A Bounty To Be Paid. (Closed)

Max had been watching the house for six days. His current employer, a bail bondsman named Robert Howard, had told Max that he was wasting his time sitting on the bail jumper's own house. And he continued to tell the bounty hunter the same thing when he entered the Bail Bonds office to give an update and collect a prepayment for the job he was certain he would close tonight.

"There's no fucking way he's coming back to his own house, Max! Why the fuck would he come back to his own house?"

"Have you seen his wife?" Max asked, his hands out before his chest with curled fingers, illustrating the woman's unbelievably amazing bosom. "I did."

"Yeah, yeah, so did I, so what?" he said, unimpressed. Big tits wouldn't be enough for Robert to risk capture, forfeiture of a $50,000 bond, and an instant Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200 incarceration.

"Have you seen them out ... bared in all their glory?" Max continued, looking down at his curling fingers with an amazed expression as if his hands were the wife's impressive tits, right before his eyes, in all that glory he'd mentioned. He added with a tone of awe, "I did."

Robert asked with a bit of surprise, "You did?"

"I did," Max answered quickly.

"When?"

"When I was titty fucking them last night in the back seat of my sedan."

Robert's eyes and mouth widened in shock. "You ... you fucked my jumper's wife?"

"No," Max answered, again quickly. Then his lips widened in a devilish smirk and he clarified, "I only fucked her tits."

Robert's shock caused Max to laugh loudly before explaining. "I was following the wife and lost sight of her in the mall on 33rd ... and a moment later I was face to face with her. She confronted me ... asked if I was following her."

Max shrugged, as he had with the wife that day, then recounted, "I said, 'Yeah, I am'. When she asked why, I looked down into her Grand Canyon cleavage and said, 'I always wanted to titty fuck an amazing, natural rack ... and you have the most amazing natural rack in all of Southern California."

"But ... they aren't real!" Robert corrected, as if suddenly the naturalness of his bail jumper's wife's breasts was the true topic of the conversation at hand. He added, "They're right out of a box."

Max laughed. "You know that, and I know that ... and she most certainly knows that ... but I'm not going to tell a woman I know her titties are fake before I ask to titty fuck them ... am I?"

The two men laughed together for a moment. For almost a decade, Robert had been employing Max to hunt down the worst of the worst of his bail jumpers; and for almost a decade, Max had been coming back with those jumpers in cuffs and -- more often than not -- with a great story to accompany the chase and capture. But this!

"And ... she just let you fuck her tits?"

"No, of course not!" Max said, laughing again. "I had to buy her lunch first ... so she could get to know me ... decide whether I was the kind of guy she wanted to be spunking her a pearl necklace. Apparently I was, because before our order even arrived we were crossing the street to my sedan and stripping her top off."

After a moment, Robert asked, "But ... you didn't fuck her. I mean ... fuck her."

"No, she said she was married," Max went on. "Said he'd be coming home soon, and he'd want to fuck her ... and she needed to be tight for him when he did."

Robert stared for a moment, then gave Max a rolling hand And...? gesture.

Max finished, "And he'll be there tonight."

"She told you this," Robert said with a mixed tone of mixed doubt and suspicion. "She told you he was going to be there tonight."

"No, she didn't tell me he'd be there tonight," Max corrected, standing to adjust the gear on his utility belt, including his 9mm Beretta and Taser. "But he will be."

"And you know because--"

"And I know because she made a date with me tomorrow afternoon ... at the Notel Motel ... and I'm supposed to bring a string of condoms and a bottle of warming lube."

Robert just shook his head as he opened the mini safe near his feet and pulled out a rubber banded stack of fifties. He tossed it onto the desk before Max, knowing that while the bounty hunter wouldn't count it here and now, he would certainly count it once he'd stepped outside the office. While Robert had never cheated Max out of a dime of what the bounty hunter had been owed, Robert did have a reputation for taking any advantage he could when it came to keeping some of his money -- or other's money -- inside that favorite little safe of his.



3am:

The ruckus at the front door of the 14th Precinct drew the immediate attention of the dozen or so patrol officers and detectives there for a mid-shift check in concerning an imminent drug bust. Some of the cops who didn't know Max even reached for the holstered weapons on their hips, surprised by the armed, tattooed man who was pushing and equally tattooed but very much handcuffed bail jumper before him toward the booking desk.

Thirty minutes later, after Max had signed the appropriate papers to turn into Robert to claim the rest of his bounty, the Desk Clerk approached and asked, "Did you really fuck his wife?"

Max smiled, responding instead by asking, "Wha'did he say?"

A second cop was exiting the lock up and answered, "He said you busted into his house, beat him down, cuffed him ... then spent the next hour fucking his wife."

Max only smiled broadly, again adjusting his utility belt before donning his leather jacket against the chill of the early morning air. He shrugged as was so common for him, saying, "Hey ... he's a fugitive. You can't trust everything they say, can you?"

Melissa Morrison: http://68.media.tumblr.com/9d268dc35b78b7c4c0fb5798638b1af0/tumblr_n1kg6qiCMd1rzzkxno1_500.jpg

Melissa Morrison had always been told that she had a body that was built for sex. From the time that she was old enough to know what sex even was, men had been fawning over her for the chance to simply see her naked. She had bloomed early, with thick lips, thick hips, and the perfect pair of breasts. However, she also had a brain, one that she enjoyed using. The fact that she had once been a stripper seemed like such a distant memory. She had done it in order to go to school and she had proudly graduated with a degree in art history. Her dream had always been to work in a gallery, but it seemed that fate had a funny way of stopping her when she least expected it.

She had met her husband, Frank, while she was still dancing. He was much older than herself and she knew that he had money, but the idea that he was interested in her beyond a quick lap dance in the champagne room never really crossed her mind. It was surprising when he had declared his love and infatuation. It was even more surprising when he insisted on taking her to Paris for the weekend. That was how she found out that Frank had money and he had his sights set on her.

They dated for two years, no expenses spared. She was wined and dined, told that she would never have to go back to dancing as long as she was with him. She was given expensive clothing, the best that money could buy, and after those two years, he had put a rock the size of a bird's egg on her finger. Their wedding had been the the wet dream of all those society women that snubbed her. Frank had gone all out to show off his trophy bride, proving to them all that even though he was twice her age, he had bagged himself the woman of his dreams.

She only wished that he had dreamed a little harder about her. He had cheated almost as soon as he had made her his wife. Melissa had tried her hardest to turn a blind eye to everything, but she knew that Frank was a deeply flawed man. He always had a woman on his arm, some kind of drug in his system, and a glass of hard liquor nearly every night. He tried to alleviate her concerns with money, but Melissa tried to make him see that she wanted a husband, not an allowance of hush money.

Shortly after her 28th birthday, she decided she wanted out. She had secretly seen divorce attorneys, trying to find the easiest way out. It had been after one of those meetings that she had returned home to find her worst nightmare. Frank was in his study, as usual, but instead of working on a business call, he was slumped in his chair with a bullet between his eyes.

