Sealing His Fate: Bayou Bounty Hunters, #2

By Melanie Atkins

Miranda Wyatt will do anything to find her children after her abusive ex-husband kidnaps them whisks them off to parts unknown. The cops won't help, because Harper comes off as a nice guy. A family man. He impressed the youth court judge with his fast talk, and the man gave him joint custody. So Miranda is forced to beg a private investigator to go after her kids.

Riley Magee started Bayou Bounty Hunters, Inc. because he likes helping people, but he isn't a law breaker. So when a distraught mother asks him to find her kidnapped kids but tells him her ex-husband has joint custody, he refuses to help. Then he learns Harper has abused her in the past and changes his mind… only to balk again when Miranda insists on going with him.

Time is running out. Miranda fears that Harper may take the kids out of the country, so when Riley refuses to help, she decides to go after them alone. A phone call from Miranda's terrified son causes Riley to change his mind again, as long as she promises to stay out of his way and let him do his job. To bring the children home safely, the two of them must forge a workable peace… a difficult, if not impossible, task.

     

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Atkins
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393614494

Book preview

Chapter One

"No. Freaking. Way. We are not helping a fence find stolen property. Riley Magee turned away from his brother and stormed into the office of Bayou Bounty Hunters, Inc., the fledgling investigative company he'd founded less than a year before. You can just forget it."

Hold on. Ryder stepped inside behind him and shut the door. BBH is in the red, right? We have to grab work wherever we can.

Maybe so, but we aren't doing anything illegal. Riley tossed his trademark Stetson hat onto the coat rack behind his desk and swung around to confront his brother and business partner. "So I have to ask... are you out of your ever loving mind? Do you want BBH to fail?"

Of course not.

Didn't think so. You know damned well that if we help Farrell find the tools and trailers, he'll only sell 'em back to their original owner, and that's a crime. You might not give a damn, but I don't want any part of his stupid scheme. Angered by the veiled amusement in his twin brother's eyes, Riley fisted his hands. Ryder might be younger by only six minutes, but sometimes he still acted like a dumb kid. I've told you a thousand times that we always—

Work inside the law? Yeah. You don't have to keep saying it. I'm not an— Ryder broke off and wagged his head. Sorry. Just thought we could use the cash, you know? Bills are piling up.

Wait a second. Have you been snooping through my desk?

Not on purpose. I was looking for a pen. His brother shrugged. It's not my fault you keep the bills in the same drawer.

Stay out of my stuff.

"Our stuff. But hey, man. No problem. Ryder lifted both hands in supplication. I was only trying to help."

That kind of help, I don't need. You, either. Riley dropped heavily into the worn leather chair behind his desk. "In case you don't recall, you used to be a cop—and not too long ago, I might add. You upheld the law. Why do you suddenly want to break it?"

"Come on, Riley. I don't want to do anything wrong, but I'm worried about you. About the business." Ryder lowered himself into one of two ancient metal folding chairs facing his brother's desk. You've been working too many hours, day and night, scraping the bottom of the barrel to scrounge up more cases, even going after those three hookers who—

"Hunting down dimwits who jump bail might not pay big bucks, but at least I've brought in a little dough. Ever since you hooked up with Gemma, you've hardly worked at all."

Hooked up? Ryder smirked. Naw, man. Gemma and I are in love. You know how it is with a new relationship. The woman can't keep her hands off me.

Give me a break. It's the other way around, and you know it. Secretly thrilled that his twin had found happiness, Riley smothered a smile. Ryder could be such a smug jackass sometimes. Besides, your relationship is far from new. You and Gemma were an item for an entire summer back in the day, as I recall.

True, but we wiped the slate clean to start over. It's good this time, man. Real good.

Well, I'm happy for you. With a rueful twist of his lips, Riley chuckled. At least one of us is getting some.

"You'd get laid, too, if you'd go out once in a while. All work and no play will get you absolutely nowhere, remember? No relaxation. No fun, and no women."

I'm doing all right.

Like heck you are. Ryder's perceptive gaze tore through Riley's carefully constructed happy-go-lucky façade. You're working your fingers to the bone and spending what's left of each night by yourself. And for what? Pennies? That's about all you get after scouring the streets looking for hookers who jump bail.

I'm doin' the best I can. The economy sucks, even when it comes to fugitive retrieval.

"Screw the economy. We need to do more advertising. In The Magnolia Ridge Ledger, and on radio and TV. His brother leaned forward. A few ugly divorce cases, and we're back in the black. You know as well as I do that trouble brews behind closed doors. Folks don't know about us. If they did, we'd have wives lined up around the block wanting us to tail their cheating husbands and nail their sorry asses to the wall."

How are we gonna advertise without any ready cash? Huh? Tell me that. Frustration seared a hole in Riley's chest. I've sold everything I can, except the Jeep, and I need it for work.

I'll sell my bike. Ryder shrugged again. "That should give us enough cash to put a print ad in next week's Ledger and do a thirty second spot during one of the late night talk shows. Might take a little more to add radio spots, too, but—"

You'd sell your new Harley?

