Present Day

  Chapter One

  A Big Mistake

  The shrill chime of a digital alarm clock shattered the peace of morning, dragging twenty-five-year-old Haley Lonnigan from the last flickers of a dream too perfect to be real. She reached blindly toward the cedar nightstand beside her king-size bed, silenced the alarm with a smack of her hand, and exhaled.

  Ten more blissful minutes passed in silence. Then the second round began.

  With a groan, she sat up, swung her legs over the edge of her bed, and let her feet thud softly onto the floor. She glanced at the bright red numbers: 7:40 a.m.

  Haley made the bed—on both sides. Joe never bothered, and at this point, she didn’t expect him to. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure what she saw in him anymore. Something about him had caught her attention once—but now? She still felt something for him, sure. But it was getting harder to remember what.

  She paused in front of the mirror.

  With a groan, she sat up, swung her legs over the edge of her bed, and let her feet thud softly onto the floor. She glanced at the bright red numbers: 7:40 a.m.

  Haley made the bed—on both sides. Joe never bothered, and at this point, she didn’t expect him to. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure what she saw in him anymore. Something about him had caught her attention once—but now? She still felt something for him, sure. But it was getting harder to remember what.

  She paused in front of the mirror.

  Fiery red hair fell just past her shoulder blades, brushed but wild in its natural waves. Her bright green eyes stared back at her with unyielding intensity. Haley didn’t try to look seductive. She didn’t have to. Her poise, her figure, the quiet confidence in her walk—all of it turned heads without effort. She had natural beauty, but she chose to be remembered by something more meaningful. As such, it often came as a surprise that she was a bounty hunter.

  She worked for Certified Bounty Hunters—CBH for short—a top-tier firm headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia. In thirty years, the company had earned a near-mythical reputation for closing federal cases no one else could touch. If a fugitive ran, CBH chased. And caught. Ninety-nine percent of the time.

  Haley had joined at twenty, thanks to the guidance of someone she trusted deeply, a veteran hunter who saw something rare in her. In five years, she’d never botched a single recovery. CBH knew talent when they saw it. Haley wasn’t just good. She was elite, despite not having an intimidating physical stature.

  After dressing in her usual black skirt, white silk blouse, and jacket slung over her arm, she headed to the bathroom for her usual makeup routine and quick brush-through. Hair down, always. She liked how it softened the steel in her presence.

  She made her way into the kitchen, brewed a cup of coffee, adding her usual sugar, then took a seat at the table. For several minutes, she sat in silence, watching the clock on the wall tick slowly toward eight-thirty.

  When she got up to pour a second cup, her phone rang. She’d barely heard it because she forgot to grab it from her nightstand. She bolted from the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Haley, this is Johnson,” said a familiar, gravel-tinged voice.

  A flicker of tension passed through her. The caller was Johnson, the Director of Operations at CBH. Haley’s stomach churned a bit. It was very rare that Johnson would call a field agent directly. Normally, mission communications went through her field lead, Chief Lynden. The only problem was that she was not out on an active assignment at this time. Her first thought was that whatever the purpose of this call was, it couldn’t be anything good.

  “Yes, Johnson?” she said with a subtle nervousness. “What’s going on?”

  She was at least relieved when it didn’t appear as though Johnson had felt her shakiness over the phone. If he did, he certainly didn’t acknowledge it.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to call you instead of Chief Lynden,” Johnson said. “But don’t be alarmed. He’s just busy right now, and I’m simply passing along a message. Don’t come in until ten-thirty. When you get here, head directly down to sublevel briefing room three. He will meet you there.”

  Her gut twisted slightly. “What’s this about?”

  “I can’t say more over the phone, in case this line’s being monitored...”

  “Got it,” Haley said. “I’ll be there at ten-thirty.”

  She pulled the phone away from her ear, sliding her finger over the screen to end the call, but before she could even lift it, another call immediately came through.

  She blinked, then answered. “Hello?”

  “Haley, this is Gene, Joe’s boss,” he said, an obvious tone of concern etched in his voice. “Is he sick or something?”

  This question stunned Haley for a moment. He’d been next to her in their bed only three hours before. He got out of bed at the sound of his own alarm and left. Nothing about the departure seemed out of place.

  “He was fine this morning,” she said. “Why?”

  “I haven’t seen him at work for three days.”

  Her body stiffened. “That’s impossible. He leaves every morning at five, like clockwork.”

  “Well, I’ve got his timesheet right here,” Gene confirmed. “He is not here today, and I’m seeing no punches since Monday. He’s missed five out of the last eight workdays.”

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” she said, heat rising in her throat. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “I’m just looking out for him,” Gene added. “Joe’s a damn good worker—when he shows up.”

  By nine o’clock, Haley couldn’t sit still. Where had her boyfriend gone if not to work? And five of eight workdays, including the last three consecutive days, were missed? Something wasn’t adding up.

  She grabbed her keys, slipped on her jacket, and left the house. She had time to kill before the briefing, and the mall—just a few minutes past CBH headquarters—offered a distraction.