Melissa could barely remember what happened afterwards. She had called 911, but the police didn't believe her story. Instead, they had hauled her to jail. The questioning had been terrible, but the idea that no one believed her was even worse. They called her a gold digger, saying that she had killed her husband to collect on his life insurance. And to inherit his money.

The bond had been paid the first moment that she had the chance. However, the idea of going to jail for the rest of her life scared her. When it seemed that no one else believed that she hadn't murdered Frank, she knew that she couldn't stay. She felt guilty, but running from this problem seemed like the only logical way out.

She had taken to driving up the coast in her car, knowing that she had to ditch it the first moment that she could. She had packed some clothes, her toiletries, and some food for the journey. There was no set plan on where she was going, but she knew that it was a lot better than sitting jail, rotting away because of a crime that she did not commit.

"Here you go," Robert said, tossing a file folder onto the desk before the bounty hunter. As Max opened the front cover to find a very unflattering police photo of an obviously otherwise beautiful woman, the bails bondsman explained, "Melissa Morrison ... arraigned for killing her husband. Jumped bail five days ago in LA."

"How much?" Max asked. When his most frequent employer hesitated, Max asked, "How big a bond?"

"Ten million."

Max's eyes widened. "What the fuck, Bobby Boy. Where the fuck did you get ten million dollars."

"I didn't," Robert responded. "I only had to put up ten percent ... but I'm on the hook for all of it if--"

With a still shocked tone, Max asked, "Where the fuck did you get even just ONE million dollars?"

"From some very bad people who want their money back and aren't squeamish about killing me if they don't get it!" Robert answered. "Jesus fuck, Max! Can we get back to the bitch?"

Max was in true disbelief. He'd never before gone after a jumper who'd skipped out on a bail larger than $500,000, let alone a million or ten million. Hell, Robert had never even heard of someone being let out on that kind of money before. A judge who was that serious about making sure someone showed up for trial usually just remanded them into custody, letting them sit in a cell awaiting trial.

He looked to the file again, pushing aside the photograph to look at the name. "Melissa Morrison. Who is she?"

Robert stared at the bounty hunter for a moment, dumbfounded. "Melissa Morrison ... the Melissa Morrison ... wife of billionaire Frank Morrison." The names were having no effect on Max at all. "He was found sitting at his desk in his den with an ink pen in one hand, a Scotch in the other, and his brains splattered on the wall behind him."

"And the wife did it?"

"That's what they say."

"Why? Why did she kill him?"

Robert shrugged. "For the money I guess."

Max was still reading the file. "Doesn't make sense. If she kills him, she goes to jail and gets nothing."

"Maybe she thought she'd get away with it."

Max laughed. "Did you even read the file, Bobby Boy...? She's the one who called 9-1-1."

"Whatever, don't care," Robert said. "She'll get her day in court, and she can explain it all then, but ... in order to do that, she has to be in court. And for that to happen, you have to find her."

"If it's such a clear cut case," Max went on, asking the obvious question, "Why did they let her out on bail?" When the bondsman didn't answer, Max donned a suspicious expression. "What aren't you telling me, Bobby Boy?"

Robert sat back into his own chair, contemplating how much he wanted to tell the bounty hunter. "Her husband was a billionaire with a lot of connections."

"Okay ... so ... that would have gotten him out if he'd killed her. But, it doesn't explain how she got out after being charged for killing him!

Robert was hesitant to tell all he knew, for two reasons: first, he feared that Max wouldn't take the assignment; and second, he knew that what he knew wasn't even the scariest part of the story. This wasn't just a case of a wife murdering her husband. There was a mob connection. There was a Mexican drug cartel connection. There was a Homeland Security connection. Fuck! This had become a nightmare for Robert in just a handful of dares, and it wasn't even about losing his money anymore: it was about losing his head.

"Just find her," Robert said annoyed. "She has no money, other than what the cops said she may or may not have cleaned out of the home's safe. All of her known accounts have been frozen. Credit cards. The like. So, she can't go far."

They talked about Melissa's situation for a bit more, about how no one knew where she was, when Max saw Robert's building grin. "You know where she is anyway?"

"Even though she hasn't used her credit cards," Robert explained, "She's still carrying them. And one of the has one of those chips that gets scanned by the wifi at some stores, to track your movements and send your smart phone shopping deals--"

"And she walked through one of these stores," Max filled in.

"She was in a little suburb north of the Golden Gate in San Francisco yesterday", Robert confirmed, "and the day before that, too. She's probably holding up in a little motel some where nearby. All you have to do is--"

"Sit down, have some coffee, and wait for her walk by me," Max said, closing the file.

"Find her, cuff her, get her back here," Robert continued. He nodded Max's attention to the $5,000 already sitting on the desk before him, then attempted to conclude his business with, "I'll cover your expenses ... receipts this time, please ... and another five grand when you get back."

"I'll take twenty percent of the ten percent you're getting back when I return her," Max countered, reaching out to take the bundle of cash. When Robert quickly objected, Max argued, "This ain't no midnight run, Bobby Boy. These people who fronted you the money to get her out on bail, these bad people you talk about. They wanted her out on the streets for a reason that you might not have thought much about but which I have ... 'cause they want her ... alive or dead probably doesn't matter much to them, but ... they want her. Which means that I don't just have to be looking just for her, I have to be watching for them. This ain't no locate, secure, and return ... this ain't no midnight run ... and whether you want to admit it or not, you know it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Robert snapped, beginning to come unglued at the thought of paying the bounty hunter that kind of money just to bring in a chick with no criminal history, let alone a violent one. "No one's after her but me. You slap the cuffs on her, slap her face if she causes you any grief ... hell, you can slap her ass while you fuck it for all I care ... just get her back here."

"For $200,000 I'll have her here by ... when is she due back for court?"

"$30,000 ... in five days," Robert negotiated.

"$200,000 ... take it or leave it ... and deal with your bad ass people yourself," Max said, reminding Robert. "And I'll have her back in less than five days."

"$50,000!" Robert negotiated again, and getting no where pleaded, "Forty ... c'mon, Max, I can't afford to pay that kind of money."

"Can you afford not to?"

"I'll go with another bounty hunter," Robert threatened.

Max hesitated, then tossed the bundle of cash back onto the table, giving his signature shoulder shrug. "If you had another Dog who would do this, you would have gone with him already."

Robert's face reddened with anger and his jaws began to twitch as he clenched them tightly. Max was right about the other bounty hunters: they'd all turned Robert down after coming to their own conclusions that there was more here than the bondsman was telling them. Robert leaned forward and pushed the bundle of cash across into Max's lap. "Fuck! Just ... just go get her and have her back here by Tuesday morning, 9am."

"I'm gonna need another one of these up front," Max said, standing and snatching up the money again. After the very reluctant Robert had ponied up, the bounty headed out, saying, "This'll be my last job, Robert. I'm out after this."

Melissa had done what she could to disguise her appearance. Her dark hair was up in a messy ponytail, stuffed under an old Yankees baseball cap that she had bought at a second hand store for $5. She wore dark glasses in the California sun, no makeup, casual clothes. It was a far cry from the made up woman that she had been just a few days ago. Unlike other society ladies, she felt perfectly comfortable dressed down and slumming it.