The bike's a replacement. I bought it for a song, but it should still earn us a pretty penny.

You and Gemma put a lot of time and elbow grease into refurbishing that bike. Amazed by his brother's unexpected generosity, Riley shook his head. "She'll have your hide if you sell it, especially to bail my sorry ass out of hock."

Not if it helps save BBH. I work here, too, you know.

It's not necessary for you to—

Don't argue. Ryder pushed himself to his feet. I'll go down to the bike shop today and put up a sign. Shouldn't take more than a week or so to unload it this time of year. Summer's a good time to sell a bike. Once it's gone, we can buy some ads and get this show on the road.

I can't let you do that.

Just try and stop me, bro. His brother strode to the door and sealed the deal with a deliberate wave. See you after I put up the sign.

For Pete's sake, Ryder— Riley jumped up to intercept his twin.

By the time he stepped outside, Ryder sat astride the aforementioned bike with the engine rumbling, making it easy for him to ignore Riley's shouts for him to wait.

Ryder just shook his head, donned his helmet, and roared off down the road.

You're a full-fledged idiot, little brother. Dismay filled Riley's chest. He didn't want Ryder to sell the Harley he loved to save Bayou Bounty Hunters. He'd had a rough time last year after losing his job with Biloxi PD, even though reconnecting with Gemma had helped to rebuild his confidence. He needed to hang on to what little fortitude he had left.

Thinking hard, Riley stepped back inside and shut the door. Has to be another way.

*****

Bayou Bounty Hunters, Inc.

Private Investigation

Fugitive Retrieval

Skip Trace

Surveillance

The carved wooden sign nailed to the wall beside the door of the low-slung gray building told Miranda Gibson all she needed to know about the company she'd unearthed while researching private investigators online. She only hoped the men who worked here were as good as their reviewers claimed, because she desperately needed their help.

Was the strapping dark haired man who'd just roared away on a shiny silver Harley one of their sleuths? She hoped so. His muscular build and big hands told her he would be more than capable of taking on her spiteful ex-husband, as long as Harper didn't arm himself with a gun.

Miranda drew in a shaky breath and climbed out of her car into the muggy summer heat. The sun blinded her, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes so she could reread the sign.

She'd never visited a PI's office before, but maybe she should have consulted with one during her divorce. An investigation into her ex-husband's affairs would have given her a lot more ammunition. If she had been able to prove Harper had hit her, the judge might not have given him joint custody of Audrey and Sam. The recollection of the ugly gleam in her ex-husband's eyes the day they'd faced off in court churned her stomach.

She wiped a layer of sweat from her brow, sucked in another deep breath, and ordered herself to calm down. Getting upset won't help you get the kids back.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She dashed away the unwanted moisture, steeled herself to the reality of her situation, and opened the door. A bell jingled above her head.

She braced herself to meet a smartly-dressed private investigator face-to-face, but the office was empty. The cramped space contained only two cluttered desks, a few battered folding chairs, and a wall rack topped by a lone Stetson hat. Miranda was tempted to bolt, but the enticing aroma of fresh coffee wafting from an opening behind one of the desks urged her to step inside and close the door. Her mouth watered. She'd skipped breakfast in her hurry to make contact with the man she hoped would find her children, and that had obviously been a mistake.

H-hello? Miranda filled her lungs with the heavenly scent.

A shadow preceded the tall, broad shouldered man in jeans who strode out of the back room carrying a dish towel and a mug filled with what Miranda presumed was the coveted coffee. She met his piercing blue eyes and the resultant jolt of recognition startled her. He looked exactly like the man who'd just roared away on the motorcycle. He couldn't be here and on the bike, so she decided the two of them must be related. Either that, or she was losing her grip on reality.

Well, hello. The man's deep baritone sent a fresh shiver skittering over Miranda's skin. A shiver that had nothing at all to do with the stream of cold air blasting from the vent overhead. He set the mug on the desk, dried his big hands on the dish towel, and looped it over the hat rack. Only then did he turn to face her. I'm Riley Magee, co-owner of BBH. May I help you?

Um, I hope so. Her heart thumped. I-I mean... I need some help.

You're looking for a private investigator?

Yes. Someone who won't go to the police.

Oh? Why's that? He raked his cool gaze over her from shoulders to knees before lowering himself into the worn leather chair behind his desk. Are you in trouble with the law?

No. I'm not a criminal. Heat suffused her face. To anchor herself, she gripped her purse strap in one tight fist and stared him down. I-I need you to find my kids. They spent the weekend with my ex-husband, and he was supposed to bring them home yesterday at six. Only—

He didn't.

Exactly. A fresh wave of terror splashed over Miranda as she recalled the horror of calling Harper repeatedly, with no response. "Later, I drove to his house—he lives in Biloxi—but no one was home. He's gone. They're gone. He took my children. Audrey and Sam."

Have you tried contacting him today? The PI's stoic expression helped to quiet Miranda's jangling nerves, but his dumb question irked her. Before she could bark a response, however, he backtracked. Of course you have. So... you're saying he kidnapped them?

