Finder Fees (A TroubleMaker Novel)

By Kelly Gendron

“When you find her, there are a few things you need to remember. She’s smart and manipulative. She knows how to protect herself. She’s beautiful and she’ll use it to her advantage. But, Mr. Renton, the most important thing to remember... is that she’s mine.”

J.T. Renton is worth millions. He wants for nothing. When he finds Sloan Mathis, he has to have her. Problem is she belongs to another, and J.T.’s not about taking another guy’s girl. But the idea that he can’t have her. Well, it just makes the challenge driven, J.T. Renton want his latest find that much more.

Finder Fees ~ A TroubleMaker Novel
J.T. Renton is what you might call a Finder. But the one thing this former bounty hunter no longer finds is people. That is until he’s offered a finder fee he just can’t resist. What J.T. doesn’t know is his latest find comes with a hidden fee, one that could end up costing J.T. his well-guarded heart.

Sloan Mathis is on the run from her dangerous ex. So when she encounters J.T. Renton, it takes her a second to realize the arrogant, sexy, and oh-so-frustrating Finder has actually mistaken Sloan for her twin sister. And to uncover what’s going on with her gone missing sister, Sloan lets J.T. believe that he’s found what he’s been looking for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Gendron
• Release date: Oct 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311724366

Kelly Gendron

USA Today Bestselling Author, Kelly Gendron is best found tucked away in a quiet suburb in upstate NY writing her steamy, blush producing contemporary romances. But, when she’s not creating HEA stories, you might find her helping out her hubby in his workshop. He’s good with his hands and great with wood! If you Google Kelly, she’ll pop up there as well. And please google her. Kelly loves to hear from her readers and to meet new people!

Book preview

Finder Fees

(A TroubleMaker Novel)

______________________________

Finder Fees

A TroubleMaker Novel

Published by Kelly Gendron

Copyright © 2014 Kelly Gendron

All rights reserved

Edited by: Autumn Conley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

Prologue

When you find her, there are a few things you need to remember. She’s smart and manipulative. She knows how to protect herself. She’s beautiful, and she’ll use it to her advantage. But, Mr. Renton, the most important thing to remember is that she’s mine.

I evaluate the well-groomed, competent-looking agent, then slowly smile. I get it. His woman is off limits. I’m sure I’ll have no problem remembering that or finding her, Mr. Cole, but when I deliver, you had better hold up your end of the bargain.

Yes. He reaches forward, pulls a picture from the folder on his desk, and hands it to me. I’ll tell you who might be in possession of the bracelet you’ve been searching for.

I inspect the photo and can’t deny the striking resemblance. To this day, it’s the most important thing I’ve been unable to find, and Jack Cole must know it. Sure, I promised myself I’d never hunt anyone down again, but I wouldn’t be entertaining the idea of finding the woman had Jack Cole not baited me with that damn bracelet.

Mr. Cole… I drag my eyes from the photo to the agent. Tell me, why don’t you just go after her yourself?

Jack sighs and drops back in his chair. She did this a few weeks back, just took off. Of course I went after her, and I found her at her cousin’s wedding. My hope is that she’s with her family again. They mean a great deal to her. Crossing his arms over his chest, his dark gray eyes settle on me. We’re on an assignment together. One of us needs to be here, but I can’t get into all that. I just need her back. People are starting to get suspicious. He scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven chin. I’ve heard a great deal about you. I know the government’s contracted you a few times, and I heard you’re a retired bounty hunter, one of the best damn trackers of all time. I gotta be honest though. I did have my doubts about getting you to help me on this. He releases a gruff chuckle. God knows you don’t need the damn money. Then I remembered seeing that bracelet, the one you’re looking for. I thought about contacting you earlier, but at the time…well, it really wasn’t high on my list of priorities. But now? What do ya know? He grins. Now, it’s all worked out, Mr. Renton, and here you are.

Yeah, what do ya fucking know? Here I am. I grin. The guy has me by the balls, and he fucking knows it.

Jack sets his forearms on the desk, clasps his hands together, and studies me for a few uncomfortable seconds. She’s very important to me, he finally says, and to the assignment. I need her back by Friday. He slides a folder across the desk. Here. Inside, you’ll find a picture of her, the location of the recent calls made from her cell, and her name is Max. Other than that, you’re on your own. I can’t jeopardize her true identity, as she’s an undercover agent. I also can’t let the government know she’s gone AWOL…again. She could lose her job.

I pick up the folder and open it. I can’t be certain, but I think my steady heartbeat might’ve just paused for a split second. I don’t really prefer blondes, but she somehow steals my breath away. And for some strange reason, all I can think about while gazing down at those beautiful, captivating, violet eyes are Jack Cole’s damned words: Mr. Renton, the most important thing to remember is that she’s mine.

Chapter one

I exit the elevator and head toward Suite 403. Finding the room, I cringe as I imagine what lies behind the door. Most of my clients tend to be overweight, rich, pompous asses.