Pushing through the front door of the coffee shop, she mentally counted the money in her pocket. Frank had always kept obscene amounts of cash on hand in their home. She was always more comfortable with keeping everything on a card, but Frank seemed to get an almost sexual satisfaction from flashing around big bills and bragging about the cash he had at hand. It had been easy to take a couple thousand dollars from the safe, but she knew she had to make it last. At least until she had figured out how to get out of the country to somewhere safer.

"A chai latte and a blueberry muffin, please." Melissa asked the cashier, handing over a $10 and telling her to keep the change. "Bagged up to go, if you don't mind."

She took a seat at the window bar to wait, glancing out at the people that were walking back and forth on the street. It made her sad to think about the freedom that she really no longer had. Just a few days ago she had been unhappily married, thinking about then escape that she was about to make. Now she was widowed, her husband stuck in some cold morgue, and she was on the run. This really wasn't the kind of life that she had imagined for herself.

Max had left Robert's office early yesterday, heading north toward San Francisco. He'd received 3 text messages from the bondsman, identifying new wifi scans of Melissa's credit card and leading him to the little community of Novato at the northeast edge of San Pablo Bay, the northern extreme of what might be considered the end of the San Francisco Bay. For the long drive, Max had been telling himself that this concept of chasing down her credit card through a monitoring system that only a small percentage of business was as of yet using was insane and a waste of time.

And yet, pulling into the little town and stopping for a black coffee, Max turned to find a seat at the window to contemplate his next move ... and instead found Melissa Fucking Morrison already sitting there. Oh, she was doing her best to disguise herself, and -- moving to a small table a few steps out before her -- Max took a long moment to study her features to quell the doubts in her mind. But, fuck! This had just turned out to be far too easy to be true.

As he'd been studying her, Max realized that Melissa had spotted him doing so. He smiled to her, lifted his disposable coffee cup while nodding to her politely, and said in a voice just loud enough for her to hear, "G'morning. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

His tone was most definitely that of a man trying to pick up on a beautiful woman. Yeah, it happened every day to women like her, Max knew. And he didn't expect her to suddenly invite him to her table, then invite him to her motel room bed. But then, he wasn't actually trying to hit on her: he was only trying to make her think he was hitting on her, because the alternative was for her to think he was after her. And Max really didn't want to cause a scene by rushing across the café, slamming the bail jumper to the ground, and slapping a pair of cuffs on her. He'd done such things in the past, and on more than one occasion some misinformed would be hero came rushing to his jumper's rescue, causing Max to break some heads, figuratively.

Melissa jumped at the sound of a voice the next table over. Glancing over towards him, she saw a tattooed gentleman sitting there with a cup of coffee. He grinned and tipped his cup towards her and she felt her heart hammer in her chest. Why was he talking to her? What kind of game was he playing?

"Yeah. I guess any sunny, warm day is a beautiful day." She said with a shrug of her shoulders, her head turning towards the counter as her order was called. "Excuse me."

She slid off her seat and grabbed her muffin and drink to go. She glanced back towards the man and considered him for a moment. He seemed dangerous and harmless at the same time. However, she knew better than to trust anyone right then and there.

"Have yourself a nice day." She murmured, passing by his table towards the door and flicking her dark glasses back down her nose.

Once she as back out in the sunshine, she breathed a little easier. Her car was back at the motel. Maybe it was time to pack up and move along. Maybe she would venture further towards Canada instead of south. Mexico didn't sound like a bit of fun.

Melissa responded, "Yeah. I guess any sunny, warm day is a beautiful day."

Crisis averted, Max thought, feeling as though his target didn't feel as though she was one. She excused herself to retrieve her drink wished him a nice day, and headed out. Max smiled and nodded, then half turned away from her and feigned being interested in something on his phone. In reality, he watched Melissa's reflection in the screen as she headed out the door, and as soon as he could see her no longer, Max turned and followed her with a direct view. He rose and casually walked to the door, then out the door to locate the woman's backside as it headed off up the road.

As his gaze fell to Melissa's lower backside, he smiled with lustful thoughts of how good it would feel to sink his cock deep in that incredible ass. He'd read in the file Robert produced that she'd been an exotic dancer prior to her marriage to the old fart she killed -- presumably killed -- and now as he watched her make her way down the sidewalk, Max could very well imagine those tight fitting jeans not on her at all.

"Motels, Novato California," he spoke into his phone after he'd tapped the internet icon. A moment later, a list of local motels, B&Bs, and other rental properties popped up. He refined his search, tapping the Display function icon before speaking, "Least expensive."

It only took a moment for Max to know exactly where Melissa was staying: there were only three motels within walking distance, only two of which had vacancies according to the App. He tapped some more icons, bringing up the address of the store Robert said Melissa's credit card had walked past, and sure enough Melissa's return to only one of those motels would take her past it.

He hopped into his pickup, took the longer route around to the motel, and found an inconspicuous parking space between a motor home and a freight truck. And, just as his experience told him would happen, Melissa appeared a couple of minutes later and walked right into room 211. Max would have patted himself on the back if it wouldn't have seemed so self congratulatory ... and, well, kind of asinine, to be honest.

All he had to do now was wait for dark and go get her. Oh, he could have just gone in to get her right now, of course: it was his legal right as a licensed Skip Chaser. But, just as with back at the coffee shop, fewer witnesses would be better. He opened the cooler sitting in the driver's seat, pulled out a beer and the second half of a sub sandwich, and settled back to wait for dark.

Once Melissa was safely back in her room, she locked the door and took a seat in the chair next to the front window. The shades were closed, but she could still peek out the edges of the curtains and see most of the parking lot. Her car was parked directly in front of the room, ready for a quick get away if she really needed to make one. It all seemed so calm on the outside, however. Almost a little too calm for her liking.

She drank her latte and picked at her muffin, sighing as she tried to figure out what her next move was going to be. Canada seemed so far away. Maybe once she got out of the state of California, she would feel a little safer. She would leave in the morning. That much she knew for certain. She had already been there too long to begin with.

As soon as she was finished, she threw away her trash and set about putting together her bags. As soon as it was dawn, she would pack up the car for the next leg of her journey. Once everything was by the door, she grabbed the ice bucket and stepped outside briefly. She walked across the parking lot, glancing around to see if anyone was there. It seemed that it was just as deserted as it had been moments earlier. Entering the little alcove next to the lobby, she got some ice from the machine and was soon back on her way.

Maybe she just needed some sleep. She was so paranoid and jumpy, but then she had to remember that she was a fugitive on the run. If only she knew who had actually killed Frank. Maybe then she could actually set the police in the right direction. Frank had a lot of enemies, some of whom she had never met nor known. He had business dealings that were as shadowy as they came. She never asked about them and never wanted to know the truth behind them. Perhaps she was wrong for burying her head in the sand, but she never felt it was her place to ask.

Once she was back in the room, she relocked the door, making herself a glass of ice water and kicking off her shoes. She sank back against the pillows with a sigh and closed her eyes. Sleep had been elusive since she had been arrested and she caught it whenever it came. A seedy motel was just as good a place to catch some shut eye while on the run as any place.

