Their Little Christmas Bounty (Happy Holidaddies #3)

Chapter 1

Austin

After eight months in the Hunters Division of Ironwood Security, I’ve found there are two kinds of jobs. The hard ones, and the harder ones. I know it’s going to be a harder one when the owner himself, Jaxon Marsel, calls my partner Lyle and me in for a briefing.

“Special request from a friend-of-a-friend,” Jaxon says, turning his computer monitor around so Lyle and I can see it.

“Ariel Capulet, age twenty-five, stole a family heirloom. Her father wants her—and the heirloom—retrieved before the new year. Something about healing the family and starting the year on the right foot. He doesn’t want law enforcement involved, which is where we come in. ”

I’m struck dumb at the sight of our prey. Blond hair, green eyes, an impish expression on her mischievous face. Those plump pink lips smirk at me.

“Austin?” Lyle nudges me. “You listening?”

I tear my gaze away from the screen. “Yeah, yeah. By New Year’s, you say?”

“New Year’s,” Jaxon confirms. “You have the company card. Her father describes her as flighty, so you’ll likely have to travel. The holidays are coming up—will this be a problem for either of you?”

Not for me—my family’s on the East Coast and I wasn’t planning to see them this year. Too much drama with my golden child sister and her family. “No problem here,” I say to Jaxon.

“Same.” Lyle grins. “I already celebrated Hannukah with my parents, so I’m good. Besides, we can get her back before Christmas Eve, no problem.”

As soon as we’re out of Jaxon’s office, I punch Lyle’s shoulder.

“Ow, what the fuck?”

“‘Before Christmas Eve, no problem’? Are you trying to curse the mission, or what?”

He scoffs. “You saw her. Hardly a criminal mastermind.”

I shake my head. “We have her last known address. She won’t be there, but let’s check it out anyway.”

* * *

Ariel

My phone rings, pulling my attention away from my computer screen. I glance at the incoming caller ID.

Asshat Dad.

Fuck. No.

I ignore the call and try to go back to my work—designing security for a webstore. This is a decent-sized job, and since I work freelance, I can use every penny. While my services are highly recommended, there’s only one of me.

My phone dings a second later, indicating a voicemail.

Sighing, I stand up and stretch. Do I want to deal with this now? My mom’s ring sparkles on my hand. She would want me to talk to Dad, to hear him out.

He doesn’t deserve it.

But Mom would.

Knowing I won’t like what I hear, I tap the phone screen. My dad’s voice comes out over the speaker.

“Ariel. I miss you. It’s one week until Christmas, and I need to talk to you. I’ve taken a drastic measure, and I hope you can eventually forgive me. Please know my heart is in the right place.”

The voicemail ends with a soft beep.

Shit. A drastic measure? Coming from my father, that could mean any fucking thing.

He could be on his way to my place right now, or he could be putting a lock on my trust fund.

Which—fine, I haven’t touched that fund since I broke up with Leon and Dad took Leon’s side.

Or he could’ve arranged a singing telegram. There’s just no way to know.

I type out a quick text to Janie. She’s my best friend, and Dad’s personal assistant. Hey...what’s my dad doing? He said something about a “drastic measure” in his voicemail.

She writes back almost immediately. I could get in so much trouble for this.

My stomach falls. I know, I’m sorry to ask, but...

He hired Ironwood. You didn’t hear it from me, and that’s all I’m going to say. Please come home, Ariel. I fucking miss you.

I fucking miss you, too. I don’t address her request to come home. I can’t. Everything is too raw.

Setting down my phone, I return to my computer. My fingers fly over the keyboard. Ironwood Security. They have standard bodyguard services, which doesn’t make any sense for my dad and me. But wait—the Hunters Division—bounty hunters? He wouldn’t. But I think he did.

I need to know more. Their internet safeguards are really strong. Solid system. Amazing, actually.

But I’m amazing, too, and I find a tiny weakness to exploit.

I’m in.

I’m not here to fuck things up, so I avoid anything that looks sensitive. Soon, I find my file.

My father picked that photo to share with them? He took it at the company Christmas party last year, right when I was about to say something snarky and tasteless to him about spending a ton of money on alcohol for people who can afford to buy new livers when their old ones give up.

Then Leon had shown up and I’d swallowed the comment. Always changing myself and my weird sense of humor to suit him.

