Page 5 of Chasing Paradise

My mother was right; my father had a lot of shady contacts all over the world. A former assassin turned outlaw biker—now a retired husband and father who had struck up a fondness for critiquing action/adventure books based on authenticity—he definitely would know the kind of shady people who would allow me to illegally drag someone back to the States to cash in on my bond.

“The question is,” I said, flipping through the file, “are you worth it?”

On the last page, I flipped to a copy of the skip.

Warwick Hughs.

He was surprisingly hot, as much as I hated to admit that. Six-three with dark hair, great bone structure, and bright green eyes. He could have easily been a model or one of those thirst-trap guys who made millions on social media.

But, nope, he decided to invest in some eco-resort company his uncle owned.

From what the SEC could tell, he’d sold the stocks directly ahead of the company’s IPO and made over thirty million.

And now, he was going to spend the next ten or fifteen years in jail. If I decided to track him down and make it happen.

I wasn’t all rah-rah about law and order, don’t get me wrong. How could I be, given my father’s profession? And that of all my uncles who also belonged to the same biker club?

But I did enjoy taking cocky, entitled criminals down a peg. Frat Guy, for example. And maybe this insider trading guy who might have left a bond agent out millions of dollars if he disappeared somewhere in South America.

True, I didn’t know his bond agent personally. But bail bondsmen and bounty hunters had a symbiotic relationship. Screwing one of them over at that grand a scale was an affront to all of us.

Fine, I was reaching.

As I scrolled Warwick’s social media, I had to admit the real reason I found myself even considering the job was some soul-deep desire to be the one to wipe that smug look off his face.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, knowing myself too well.

I was already too invested.

I wasn’t going to walk away just because it was going to be a difficult one.

Besides, maybe a little trip to the jungle would be refreshing after a week in dark little dive bars.

Decision made, I unzipped my duffle bag, checking to see what my mother had packed.

It looked like she had all the essentials covered: clothes, personal care supplies, extra cash, my passport, and right there on the top—my plane ticket.

She’d known from the moment I walked in that I would be taking the job.

I guess no one knew you better than your own mother.

Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I lifted the duffle and made my way out of the front door.

“Took you long enough.”

“Mom!” I yelped, turning to find her leaning against the front of the building. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you need a ride to the airport, don’t you?” she asked, bleeping the locks to the car parked on the street.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Kid, you have five hundred thousand reasons to do this.”

“I guess.”

“And not to mention, the pleasure of taking that cocky finance guy down a peg or two.”

“You know me too well.”

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