Max licked his fingers, and reached up above himself to the bare light bulb illuminating the walkway outside Melissa's motel room, giving it a twist. He walked to the next one -- passing right pass his target's room without seeming to know it was hers -- repeating the action there, then did the same to a third. He continued on, all the way to the alcove with the exterior stairs that led down to the first floor, as well as up to the third. There he waited in silence for several minutes, just to ensure that the sudden lack of incidental light flooding into one or more of the rooms didn't attract any attention.

It hadn't, and he smiled, pleased to get on with it. He'd taken quite a risk waiting nearly six hours to finally come to Melissa's room. Any of a number of tragic things could have happened: she could have let, she could have spotted him, someone else could have spotted him, or -- his worst fear -- one of those bad people Robert had spoken of could have also discovered where Melissa was and arrive to do essentially the same thing Max was about to do.

He made his way to her door, hesitated, and slipped a Master Keycard into the door lock reader. Despite a recent California law intended to improve security at older motels and hotels, this location's electronic door locks were almost as old as Max himself. As the card hit bottom, the lock opened with a slight click. He immediately pushed the door open just a smidge, putting his eye up close to the crack to look -- and listen as well -- for any indication that Melissa had heard him begin his break in.

She hadn't. Or, at least, he hoped. For all Max knew, she was sitting in a chair behind the door with the same gun -- missing from the crime scene -- that had been used to kill her husband. Max pulled his head back and focused on the door's second level of worthless security. He pulled a rubber band from his pocket, reached his hand through the crack, slipped the looped band around the end of the chain and the other around the screws on the door frame, and quietly closed the door. The tensioning of the rubber band easily pulled the chain free, and just like that, Max was stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

I'm not dead, he thought to himself as he let his eyes adjust to the near darkness of the room. Once his peepers were adjusted, he could clearly see Melissa on the bed, sleeping.

Deep sleep was something that was missing from her life. It had been a while since Melissa had gotten a good night's sleep. Even longer than she had been on the run. Since she had decided to get the divorce, she had been constantly afraid that Frank would find out and some how cut her off. Frank had always threatened that if she left him, she would leave with nothing. Maybe she feared poverty more than anything else.

A faint clicking noise startled Melissa to a groggy state of awareness. She swiped at her tired eyes with a curled fist, pushing her long brown hair out of her face. Reaching out from under the blanket, she picked up her watch and look at the dial, the glowing hands telling her that she still had a few more hours before dawn. With a sigh, she placed it back down and pulled the blankets up over her head with a groan.

She had taken to sleeping in her clothing. It was silly, she knew, but she thought that if something happened and she needed to get out of a situation quickly, she would at least be fully clothed. Maybe it was something she had heard of in a movie, but it seemed like a good idea so far. None of her instincts had truly been wrong yet.

Max should have rushed the bed and secured Melissa with haste. But in his mind's eye, he was still envisioning that beautiful ass walking away from him on the street earlier, his brain reminding him of what she used to do for a living before her living became spending a billionaire's money.

He could be a rough man, even a brutal man: there had been more than one time that Max had pushed a woman into sex before she was ready for it. But, he wasn't a rapist. Or, at least, he hadn't been. There's always a first time, he'd told himself on occasion, usually when faced by a woman he thought could use a good, hard session of unwanted cock in her treasured place.

But, Melissa was safe tonight. Though he would have loved to take her here and now, there was something awaiting Max back in LA that he wanted more. Actually, there were 200,000 somethings awaiting Max back in LA.

He crept over to the bed, hovered over the unsuspecting woman for a moment, reached down to the bedding near her neck, then ripped it all back away from her body. He'd hoped to find her in something rather skimpy or figure revealing, and had even fantasized that she might be naked as a jay bird. But instead, he found her totally dressed, which caused him to hesitate for just a moment before jumping into action.

"Melissa Morrison!" he said as he grabbed the nearest arm at the elbow and pulled her roughly off the bed. She slammed to the floor, and Max spun around behind her, putting a knee in her back as he fought to grasp her hands, warning, "Don't fight me, Melissa! I'm a skip tracer. I was hired by your bail bondsman to return to you to the Los Angeles jail for incarceration pending your trial on Tuesday!"

Melissa had just been about to slip back off to sleep when the covers were ripped away in an instant. Her brain was still slightly clouded with sleep and she let out a gasp, her arms flailing slightly until a hard hand was on her arm. She soon found herself thrown onto the ground with a thud, the man putting a knee between her shoulder blades. Her hands pushed against the ground, legs curling beneath her as she sought to buck him off. It seemed hopeless as he announced that he was a skip tracer who had been sent by the man who had paid her bond in the first place.

Shit, she thought to herself, his hands continuing to grasp for her hands. She had no intention of letting him win that battle. She would fight until she had nothing left in her. This was not about to end peacefully and she certainly would not allow him to take her back to Los Angeles.

"I didn't do this." Melissa grunted, struggling to push herself in some way to get him off of her. "I didn't kill my husband and I can't go back to Los Angeles. Whatever the hell you're being paid, I'll double it."

She had no access to Frank's accounts. She had been frozen out for the time being, pending the results of the trial. Melissa was so scared that she would be found guilty for a crime that she didn't commit. It would mean life in prison...or worse. Actually, scared wasn't something that really registered in her brain. She was absolutely terrified.

Without thinking about it, Melissa sucked in a deep breath and started to scream. Unwanted attention might make the man let her go. If they called the cops, she would deal with it. Suddenly her best laid plans seemed to be going to hell rather quickly.

"I didn't do this ... I didn't kill my husband and I can't go back to Los Angeles. Whatever the hell you're being paid, I'll double it."

"Lady, I don't care, my job is to take you back to LA," Robert responded to the first part of Melissa's reaction, a declaration she barely got out with how Max was manhandling her and pressing her roughly to the ground. To the second, he laughed a bit before saying, "And lady, you got no money, so save the promises."

Then, suddenly, just as Max got the first ringlet of the cuffs around one wrist and was going for the other, Melissa let out a scream that would have woken the dead. Max was prepared for something like that, though a bit shocked at the volume and determination. In and instant he let all of his weight fall atop flat atop Melissa leaving him prone over her body as if he were fucking her in the ass. She seemed as if ready to scream a second time, but when his nearly 200 pounds of hard body fell atop her, the air building up inside her just rushed out in a loud grunt.

"Knock that shit off!" Max growled close to Melissa's ear as he used his weight and position to end her struggle. With the air knocked out of her, she gasped to refill her lungs. He shifted his legs and lower body around a bit until his groin was at her shapely, still firm ass, then -- as he ground the not-even-hard-yet-still-noticeable-bulge of his groin in between her butt cheeks, he warned her, "Do that again. And we'll have some of that fun that landed you a rich husband ... got it?"

Max pulled Melissa's free hand around behind her and slapped the cuff around it, then rolled off her, grabbed her fiercely by one elbow and lifted her to only plop her face down upon the bed this time. He pressed a hand to the small of her back, putting much of his weight upon her as he dug into his vest to find his cell phone. Pressing the send button, the already written text shot out to Robert, whom Max had called before he left his truck to come get Melissa.