  She parked close to the front entrance, slid out of her SUV, and locked it behind her with a flick of her key fob.

  The moment she stepped inside, it started: the unmistakable sound of someone whistling at her from behind. Haley absolutely detested that behavior. She wasn’t trying to flaunt her attractiveness. She just was. She loved a compliment as much as the next woman, but not cat calls and wolf whistles. They felt degrading somehow, as if they only considered her to be a piece of meat.

  She froze. Turned.

  Two guys leaned against a wall near the entryway. One was short and heavyset with blotchy denim shorts and a faded Creed T-shirt. The other wore all black, pale as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in months. Gothic, skater—or something in between. Thankfully, they said nothing. Only watched.

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  Haley gave them a sharp look—flat and unwavering—then turned and walked on without a word. She’d dealt with worse. She’d dealt with fugitives, firearms, and dark hallways at three a.m. Two mall creeps weren’t going to shake her.

  Just inside the second set of glass doors, Haley stopped mid-step.

  A flicker of movement passed through her peripheral vision—a familiar silhouette cutting through the crowd near the main corridor. Her hand, balled into a fist barely a second earlier, relaxed. The irritation she'd felt slipped into the background.

  She knew that walk. And he wasn’t alone.

  Leaving her annoyance behind, she followed the figure without hesitation, heart thrumming louder than her heels on the tile. The man disappeared into the crowd almost instantly, but Haley was certain it had been him.

  It had to be.

  She scanned every face she passed, trying to catch another glimpse. He was gone. For a moment, she questioned herself. Maybe she imagined it. But instinct overruled doubt. She continued down the corridor, pausing at every shop window, turning into each intersecting hallway like a hound on a scent.

  Haley was a bounty hunter. This figure, her newest target. She was going to treat it as such. The only difference is that this time, there was no paycheck waiting for her at the end. After several excruciating minutes of searching, she managed to catch another brief glimpse of her target.

  He was standing inside a lingerie boutique, holding up a tiny red bra against the chest of a young blonde woman. She couldn’t have been twenty. The girl was laughing. He was grinning. And from the exaggerated way he angled his head, it was clear he was pretending to peek behind the fabric for effect.

  Something fractured in Haley’s chest.

  She stood at the storefront, frozen, eyes burning through the glass as she tracked every movement. Then she stepped back and composed herself. She’d had enough. She charged into the lingerie store and headed directly to the location where she had seen them, but to her dismay, they had again disappeared.

  Haley approached the checkout lane and asked the clerk if they’d seen which way the two people had gone.

  She hadn’t.

  Haley exited the store and looked left, then right. By sheer luck, her eyes just managed to catch yet another glimpse of her pursuit just as they slipped through the swinging door of the women’s restroom.

  The gig was up. It was time to get answers. Haley pushed open the door and stepped inside. The sinks were vacant. A dull hum filled the air.

  She passed three stalls, each one empty. She reached the fourth and final stall. The door was closed and locked. She inched her face close and peered through the small gap. Her heart skipped a beat and melted at the same time. She confirmed that this was not a case of mistaken identity. Her boyfriend, Joe, sat casually on the toilet, pants around his ankles, with the blonde woman standing on her feet, facing him, wearing only the skimpy red lingerie they’d had at the boutique.

  She was laughing, running her hands across his chest in an obvious attempt at being erotic. Haley felt that the attempt was failing on so many levels.

  Haley slammed her fists against the locked stall door in a fit of rage. “JOE!”

  The air could have been sucked out of the room at that very moment, and nobody would have noticed. Time appeared to have stopped completely for a second.

  “Oh shit, it’s Haley!” Joe’s voice shot out like a firecracker.

  The latch slid over, and the stall door opened. The girl stepped back, startled, arms crossed and jaw tight. “What’s your problem?” she snapped.

  “You need to leave,” Haley said, voice flat and lethal. “Now.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did I stutter?” Haley challenged. “I said, get out! Grab your clothes and leave! Now!”

  The blonde scoffed, thinking herself superior. “Fuck you, bitch.” She lunged out of the stall directly at Haley and attempted to take a swing at her.

  Haley skirted around the strike like a blur, catching the girl’s arm mid-swing with a practiced grace. She stepped in, jabbed her elbow into the girl’s stomach, before flinging her to the floor like a piece of trash.

  The girl’s shoulder nudged against the tile just before her head, but she was unharmed.

  Haley didn’t say a word. She reached inside the stall, grabbed the girl’s clothes, and tossed them right on top of her.

  “Get dressed and get the fuck out,” she demanded coldly through gritted teeth.

  The blonde scrambled up, threw her clothes on so fast you’d think there was a fire—everything except for her shoes and fled without so much as a second look.

  Joe, still half-dressed and cornered, pressed against the stall wall as if he could vanish into it.

  “What’s the matter, Mamma?” he muttered with a shaky grin. “You jealous or something?”