There, on my file, I find two names assigned to bring me in. Lyle Meeks and Austin Swetland. Nothing about who they are or what they look like. I could comb through their employee files, but again, I don’t want to fuck shit up with Ironwood or get anyone in trouble. So I take to social media.

They aren’t on any of the usuals—PhotoGram, SocialFace, Redactible.

But I love this kind of challenge. I fall down various rabbit holes of information.

The average person’s digital footprint is never as light or invisible as they’d like it to be.

But most people don’t care to hunt others down like I do.

Me, I live for this shit. It’s like a side hobby.

When my girlfriends are worried their new love interest is cheating, or already married, they come to me.

Because I can find anything.

Including the fact that both Mr. Meeks and Mr. Swetland have accounts on Kynkworld.

I scroll the “about” page and discover that Kynkworld is a social media hub created by kinky people, for kinky people.

Well, well, well. Each of their profiles lists them as “Dominant.” This discovery is a lot more interesting than what I expected.

To think, if they’d had easy-to-find accounts on SocialFace, I probably would’ve stopped looking.

I do find extra information on SocialFace, from Lyle Meeks’s parents. In their image galleries, I find a photo of him at a family event. He’s handsome, with reddish-brown hair and a stern, reserved expression.

A few more trips to different sites, and I track down his phone number. I grin and pick up my phone, opening up a new text thread.

Hello, Mr. Lyle. Should we place bets on how soon you can track me down?

* * *

Lyle

I stare down at my phone, at the unfamiliar number and the following message.

It can’t be from our new bounty, but I’m wracking my brains to figure out who else might have sent it.

“Hey.” I nudge Austin as we stand outside Ariel Capulet’s apartment. “Did we play with someone at Low Vice recently, and not save her number?”

He shakes his head, distracted while we wait to see if anyone answers the door. We picked up her house key at Ironwood before we left. Ariel’s dad is on the lease, so he had a copy which he gave to Ironwood. He said she hasn’t been home in several days, though.

“Okay, we’re going in.” He pulls her apartment key from his pocket and fits it into the lock.

The door pops open and we’re standing in a clean, fairly modern space.

“Smells good in here,” I say.

Austin shrugs. “Let’s figure out where she went.”

He’s so boring sometimes. I start forward, noting the purple couch and the colorful throw pillows and cozy blanket. This is the kind of place I’d want to hang out for hours. Smells good, looks comfy. I could really rest here. Austin would lose his fucking mind if I lie down to take a nap, though.

“I’ll check the bedroom.” I start down the hall.

“Pervert,” Austin calls after me.

“Yep.” I step into a room that smells even better than the rest of the house, like sweet chamomile.

My phone buzzes with another text.

Did you even knock?

I gape at the message. I think it’s her. “Yo, Austin!”

He hurries in. “I found something. Did you?”

I show him my phone.

Scowling at it, he takes out his own phone. “Let’s cross-check the number with the one we have on file.”

I can save you the trouble. This is Ariel.

“It’s her.” I point to the new message. “And I think she can hear us.”

So what will you wager, sir? Will you be able to find me, and when?

Austin shakes his head and shares his own phone screen. He took a photo of something in her dining room. The image shows a reservation print-out for a cabin in Clear Springs. The page was torn in several pieces, but he fit them back together to get the address and dates of her reservation.

Little Ariel thinks she’s so clever. I text her back. Yeah, we’ll find you. I bet we’ll be there by tonight.

I wait, breath held, while she types out her response.

$100 wager?

It’s a deal, I write back. Then I turn to Austin to find him frowning angrily. “What?”

“Are you done flirting, asshole? We have a job to do.”

I gesture toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Two hours later, we’re standing outside the Clear Springs cabin.

“No car,” Austin points out, unnecessarily.

“No car. She could’ve hired a ride.” But my gut tells me she isn’t here.

We walk up and knock. No answer, not that I expected one. I peer in one of the windows when an automated voice from the porch camera startles me. A grouchy, older male voice asks, “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yes, sorry—we’re looking for Ariel Capulet.”

“She’s not here. She never showed. Paid for her time in full, though, and told me I could rent the place out anyway. Nice girl. What are you doing skulking around after her?”

“We’re concerned friends,” Austin says, but he sounds too annoyed to be concerned.

“Go be concerned somewhere else,” the man says through the speakers.

Back in the car, Austin shakes his head. “She tricked us.”

“Of course she did.” I pull out my phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding out whether she’ll take Venmo. I owe her a hundred bucks.”