In Los Angeles:

Robert had been pacing the floor of the bail bonds office for almost an hour, since his favorite bounty hunter had called him to tell him he'd already located Melissa Morrison. In shock, Robert had asked, "You're kidding ... you're fucking kidding me ... already?"

"I'm good at what I do," Max had told him. "Her lights just went out, and I'm going into get her now. So, get into the big safe this time, and get out my $200,000 less expenses and my advance, because when I get to LA--"

"No, no, we're good, Max," Robert had told him. "I'll have it ready by the time you get here. My God, this is..."

Robert had hesitated, his mind filled with a great many thoughts -- many of them conflicting, many of them hard to reconcile -- but Max hadn't been interested in the delay: he instead just ended the call and began his capture of Melissa. Now, as Robert's phone chimed again with a simple text -- Got her. Make the call -- Robert's mind was again racing with conflicting thoughts.

He was supposed to call the Novato City Police, the Marin County Sheriff, and the California Highway Patrol to announce that he had a bounty hunter in the area, that that Dog had a bail jumper in custody, and that he was bringing her in. The advanced notice was to ensure that Max had no confrontation with the Law, as he had with everyday heroic but misguided citizens recently.

Instead, after a long moment of contemplation -- and of trying to gain control of his trembling hands -- Robert looked to a business card on his desk, a plain white slip of hard stock with only a phone number on it. He'd already called it once today -- when Max announced he'd located Melissa -- and now he called it again.

"He got her," Robert said when a male voice answered with a simple What? After a moment of no response, Robert stressed, "He got her. Did you hear me?"

"Yes," the voice responded calmly. "Thank you for your service."

"Are you're people there yet?" Robert continued, desperate -- for reasons of which he was unsure -- to know how much time remained before his favorite bounty hunter was introduced to Robert's bad people. When there was no response again, he asked, "Is it necessary to kill Max ... really? Can't you just take the girl?"

There was no answer this time because the call had already ended on the other end. Robert asked if anyone was there but got no reply. He disassembled the burner phone as he'd been directed, stomp it into several pieces, then lit the business card with a match. He watched all evidence of his connection to The Organization disappear, his body still trembling at the knowledge that he'd just killed Max to keep himself from being killed.

The crush of his body on top of her made the air in her lungs whoosh out in a quick rush. She wheezed, gasping to gain enough to even breathe. She tried to throw her free elbow somewhere into his body, but it was useless. She let out a gasp of outrage as he murmured against her ear that he would take it upon himself to treat her like trash if she tried that again.

When she second cuff was clipped on her wrist, she felt her blood run cold. The moment was startling and made her think of when she had been arrested the night Frank was murdered. Jail was not somewhere that she wanted to go back to.

"Let me go!" She insisted as she was hoisted up by her elbow and dumped onto the bed, his body soon following to keep her in place.

She reared back as she felt him searching for something in his vest. Her head made contact with the tip of his chin and she saw stars. Fuck, that hurt, she thought to herself as she shifted from side to side to use the moment of contact to get out from underneath him. She was a scrappy fighter. It was a way to survive when someone wanted to accuse her of the unspeakable.

"Let me go!"

Suddenly, Melissa's head back to smash into Max's chin. She may have thought she'd thunked her own head good -- which she had -- but Max hadn't expected it, obviously, and he bit his tongue hard enough to cause his eyes to squeeze shut as he reeled back.

"Fu-u-u-u-ck...!" he bellowed as his eyes filled with pain tears. It took a moment for his brain to focus on anything other than the pain and the blood filling his mouth, but when he was finally able to, he growled, "Bitch!"

Max had maintained his grip on the woman's cuffed arms for a moment, but she wriggled free and moved away. He knew she wasn't going anywhere, not with her hands cuffed behind her back, but he still hurried to nab her again. He spun her around to face him, pushed her back under his control until she slammed against the wall. This time, he kept a better hold of her, grasping a fistful of hair with one hand and pressing the forearm of the other arm across her chest, incidentally getting a handful of a firm, full tit. As she thrashed, he curled his right leg across in front of Melissa's legs, just to ensure that her next assault wasn't with her knees upon his balls.

"Listen...!" Max growled, his pain and anger tensed face up so close to her own that she surely smelled the remnants of the onion and pepper heavy sandwich he'd finished hours ago. "You're going back to jail, so stop fighting me ... before I fucking hurt you in ways you can't possibly even imagine."

Melissa was still reeling when he bellowed out in pain and suddenly she had been let free. She stumbled as she rolled off the bed, her eyes locking on the door of the room. She just had to make it outside. If she were outside, she could call for help or make it to her car. That was the thought in her head before she was spun around and forced up against the wall. She yelped in fear and pain as he curled his fingers against her hair and wrenched her head backwards. He seemed to trap her there in an instant, his arm across her chest and his leg trapping her legs so she couldn't kick.

It was then that she noticed for the first time that it was the same man from the coffee shop. How long has he been following her, she asked herself, frown lines marring her smooth forehead. She had been so careful to cover her tracks, but it obviously hadn't been good enough.

"I didn't do this. I wouldn't have killed my husband. Why would I?" Melissa insisted again, hoping to appeal to his sense of justice or even pity. "I was about to divorce him. He was worth much more to me alive. I'm not a violent person. They won't listen to me."

She stared him in the eye, panting from the adrenaline of the moment. She was unprepared for him to rip her away from the wall. Soon she was being marched towards the door and she knew he wasn't going to listen.

"No. I need my bags. My phone and watch are on the nightstand. I can't leave without them." She said, not to mention her shoes were still on the floor next to the bed as well.

"I didn't do this," Melissa said to Max concerning his reason for being here. "I wouldn't have killed my husband. Why would I?"

"Not my concern," the bounty hunter said, gulping down the blood in his mouth. The bite hadn't cut him as severely as it felt or tasted, but the pain still had Max blinking the pain tears from his eyes. "My job--"

"I was about to divorce him," Melissa continued as Max turned her around and checked the cuffs. "He was worth much more to me alive. I'm not a violent person."

Max was about to say Tell that to my tongue, bitch, which you nearly cut in half, but she was continuing, "They won't listen to me."

"Well, it's hard for them to listen to you when your not there," he snapped back as he pulled Melissa away from the wall and forced her toward the door, adding, "But I'm about to fix that."

"No. I need my bags. My phone and watch are on the nightstand. I can't leave without them."

"Phone...?" Max asked as his head spun quickly toward the night stand. "You have your phone?"

He stood there for a moment, ignoring Melissa as he thought back to what Robert had told him about tracking the bail jumper. The bondsman had said he tracked Melissa through her magical marketing credit card. But, if Melissa had her cell phone with her, and if it had been on at any point, she could have easily been tracked through it. Something didn't sound right...

No, Robert wouldn't have kept anything about one of his fleeing clients secret from Max. Particularly one who'd potentially cost him so much money that didn't belong to him in the first place. Then, Max had a second thought, this one about who else might be after Melissa Morrison, other than the Authorities, of course.

"Be quiet," Max told her softly as he moved her over close to the door and peeked out the drapes. "I need to think."