  Haley’s blood ran cold, but her temperature was rising. Did it make sense? Not really, but it didn’t have to. She was controlled, deadly.

  “Do I look stupid to you?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “You were about to fuck her.”

  Joe blinked—then smiled darkly.

  “Yup, sure was,” Joe answered with the casual calmness of saying his own name. It was clear that he was unfazed and unintimidated. “Not that it’s our first time either. And I've loved it every single time, which is more than I can say about you.”

  Haley’s fist cracked across his nose before the next word left his mouth.

  He staggered backward, blood spilling instantly from the bridge as his shirt turned scarlet.

  “You had better have all of your shit out of my house tonight,” Haley hissed. “Anything left behind goes straight to the curb.”

  Haley turned and stormed out of the restroom like a woman possessed, walking right past the blonde, but did not stop.

  The blonde shouted after her: “You better watch your back, bitch!” Afterwards, she re-entered the restroom. She hadn’t dared to return while Haley remained inside.

  Haley didn’t respond. She didn’t flinch. She exited the mall without looking back. Her heart had been ripped in two. And she refused to let it bleed out in front of strangers.

  Haley reached her SUV, unlocked the door, and climbed inside, shutting it with a hollow thud. Her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel. She rested her forehead against the leather, willing herself to stay composed—but the dam broke, and the tears came in waves.

  She didn’t just sob, she broke. The man she’d loved for the last three years. The one she’d hoped to start a family with had betrayed her. She was devastated.

  “How could he do that to me?” Haley whispered aloud through clenched teeth. “I loved him.”

  She sat there for several long minutes that felt more like hours. Eventually, her breathing slowed. Her body steadied. And then the rage simmered into something sharper: resolve. She checked herself in her rearview. Somehow, even though she’d been crying, her tears and her makeup were still perfect.

  She checked her phone for the time. The meeting would start in exactly thirty minutes. It was time to move.

  Haley cranked the engine, pulled out of the lot, and merged onto the highway toward CBH headquarters. The sunlight poured over her windshield as if trying to cleanse the memory—but it couldn’t. The moment was burned in. She knew it wouldn’t fade easily. And maybe it shouldn’t.

  She was done playing house.

  By the time she reached headquarters, her focus had narrowed to a blade. She didn’t even realize she’d arrived until the tan, three-story structure loomed in front of her. She slid into her assigned parking spot, stepped out, and strode toward the front entrance.

  Inside, she crossed the main hall and reached the elevators on the right. She pressed the button, stepped into the lift, and hit the number for the third floor. The ride up was silent, save for the faint hum of the cables.

  On arrival, she exited, turned left, and entered her office. She moved to her desk and jostled the mouse, causing the glowing CBH logo on her screen to vanish into the desktop. She double-clicked the “Time Clock” icon and completed her clock-in routine with practiced efficiency.

  Her next stop: Sublevel Briefing Room Three.

  She re-entered the elevator and rode it down into the underground level. The moment she crossed the threshold into the briefing room, she immediately spotted five of her fellow bounty hunters—those who also reported to Chief Lynden.

  At the far end of the oval table closest to the wall screen sat Bo Morton, the oldest and most respected bounty hunter on the team. At fifty-five, Bo carried the presence of a retired heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick build, and steel-gray eyes beneath a mop of dark brown hair. His goatee was salt-and-pepper, his manner quiet but commanding. Some said he looked thirty-five. Others said he’d looked the same for two decades.

  A news report echoed from the wall screen:

  “A 747 out of London on route to Miami is reported missing after vanishing from radar late last night. No distress signals were received. All 347 passengers are presumed lost.”

  Haley slipped into the empty chair beside Bo.

  “I think we can find something better to do with our time, gentlemen,” she muttered. Despite her broken heart, she meant her words as a joke. She knew they’d understand.

  Bo glanced at her, flashing a mild grin. “Have a heart, Haley. We were just watching the news. Besides, the chief isn’t due for another five.”

  Across from Haley sat Phil Daly, thirty and sharp-tongued. To his left: Tyrell Dawson, forty-one, grounded and practical. Beside Tyrell was James Thorpe—the group’s top marksman, precise and stoic. And next to him, Tony Skerrit, the quiet one, always calculating.

  Haley leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Any clue what this mystery meeting’s really about?”

  Bo gave a half shrug. “Only what Johnson told me, which wasn’t much. He just said to be here at ten-thirty, sit tight, and wait.”

  Phil chimed in, fingers drumming. “Same here. Just got a time and a location.”

  Tyrell nodded. “No assignment number. No dossier drop. Nothing.”

  Haley glanced between them all. “So… we’re all in the dark.”

  “Looks that way,” Bo said, voice low. “Which means whatever this is? It’s not routine.”

  “That, or Lynden’s finally joined a cult,” Thorpe muttered.

  “Only if it pays ten million dollars,” Bo replied, cracking a grin.

  Haley blinked. “Wait—what?”

  Bo just smirked again, casually sipping his coffee, satisfied with his own joke.