journal I bought inside.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to come with me to the security office for questioning,” I say.

“Okay,” she says, her big eyes wide with fear. God, she’s so pale. Her cheeks are sunken. I have to fight the urge to pick her up and carry her. Am I doing the right thing?

The dad puts his hand on Georgie’s arm. “Absolutely not,” he says.

“I think I’d better go with him, Dad. I made a huge mistake.”

“I’m calling our lawyer.”

Great. They have lawyers now.

I turn and face the man. “Sir, if you’ll be so kind as to wait here while I interview the young lady. This should only take a few minutes.”

I gesture to a bench inside the loud vestibule, near the store greeter. To my surprise and relief, he grudgingly takes a seat.

I walk with Georgie to the meat department and stroll through the employees-only doors, through the stock room, and out to the store pick-up area.

Miraculously, no one follows us or asks a single question. It’s amazing what you can do when you act like you own a place.

I escort Georgie to where Sonja waits for us and smoothly hold the door open for her as she gets in. Her face is that of someone about to go into shock.

As I slide behind the wheel, I watch her fumble with her seat belt. Carefully, I reach over and take control of the situation.

For the first time in 31 days, she looks me dead in the eyes.

My world has changed forever now that I have her. I let go of the seat belt. I just need a moment.

She begins to shake all over.

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