There didn't seem to be anyone out there of concern. Max could see the motel manager sitting just beyond the big pane windows of his office, watching the latest Wifes of Where Ever unreality show. And there was a couple leaned up against an SUV in each other's arms, the man likely trying to convince the woman to let him come inside her room, and then cum inside of her, of course. Normally the thought get a room would have come into Max's mind, ironic since it was a motel parking lot. But right now that mind was filled with greater concerns.

"Let's go," he said reaching for the door handle. He paused before he opened it, though, looking hard into Melissa's eyes and threatening, "You say a word ... you scream ... you make even a sound ... and I'll hit you so fucking hard you'll sleep all the way to LA ... you got it?"

As he'd been speaking his warning, Max had tightened his grip on her elbow to the point that Melissa's face tightened up with pain. He got her out the door and was heading for the staircase in silence, but Max was no idiot. He couldn't be certain that his threat would hold: as soon as she spotted the couple in the parking lot or thought she was close enough to the office to be heard by the manager, Max knew the likelihood of Melissa screaming out was high.

He paused Melissa when they reached the bottom of the stairs, pulled a burner phone from his belt, and flipped it open, ready to press the speed dial for 9-1-1: Max wanted to ensure that the imminent arrival of the cops didn't result in him either getting shot or losing his $200,000 pay day, either of which would be tragic at this moment. Then...

Max looked toward where the happy horny couple had just been moments earlier, and they were gone. To his left, hidden between an abandoned building and a big parked box truck was a dark sedan that hadn't been there before. A dog Max hadn't heard earlier in the evening was having a fit in a yard just out of sight in the other direction, possibly because of an intruding cat ... or an intruding human. As Max was putting it all together, his experience determined that a brand new sound nearer to the street was the powerful 8 cylinder engine of a large vehicle, perhaps the kind of SUV people like he liked to use on the job.

Bad people, Max thought, recalling Robert's warning. Bad people with guns. Then suddenly, he realized that his employer had never texted him back to tell him the LEOs were aware of him being in Novato, working while armed, Max called it.

"Lady, what the fuck have you gotten me into," Max mused softly, ignoring Melissa's response or even registering if she had one. He pressed the speed dial for 9-1-1, set the phone down so that it would stay energized and be traceable to this location, then backed Melissa into the shadows of the stair well. He checked his six, then turned her quickly and headed the opposite direction, growling, "If you keep your fucking mouth shut, we both might live to see Los Angeles again."

But no sooner had they turned the corner then Max found the kissing couple from out front hurrying at them under the harsh glow of the motel's deck's night lighting ... guns drawn. In a flash he had his gun out and leveled at them, hollering, "Put'em down! Put'em down!"

Well, that didn't work!

Both of the faux love birds leveled their weapons at Max, ready to put him down. Without knowing who and what they were -- possibly though not likely law enforcement -- Max couldn't just begin blasting away. Instead, he gave Melissa a hard shove ... sending her right into the pool, fully dressed save for her bare feet ... with her hands cuffed behind her.

Shots exploded from the guns aimed at Max, with one of the rounds hitting him almost directly over his heart, spinning him in place, which was thankful as it reduced his profile and caused the other three shots to miss. He stumbled a bit, acting on instinct in diving for the ground and rolling over to point his weapon back at his assailants. Without taking the time to aim, he began unloading the top half of his clip in their direction, causing them to disengage and search for cover. Max rolled again, back into the stair well where -- grimacing from the pain of the bullet's impact -- he forced himself to his feet.

"Fuck!" he growled to himself as he slipped his hand in between his chest and his vest: it hurt like hell, but the bullet hadn't gone through. A moment later, the startled shooters unloaded on the stairwell again, causing concrete, wood, a tiny bits of lead to fill the air all about Max.

In between the shots, Max made out the man's commands to his female partner,
"Get her! Get her out of there!"

Max stuck his gun out around the corner, popping off two rounds -- to get the shooters' heads down -- before peeking out. He found the man -- who quickly returned to exchanging fire with Max -- but couldn't see either of the women. He popped off the rest of his clip and as he kicked it out and shoved another one in, imagined his big payday being pulled out of the pool and driven off into the night. And as tragic as that thought was, and as much as it pissed Max off, he still couldn't help but imagine and smile at the thought of the former stripper's body with its now-wet clothes glued to it like a second skin.

"Fuck..."

"Yes, my phone. In case of emergencies." Melissa answered as if he were a total idiot. "I wasn't going to drive without having it somewhere close by."

As he pulled to a stop next to the door, she actually felt scared. What the hell was going to happen now? Would he immediately turn her over to the cops? Would he do something else to her before they even made it back to Los Angeles? She wanted to run and she had the thought that once the door was opened, she might be able to get away, using the darkness to her advantage.

All of those thoughts were swirling in her head as he turned back towards her, his hand squeezing her elbow painfully tight and threatening that if she screamed or made a sound once the door was open, he would make sure that she wouldn't be awake for the trip back. She shrank back slightly, her dark eyes showing just how terrified she was right then as he jerked her out of the door and towards the staircase.

The rough concrete bit into her feet as they walked and by the time they had reached the bottom of the staircase, she really wished that he had let her stop to get her shoes. He seemed so incredibly tense as he pulled her to a stop and pulled out a phone from his vest, dialing at short number and waiting for some unknown event to happen.

"If you let me go, you wouldn't have to worry about it." Melissa said back, her heart thudding hard in her chest as a gun suddenly appeared in his hand, pointing at a couple that had been in the parking lot just a few moments earlier.

When guns were levels back at them, Melissa let out a moan of fear, backing up as much as his grip would allow her. Then she was being shoved hard off to the side. She stumbled at the force and let out a short scream that was swallowed as she suddenly fell into the pool. The water closed around her head quickly, startling her as she hit the bottom and stayed there for a moment. Muffled sounds above her suggested that all hell was breaking loose, but the burning in her lungs demanded that she try and get air. The meant that she had to surface.

Pushing off the bottom of the pool, her head broke the surface for a brief moment as she kicked and tried to stay afloat without the use of her arms. Her wrists were pulling at her bonds, struggling to break free of the cuffs that he had put on her. It wasn't going to happen and she knew that, but fear could make a person do some strange things.

Gunshots were still ringing out everywhere as she struggled to the shallow end. Once her feet were underneath her, she crouched low and pressed herself against the pool wall for shelter. She knew Frank had been through some shady business deals in the past and she had ignored it all. Maybe now she was paying for all of his misdeeds after he had already paid with his life.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she heard someone running towards her location. A woman that she had never seen before appeared, gun still drawn. She was thin, but there was no mistaking that she was strong. It took mere moments for her to reach towards her, grabbing a hunk of her wet hair and dragging her from the water to the rough concrete. Melissa actually yelped in pain as she was drug, her right arm rubbing against the pool deck. It didn't take long for blood to appear, trickling down her arm as the skin was rubbed raw.

She fought then, thrashing and kicking until the woman flipped her over roughly, the gun pointed right at her forehead. She stopped then, panting as the woman continued to stare down at her, the gun at the ready.

