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Authors: Donya Lynne
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said.
"Depends on who wants to know."
"My name is Steve Garrett. I was referred to you by a
friend."
"What kind of friend?"
"One who runs on the wrong side of the law."
Silence on the other end, then, "You must be referring
to Kaplan."
"Maybe." Steve liked David already.
"What can I do for you, Dr. Garrett?"
"How did you—?" This was his first contact with
David. How did he already know he was a doctor? Well, a surgeon, but whatever.
"Please, Dr. Garrett. Give me credit for being good at
my job."
David's job: Bounty hunter, private investigator, finder of
hard-to-find things. Steve didn't really care or want to know how he knew what
he did or performed his job. Only one thing mattered, and that was results.
"Fine," Steve said. "I need you to find my
wife."
"Your wife, huh?" A pause. "Samantha Marie
Garrett, date of birth July 15, ex-Army, born in Missouri. That her?"
"You're hired."
"We haven't even discussed my rates, Dr. Garrett."
"You can call me Steve. And I don't need to hear your
rates. I'll pay whatever it takes. I just fired the last guy who tried to find
her, and he was useless, so I've already wasted enough money. I want the best,
David. You don't mind if I call you David, do you?"
"Nope. You can call me whatever you want as long as you
pay the bill."
"Good. Send me your contract and I'll return it to you
immediately." Steve rattled off his email.
"I'll get it to you in ten minutes." David paused.
"Don't worry, Steve, I will find your wife. I never fail."
"That's what I've heard." His skin prickled. Sam
would be his again. Soon. He could feel it. David would succeed where his last
P.I. had failed.
He disconnected and returned to his bedroom. The naked woman
tied to his bed squirmed and bit down on the gag. Her eyes flared with arousal
as he picked up the riding crop from the edge of the bed. Her skin was still
reddened in patches on her breasts and thighs from when he had played with her
before his phone call.
"Now where were we?" he said. "We've got ten
minutes."
* * *
Sam woke up rubbing her hand over her wrist. It was hard to
tell if it ached or itched as she scratched her blunt nails over two red,
swollen bumps. What the hell had bitten her while she slept? Spiders? The marks
didn't look or feel like spider bites.
Making a mental note to call the landlord later about
bringing in an exterminator, she rolled her head to the side and checked the
clock on the nightstand.
"Oh, hell." She half-groaned as she forced herself
to sit up.
How had it gotten so late? She should have been up and
showered by now.
As she tried to stand, the room spun and she plopped right
back down on the bed, wincing at the sudden pounding in her head. It felt like
she had the flu, her body achy and weak.
That's when she noticed she was still dressed in the clothes
she had worn home from work last night. Sam had slept all day. Over twelve
hours. That wasn't like her.
And what about the man? She hadn't dreamed him because the
mess of her First Aid kit still littered the floor. That man had actually been
here, so where was he now? Had he knocked her out? Stolen her purse?
She whipped her head around toward her purse on the kitchen
counter and paid the price as a bolt of lightning bounced around inside her
skull. She winced through the pain, but at least her purse was still here. Her
duffel bag was still on the floor, too, and she could just see the butt of her
Beretta sticking out. Moving more slowly, she glanced around the apartment and
found everything in place.
The mysterious dark-haired man with the amazing navy blue
eyes had left her meager home intact, but had somehow been able to get up and
walk out without her remembering. How had he even been able to move in his
condition? He had been in bad shape. Who got up and walked away from such a
horrible beating?
Apparently, that guy did.
Steadying herself, she managed to stand and work her way to
the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water and drank like
"Depends on who wants to know."
"My name is Steve Garrett. I was referred to you by a
friend."
"What kind of friend?"
"One who runs on the wrong side of the law."
Silence on the other end, then, "You must be referring
to Kaplan."
"Maybe." Steve liked David already.
"What can I do for you, Dr. Garrett?"
"How did you—?" This was his first contact with
David. How did he already know he was a doctor? Well, a surgeon, but whatever.
"Please, Dr. Garrett. Give me credit for being good at
my job."
David's job: Bounty hunter, private investigator, finder of
hard-to-find things. Steve didn't really care or want to know how he knew what
he did or performed his job. Only one thing mattered, and that was results.
"Fine," Steve said. "I need you to find my
wife."
"Your wife, huh?" A pause. "Samantha Marie
Garrett, date of birth July 15, ex-Army, born in Missouri. That her?"
"You're hired."
"We haven't even discussed my rates, Dr. Garrett."
"You can call me Steve. And I don't need to hear your
rates. I'll pay whatever it takes. I just fired the last guy who tried to find
her, and he was useless, so I've already wasted enough money. I want the best,
David. You don't mind if I call you David, do you?"
"Nope. You can call me whatever you want as long as you
pay the bill."
"Good. Send me your contract and I'll return it to you
immediately." Steve rattled off his email.
"I'll get it to you in ten minutes." David paused.
"Don't worry, Steve, I will find your wife. I never fail."
"That's what I've heard." His skin prickled. Sam
would be his again. Soon. He could feel it. David would succeed where his last
P.I. had failed.
He disconnected and returned to his bedroom. The naked woman
tied to his bed squirmed and bit down on the gag. Her eyes flared with arousal
as he picked up the riding crop from the edge of the bed. Her skin was still
reddened in patches on her breasts and thighs from when he had played with her
before his phone call.
"Now where were we?" he said. "We've got ten
minutes."
* * *
Sam woke up rubbing her hand over her wrist. It was hard to
tell if it ached or itched as she scratched her blunt nails over two red,
swollen bumps. What the hell had bitten her while she slept? Spiders? The marks
didn't look or feel like spider bites.
Making a mental note to call the landlord later about
bringing in an exterminator, she rolled her head to the side and checked the
clock on the nightstand.
"Oh, hell." She half-groaned as she forced herself
to sit up.
How had it gotten so late? She should have been up and
showered by now.
As she tried to stand, the room spun and she plopped right
back down on the bed, wincing at the sudden pounding in her head. It felt like
she had the flu, her body achy and weak.
That's when she noticed she was still dressed in the clothes
she had worn home from work last night. Sam had slept all day. Over twelve
hours. That wasn't like her.
And what about the man? She hadn't dreamed him because the
mess of her First Aid kit still littered the floor. That man had actually been
here, so where was he now? Had he knocked her out? Stolen her purse?
She whipped her head around toward her purse on the kitchen
counter and paid the price as a bolt of lightning bounced around inside her
skull. She winced through the pain, but at least her purse was still here. Her
duffel bag was still on the floor, too, and she could just see the butt of her
Beretta sticking out. Moving more slowly, she glanced around the apartment and
found everything in place.
The mysterious dark-haired man with the amazing navy blue
eyes had left her meager home intact, but had somehow been able to get up and
walk out without her remembering. How had he even been able to move in his
condition? He had been in bad shape. Who got up and walked away from such a
horrible beating?
Apparently, that guy did.
Steadying herself, she managed to stand and work her way to
the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water and drank like
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