If I didn’t need the money, I wouldn’t have taken the job, but rent’s due, and working at Lucky’s tattoo shop just isn’t cutting it. If Lucky weren’t my cousin, I would’ve asked him for a raise weeks ago. Then again, if I hadn’t left Aunt Lulu’s inheritance check, along with all my other personal belongings, back in Salt Lake City, I wouldn’t have any money problems to begin with.

Rapping my knuckles on the door, I turn to smile at a passing maid. The swoosh of the door, and the masculine scent that follows pulls my head back. Unforgettable blue eyes, accented by long black lashes, are the first thing I see, then strong cheekbones, a squared chin, and a set of sensual lips—lonely lips in some dire need of a little company.

My insides tighten, and damn it to all hell, there it is instant attraction, the crazy, love-at-first-sight kind. Having witnessed love only a few times in my lifetime, as a bystander at that, I know all that shit is close to nonexistent. Blinking, I try to zap some sense back into my gone-astray head. Still, face encased by dark, thick hair with a slight curl to it, there he stands, the definition of my perfect man.

Pulling my fallen bag back up my shoulder, I make contact with those dark blue, come-and-get-me eyes. Mr. Renton?

Sloan, I presume, he returns with a confident, easy smile. Come in. He takes a step back. And please call me ‘J.T.’

Shit! The guy’s voice is even all come-hithery. A shiver of eagerness and hotness ripples up my spine as I enter the room, a luxury suite far bigger than my shitty apartment. Familiar with the upscale hotel from previous jobs, I know the bed is in a separate room.

My hot new client must have mad quid. Not only is there a fireplace, but the damn room comes with a bar. After he closes the door, that’s where he walks, and that thigh-clenching aroma lingering in the air intensifies with each deliberate step he takes. And me, I’m watching attentively as he takes each one.

Would you like a drink? He lifts the glass whiskey decanter to pour himself one.

Trailing my eyes over his broad shoulders, back, and narrow waist, my mouth starts to water, but I’m not thirsty for liquor. I’m used to guys in tats, t’s, and jeans at Lucky’s shop—guys like Trent Skinner, who frequent The InkWell. But this physically fit, pompous ass, somehow pulls off debonair while still managing to look downright beastly. His dark dress slacks take nothing away from his fine-looking ass. Makes it difficult to ignore that in a few minutes, his rampant body will be naked, and my hands will be all over him.

No, thanks, I murmur.

Regardless of my response, he proceeds to pour a second drink.

Both glasses in hand, he turns to me with another dimple-dashing smile. Please come and sit down. He sets one glass on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then settles into the adjacent chair.

Rule number one: Never fraternize with the client. Nonetheless, determined eyes pull me to him. If nothing else, I’ll set his fine-looking ass straight. I drop my bag on the cushion, and my ass hits the sofa. I cross my legs, straighten my back, and match his penetrating stare. "Just to be clear, Mr. Renton, I’m a certified massage therapist, and I don’t offer any kind of extra services."

The side of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile. "I’m pleased to hear that, but to be honest, I didn’t call you here for any extra services…or even for a massage, for that matter."

You didn’t?

He sets his glass on the table, places his forearms on his thighs, and leans forward. No.

My heartbeat quickens. "Then why did you call me here?"

Ignoring my question, his eyes slither to my bag. Do you have a gun in there?

Why? Eyes trained on him, I reach for my bag and slowly drag it onto my lap.

Please take it out, he graciously requests.

I’m not an idiot. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, I do what the guy says. I reach in, grip the metal, and pull out the semiautomatic pistol my twin sister gave to me five years ago, on our twenty-second birthday.

Now, you have a choice. You can either hold it in your lap or aim it at me. It really makes no difference to me.

My eyes dart around the room as my sweaty fingers tighten around the gun. What the hell is going on here? When he doesn’t answer, I refuse to freak out. "Wait. Am I on Punk’d or something? I raise an eyebrow and glance at the bedroom, emitting a nervous laugh. Aware the notion of some hidden-camera TV show is ridiculous, but making a joke seems better than screaming my fool head off. Is Ashton Kutcher gonna come out from behind that door? Is that it?" I choke out, with another weak giggle.

No. A low chuckle rumbles from the guy. It’s an attractive sound. Still, it doesn’t ease my anxiety. But when I tell you why you’re really here, I need to be sure you’ll stick around long enough to hear me out. The only way that’s gonna happen is if you feel safe. So tell me, do you feel safe?

No! Yes. Fuck! I squeeze the gun, trying to remember if the safety is on or not. Damn it! Why can’t I remember? Probably ‘cause I never thought I’d ever need to use it.

Good. He remains perfectly calm, stellar cool, and so freaking relaxed. Allow me to explain who I am. His smiling eyes go all serious. I’m what you might call a finder. People hire me to find lost documents, artifacts, antiques—anything, really. I normally refuse to find people, but the man who hired me to find you… He clasps his hands together between open legs. Well, the finder fee he offered was something I just couldn’t resist, an offer I can’t refuse.