"I'll put a bullet between your eyes if you struggle." The woman growled, finger on the trigger and ready to see if Melissa would comply.

Instead, Melissa kicked straight towards the woman's stomach with both feet, toppling her into the pool. She then turned, getting her knees and then feet under her yet again, and she ran for cover. Soon, she was cowering beside her car, crouched down low beside one of the tires as gunshots continued to fill the night. Distantly, she heard sirens and knew the police had been called. Of course they had. Which meant she would soon be on her way to jail. Melissa couldn't help the tears that gathered on her lashes then, all hopes of freedom withering away in an instant.

Max wasn't getting anywhere as he was: the man shooting at him had better position and cover. He could hear distant sirens, which a law abiding citizen should normally treasure. But dealing with the cops right now, after having unloaded over two dozen rounds in a suburban neighborhood was really not something Max wanted right now.

And, of course, if the cops got Melissa instead of him, Max would lose his bounty. Better to get her back to LA, cash in, and then deal with the repercussions of a shoot out on the Bay. He popped off a couple of more rounds in the man's direction, then quickly ran away. Ten seconds later, he'd circled around the stair well, a couple of cars, and a dumpster to arrive at a short wall on the opposite side of the pool. Peeking up and out, Max almost laughed at the sight of Melissa kicking the female half of the hit team into the pool.

The male half of the team spun to go after the skip tracer, but Max stood, took a steady stance, and fired just a single round over the pool. The still anonymous hitman jerked, and turned toward Max who fired four more times. The force of the 9mm bullets striking him at high speed jolted the man, who stumbled back, teetered, then toppled through the motel window that one of Max's bullets had already shattered, disappearing into the apparently unoccupied room.

Max found the hit woman swimming toward the other end of the pool. He sprinted for her, leaping the wall, and reaching her just as she pulled herself up onto the deck and spun to fire. Too late, though: Max's punch caused her head to snap back, and -- stunned into unconsciousness -- her knees bent and she simply fell to her back, slamming onto the deck.

And that ... was when he saw it!

Max pulled the lapel of the woman's belt aside and found an FBI badge. Holy fuck! He'd just assaulted two Feds, possibly killing the male half if any of his bullets got beyond the man's presumed vest.

"Report!" a voice said, seemingly distant yet close at the same time. Max pulled aside the other lapel to find a radio just as the male voice again ordered, "Report! Johnson! Cramer! Report. Do you have them?"

Max looked about himself for more dangers, but seeing none held the radio up against his moving lips and spoke, knowing that the man on the other end wouldn't understand his intentionally incomprehensible words.

"Repeat! Repeat your last."

"We have them," Max repeated, less like gibberish. "What do you want done with them?"

"Jesus Christ!" the man responded. "You have your orders! Put that fucking Dog down, and bring me that woman. Confirm!"

"Well, fuck," Max murmured to himself after lowering the radio to arms length. Any concerns that he'd inadvertently killed two Feds while in the commission of their assignment had just gone out the window. He raised the radio again after the man on the other end repeated his need for confirmation. "Copy. You don't want to question the bounty hunter?"

"Rendezvous at oh-three-hundred with the client," the man said, asking again for confirmation before signing off.

Max looked to the window through which the other crooked agent had flown, and seeing no movement there looked to the woman. She was out and wouldn't be a problem until Max was far away from here. The only question now was whether or not he'd be leaving the area with or without his prey.

He rushed the direction in which Melissa had disappeared, following the ever thinning trail of dark water spots on the otherwise light colored concrete. When he reached the gravel parking lot, though, there was no more following her.

"Melissa Morrison!" he called out. "If you want to live, you'll come out and let me help you. Look at me! Look at this!" He held the FBI badge up above his head and turned slowly two full times around as he explained, "Those were Feds, Melissa. FBI agents. Sent here by whoever the fuck it is who probably killed your husband to get you ... maybe kill you, I don't know! But if you want to live ... you'll let me--"

Max hesitated. He'd almost said You'll let me take you in. But the last thing Melissa probably wanted right now was to be back in custody, first because she claimed to be innocent, and second because if Feds could get her out here, they'd certainly be able to get her in jail. So, instead, Max said, "You'll let me help you! You'll let me get you out of here."

He had no idea whether or not she'd come out. Hell, he didn't even know whether she was listening. But, it was all he could do. "Melissa, you can trust me."

Melissa held her breath as she heard someone calling her name in the silence that followed the shootout. Glancing around the back of the car, she saw the bounty hunter standing there, an FBI badge in his hand held above his head. He as asking her to trust him, to come with him and he would make her safe. She didn't know that she could trust him. Hell, she didn't think that she could trust anyone at that moment.

"Only if you get my things." She called back against her better judgement.

He wasn't a cop. He wasn't any kind of law enforcement. He couldn't arrest her again and he wouldn't take her back to prison immediately. If she bided her time, she could sneak away sooner or later. It was the best option that she had, especially since her arms were cuffed behind her back and her shoulder was bleeding.

"I won't go anywhere unless that happens." She insisted, not moving from her position until he agreed.

Max shifted his attention to his left as he heard Melissa call out, "Only if you get my things."

“Seriously!” he responded after catching the top of her head as she peeked out at him from behind a car. “People are trying to kill you, and you want your fuckin’ luggage?”

He laughed, contemplating just rushing her and taking her down again like he had upstairs. But Max wanted answers as to why he’d almost been killed by dirty Feds -- or thugs pretending to be such -- and he figured the best way to get those answers was to get Melissa to trust him, as Max had told her she could.

“I’ll buy you a new watch’n’phone’n’panties if you need them,” he negotiated, “so forget about your fuckin’ bags!”

"I won't go anywhere unless that happens."

The sirens told Max that the cops were almost to the motel. He had to make a decision. “Fuck! Okay, okay--”

He pulled the key fob from his pocket and pressed the Open button twice, causing the horn to honk and parking lights of his pickup to flash twice. Before he turned to sprint for the stairs, be commanded, “Get in my car, I’ll get your bags.”

He knew it would be a trick for Melissa to get the door open with her hands cuffed behind her, but Max had confidence she would figure it out. Less than 15 seconds later -- and this time slamming his way through the old barrier, rather than finessing its locks -- Max was through the door of Melissa’s room and gathering her things. Another 10 seconds he was back out the door, heading for his truck. The first of the squad cars stopped at the east entrance to the motel. Max crouched as he approached his rig, tossing the bags into the bed of his rig and slipping in behind the wheel.

“Un-fuck-in’-believ-able,” he murmured, glancing at Melissa with daggers in his eyes. He turned over the engine, and -- without turning on the headlights or racing the engine -- crept the vehicle out the west entrance. Over the next five minutes, he used parking lots, alleys, even a bike path to cut through and out of Novato as red and blue lights filled the night from seemingly every direction.

When they finally got over the river and he could find a narrow, tree and underbrush lined, dirt road on which they could break, Max reach a hand to his chest and rubbed his fingertips over what was already becoming a sensitive bruise.

“What the fuck … are you into, Melissa?”

He insisted that he could buy her what she needed, but Melissa stood firm in her decision. She had only taken things that meant something to her, sentimental pieces from her life before Frank. It wasn't just clothing a and frivolous things. He wouldn't understand that and she didn't can to explain things to him.