Yes, Harper took my babies, she whispered, the ice cold certainty of her situation bringing tears to her eyes. Suddenly lightheaded, she released her punishing grip on her purse and latched onto the back of one of the folding chairs. Her knees threatened to buckle, and more tears sprang to her eyes. She prayed the chair would hold her up. I-I have no idea where he might've taken them. He has a boat, so he can pretty much go anywhere. I only—

"You said babies. How old are your children? the PI broke in, the growing concern in his gaze helping her to feel a little better. Infants? Toddlers?"

No, not that young. She leaned heavily on the chair. "Audrey's eight, and Sam is four. I said babies because they're my children. They're all I have."

I understand. Mr. Magee nodded and jotted a few notes onto a legal pad. Having the basics helps. Why don't you have a seat? You've had a rough couple of days.

That's the understatement of the year. She released her stranglehold on the chair, gratefully sank down onto it, and dropped her purse on the floor. Relief at being off her feet stole through her quaking muscles. She hadn't slept at all the night before. No wonder she could hardly stay on her feet. She dashed the tears from her eyes and struggled to corral her rioting emotions.

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. Would you like some coffee?

Yes, but... She dropped her gaze to his steaming cup and forced herself to focus on Audrey and Sam, not her own comfort. Maybe later.

Okay. Business first, then. Have you ever used a PI before?

No, but I probably should have. My divorce wasn't pretty.

You and... what's his name? Harmon?

Harper.

"Okay, Harper." The PI made another swift notation on his pad. I take it you and he didn't part amicably.

That's right. A plethora of bad memories assaulted Miranda. She swallowed, hard. He... he was abusive. One day, I took the kids to a friend's house to get away from him, but he found us and ordered us to go home. I threatened to leave the state, so he got a judge, a friend of his, to issue a court order preventing me from taking Sam and Audrey out of Mississippi. I didn't dare leave without them, so stayed. Our lives have been hell ever since.

You couldn't have left him to secure your own safety and come back later for the kids?

No. She squared her shoulders and dared him to challenge her. "They're my children. My own flesh and blood. I wasn't about to leave them with him."

Did he ever hurt Sam and Audrey?

Not that I'm aware—I'll have to give him that—but he yelled at them quite a bit. I was afraid that someday, sucker punching me wouldn't be enough for him, and he'd turn on them. She sniffled. I-I had to get out them of there. I couldn't take it anymore. The fear ate me alive.

So you did finally leave him.

Yes. With the help of another friend, I got an attorney and filed for divorce. She rubbed her hands together. The same day, the kids and I moved out. I got a restraining order against Harper, and my attorney made sure I had protection. Harper still made our lives miserable. Calling and hanging up, sitting in his car just far enough away that I couldn't do anything about it. Glaring at me across the courtroom. He also did his best to alienate the kids. Even with the way he acted in court, the judge allowed him visitation. And now—

He's taken them.

Yes. Trembling with hope and anticipation, she squirmed to the edge of her seat. Will you please help me? Will you and your men find my babies and bring them home?

We'll do our best, ma'am. The PI opened a drawer and took out a form. I'll need to get a little more information from you first, so I can get you into the computer.

Who'll handle my case? Relieved, she wiped her eyes again. You, or one of your men?

I'll take point on your case. He twisted his lips in a rueful smile. Right now, it's just my brother and me. Well, us and a few men we use on a contract basis.

Oh, I see. Surprised and disappointed, she wrinkled her brow. Maybe coming to Bayou Bounty Hunters, Inc. had been a mistake. The info on their website had led her to believe the company was much larger. How could two men possibly track down Harper and rescue her kids?

The PI must have sensed her discomfort, because he fixed her with another hard stare. We can find your children, ma'am. I assure you of that.

But you're only one man, and you just said it's only you and your brother. The words spewed out before Miranda could stop them. Harper's dangerous. I don't see how you can possibly—

The ringing of his desk phone cut her off. He glared at it but didn't pick up. Instead, he zeroed in on her. We can do the job, Ms...

Gibson. Miranda Gibson. She bit her lip and jerked her hand toward the shrilling device. "Don't you want to answer that?'

Not right now. He scowled. Like I said... we can handle your ex-husband.

Are you sure? He's former military. A real bastard.

So am I. Mr. Magee pinned her to the chair with his brittle blue gaze. The phone finally stopped ringing, leaving behind blessed silence that accentuated his gruff growl. Two tours in Iraq. Special Forces. My brother has a background in law enforcement.

Wow. Harper only did one tour in Afghanistan. Regular Army. Miranda gulped back her misgivings. In his worn blue jeans and with his tousled mop of hair, the PI didn't look much like an ex-military man, but the muscles straining his crisp white button down told her he should be more than capable of handling her ex. If he and his brother could find Harper in the first place. He could already be a long way from Mississippi. "I-I guess you can handle him."

I appreciate your change of heart. He grabbed his pen off the blotter and held it poised over the form. All right. What's your address?

Excuse me? His abrupt change of topic unnerved her.

Mr. Magee glanced up. "I need your address and other information for our