The only person I’m running from, the only person who would be looking for me, is Billy. And if my piece-of-shit ex hired this fine-looking finder to indeed find me, then I’m a dead woman. I raise the gun and aim it at the man.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his smile returns. And the guy remains completely calm, very cool, and so annoyingly collected. Now, now, his eyes steady. Let me finish before you run for the door. Jack wants you back. He settles into the chair, sliding his hands over thick, muscular thighs. And I know who you really are. His eyelids lower. Max.

My head jerks back. Holy shit! Billy didn’t send him. This asshole thinks I’m Max!

Since we were kids, no one has mistaken me for my identical twin. I’ve made damn sure of it. It isn’t that I don’t totally adore my sister. I do, but besides our looks, we’re different in so many ways, and I remind people of that every chance I get. Max is a committed secret government agent. Me, I don’t do too well with the whole commitment thing. I’m more of a come-and-go-as-I-please kind of girl.

The last time I saw Max was at our cousin’s wedding a few weeks earlier. We were both there to witness Sissy tying the knot—or the noose, if you ask me. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard from Max since then. And it isn’t like her not to at least call once a week. Realizing this forces me to remain seated with the gun pointed at the Finder Guy.

Jack said to tell you it’s time to return to your assignment. He glares at me from cloaked eyes.

In spite of his glare, I hold my tongue. If Max is in trouble, I need to do as he says and hear him out before I make a mad dash for the door.

Being away has compromised your assignment, and I’m sure you know what could happen if you don’t return ASAP. People could get hurt. Good people. Nevertheless, I won’t force you to come with me. He leans forward, lifts his glass, and tosses back the rest of the whiskey. The choice is yours. However, he says, pausing to rotate his drink in his hand, if you decide not to come with me, I’ll have no other choice but to expose you. His eyes shift from the glass back to me. I’ll compromise your assignment, and by the time I get through with you, everyone will know who you are. You’ll never work as an undercover agent again.

For all his curt politeness and charming smiles, my sexy new client suddenly turned into a cutthroat bastard. He threatened Max and everything she’s worked so hard for, all those disciplined years of training. I can’t let him jeopardize that. But if I want to find out what’s going on with my sister, I may have to go with this bastard. I might have to go back to this Jack, whoever the hell that is, because Max hasn’t breathed a word about him to me.

Finder Guy rises, and I gotta crane my neck back to follow him with the gun.

You need to make a decision. With his glass held loosely in the tips of his fingers, at his side, he makes his way to the bar. You either walk out that door right now or agree to come with me. With his back to me, he lifts the top from the decanter and pours himself another drink. If you opt for the latter, you’ll need to surrender your gun and phone. That will be my proof that you’re committed to your decision.

And there it is. Not only does this bastard want me to give up my phone and gun, but he wants a damn commitment from me too. Can I do it for Max? Commit to this asshole, surrender all my defenses? I have to. Max hasn’t returned the last two messages I left her. Deep in my gut, I sensed something was wrong, but I managed to ignore that nagging feeling till now. There’s really nothing to decide here. I’d do anything for my sister. I lower the gun onto the table, pull out my phone, lock it, then set that on the table too.

J.T. turns and glances at the table before he walks over to me. He leans forward and, with one finger, slides the glass of whiskey in front of me. Bet you could use that drink now.

Screw you. I pick up the glass and, in one throat-burning gulp, down the whiskey.

A small smile dangles on the end of his lips as he reaches for my phone and gun.

I wipe a dribble of liquor from my bottom lip. It’s locked. I smirk.

Of course. No matter, though, as I’m not the least bit interested with what’s in your phone. I don’t care to know anything personal about you, Max. My main objective is to get you back to your boyfriend. Only then will I get what I want, what’s owed to me.

Yeah? And just what is it that you want? What’s, uh…Jack willing to pay for my return? What’s your damn finder fee?

He gazes down at me for a second, and then his little smile grows.

Chapter Two

Two days. That’s how long I’ve had to watch this damn woman from afar. During my surveillance, I learned a lot. First, when her car doesn’t start, she thinks two swift kicks to the front tire will help. Where she has a hard foot, though, she also has a soft heart. When she passed by some homeless guy a couple doors down from the tattoo shop she frequents, she handed the bum a few bucks. She also has a sweet tooth. Each day at around five o’clock, she leaves the tat parlor and walks to the local coffee shop. On her way back, she stops and stares into the window of the bakery, until finally surrendering and going in for a pastry.

And that smile! I swear, it’s so fucking infectious. Whenever she shoots it at anyone, they can’t help but reciprocate.

Now, with her so close to me, my predictions are confirmed. I want her. And I want to see that smile too.

Every inch of her is exquisite, from her flawless, porcelain skin to those peculiar, violet eyes. It doesn’t matter that she’s nearly a foot shorter than I am,