When the lights on the truck flashed, she nodded and made her way towards it, turning her back to the vehicle to get her fingers under the handle. The door opened easily enough and she was just working to get the door closed when he reappeared, tossing her things in the back of the truck and slipping behind the driver's seat. The door closed as he drove forward, sending them into darkness as the light overhead went out.

She was silent as he drove, ducking down in the seat to stay out of sight. Her adrenaline was wearing thin in her nerves and she found herself shivering in the blast of his AC. When he finally spoke, she jumped, glancing towards him in the darkness.

"I don't know." She said truthfully. "I don't know who these people are and I don't know what is happening. I never asked my husband about his business dealings."

"I don't know," Melissa responded to Max's question. "I don't know who these people are and I don't know what is happening. I never asked my husband about his business dealings."

He didn't believe that, of course. It was obvious that her husband had been into some pretty shady stuff. Max had come to know a bit more about Frank Morrison over the past couple of days, doing google searches on his phone and tablet, both while driving north from LA -- yes, while behind the wheel on the freeway traveling at 70mph -- and off and on while sitting in the car or in cafes and fast food joints while waiting to discover Melissa's location.

And although he had found a number of stories about business deals that had been questionable, Max had found nothing about outright illegal activities, certainly nothing that had warranted a hit squad coming after Melissa, Max, or both of them. Either Frank was, in fact, clean; or the government had been keeping a lid on things while they investigated him, trying to make a solid case before slapping the cuffs on him ... as Max had on the man's wife.

The excitement of the shootout, chase, and flight had prevented him from doing it until now, but finally Max's gaze fell to Melissa's body for a moment. Even in the low light of the nearly full moon and the vehicle's dash lights, the wonderful shape of the former stripper's bosom was well defined within the wet blouse clinging tightly to her curves.

Max had to pull his eyes from her, looking first to Melissa's own eyes -- wondering whether the ogle had been noticed or not -- and then out the window as he fantasized leaning her over the lowered tailgate of the pickup truck to gain compensation for the pain in his chest where a vest-blocked bullet had nearly fractured a rib.

He threw upon the door of the pickup, snagged her suitcase, and went around to the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate as he'd fantasized ... just without the violent slamming of his cock into the woman. He threw open the luggage and rummaged through it, looking for guns, Tasers, knives, additional cell phones ... anything that she might use in an attempt to get away from him or call for help. When he found nothing of concern, Max went to and opened the passenger side door, helping Melissa out with a little more care than he'd used getting her out of the motel.

"You need to get out of those clothes," he told her, leading her around to the back of the truck. As he turned Melissa and began removing the cuffs, Max warned, "You try anything ... anything...! And I'll put these back on, toss you into the bed of the truck, and drive you all the way back to LA like a dog waiting to get to the park, you understand?"

With the cuffs off, he turned her to face him up close, staring into her face. He stressed again, to drive his warning home, "Understand?"

Max backed away a couple of steps, then half turned so that he wasn't looking directly at Melissa. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her enough to hopefully stop her if she ran or attacked him. Max had a suspicion -- actually, more than a suspicion -- that Melissa wouldn't want to change right here in the open before him, despite his being turned to give her a sense of privacy. But, he wasn't giving her an option.

"Get dressed," he commanded, pulling his sidearm to load a fresh clip before holstering it again. "And we'll get out of here. We have to find a place to lie low while I figure out what the fuck just happened."

"I swear I didn't know anything." She insisted as he gave her a long side eyed look as if he didn't believe her. "Frank never talked business with me. He said it wasn't my place to know."

After they had married, she had come to realize that her charming husband wasn't so charming after all. He could be misogynistic, pompous, borderline verbally abusive, and he expected her to simply look pretty and keep her mouth shut. It was a pretty lonely existence but one that she had put up with for far too long.

When he pulled the car to a stop, she watched as he got out of the driver's seat and made his way to the tailgate. The sharp thunk of it falling made her jump and she turned to look through the back window at him as he rummaged through her things. Her favorite outfits were pawed through, a few items of sentimental value shoved aside, but he left everything as it was.

When he came to her side of the car, she exited with him without hesitation, surprised when he spun her around and started to take off the cuffs. His threat was clear as he insisted that he would throw her in the bed of the truck and treat her like a dog if she did anything to escape or attack him. She nodded at the warning, glancing at the suitcase and then at him as he turned to reload his weapon.

"I don't know how much I can tell you." She said softly, pulling a clean, long sleeved Tshirt from the case and a new pair of jeans.

She stripped from her wet clothing, underwear included to change. It was chilly and she made quick work of her task, placing the wet items in the back of the truck before she grabbed the shoes that had almost been left behind. Once she was clothed, with something back in her feet, she did feel a million times better.

"I swear I didn't know anything."

Max hadn't initially believed that Melissa could be this blind to her husband's business dealings. But as he stood here contemplating what had happened and how she'd reacted to it all, and also thought of how little he'd learned from his online study of Frank Morrison, Max would come to wonder if perhaps the woman was being honest after all.

"Frank never talked business with me. He said it wasn't my place to know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Max had been able to tell from the movement of limbs what Melissa was doing: shedding her wet top, shedding her wet pants ... then ... shedding her bra and panties. Without turning his head more toward her, Max let his eyes shift as far as comfortable in an effort to get a look at her. When he could tell that she'd turned toward the tail gate to snag something from the case, Max couldn't help it: he turned his head to get a good look at Melissa.

As he turned away from her again, he actually found himself wishing he hadn't looked. That firm, round ass reflecting the light of the moon, made him want to just turn and take her right now. The brief glimpse of the outer curve of one tit had Max wanting its presumably swollen, hard nipple between his lips as his tongue flopped up and down it.

When she let him know she was dressed, Max turned to face her again. He looked her up and down, not so much an ogle of her curves as just an observation of her status as being dressed and dry. Yet, it would have been impossible for any man not to have noticed the still swollen, hard nipples thrusting out from beneath the thin fabric of the tee, nor the shapely, hour glass figure highlighted now by the tight fitting jeans.

"Pack it up," he commanded after a moment, nodding toward the possessions filling the tail gate. "We gotta get out of here. I know a place where we can hide out for a while. But first ... there's something you have to understand."

He stepped closer to Melissa, looking down from his head-taller height to look into her eyes. "For what ever reason ... someone out there wants you. They want you, and they're willing to kill me to get you. And after they kill me, they might just kill you, too. Now ... you can bide your time ... wait for that moment when you think my guard is down ... and you can run. Or, you can even try to kill me to get away. And you might succeed."

He backed a bit and turned to curl around the pickup as he finished, "But then, they'll catch you ... they'll do what ever it is they need to do to get what ever the fuck it is they want from you ... and then they'll kill you."

He opened the driver's door. "So ... if that's what you're gonna do ... just ... do it now. Pack your fuckin' bag ... get it out of my truck bed ... and walk away. I won't stop you."

With that, Max got into the truck, closed the door, and sat there, honestly unsure of whether or not Melissa would get in beside him or not.