A Powerless World | Book 1 | Escape The Breakdown Read online

  NAME: Scott, Alicia

  DOB: 01/17/1987, AGE: 33

  RACE: Caucasian

  HEIGHT: 5’6

  WEIGHT: 130

  HAIR COLOR: Blonde

  EYE COLOR: Blue

  SCARS & MARKS: Tattoo of an angel on the right ankle

  Colby lifted his eyes to the clock. Anytime now.

  Finding her had been quite a challenge, making sure it was the right person, vital.

  He’d heard many a tale of the wrong person being grabbed, and guys being slapped with kidnapping charges. That was a one-way ticket to the slammer. Inside, he wouldn’t survive, since he’d put away many of the guys that were locked up.

  He glanced up for a second, then took a piece of mint gum and folded it in his mouth. Apprehension varied from person to person. For some, it only took a matter of hours, others days, and in her case a few weeks. Those were the fun ones.

  Most bail jumpers left a trail of bread crumbs behind; family, friends, and lovers were often listed in their paperwork, and nine times out of ten one of those would either cover their ass or would turn them in just to protect property that had been used in the bail conditions. A canvass of last-known contacts, some simple surveillance of old hangouts, a slew of bitter coffee, and devouring fast food while he watched from afar often worked in those cases.

  When that failed, it came down to electronic records, social media, phone numbers, bank accounts, email, credit card usage. People were creatures of habit. Even though they liked to think they could live without the familiar, many were tripped up returning to their old ways, even careers.

  See, the beauty of the modern world they now lived in was it was an interconnected web that few could escape without leaving a digital footprint behind. Heck, he’d caught a few idiots still driving their cars with OnStar. Locating them only required a few phone calls using his previous connections.

  The rest, well, the desperate ones were admittedly harder to catch. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, except there were thousands of haystacks. Fortunately, few fugitives, at least the ones he’d pursued, ever ventured out of the country unless they’d managed to sneak under the wire. It was too difficult, airport or border control would stop them.

  Those with more on the line than a short stint in jail would cut all ties with everyone and start afresh, in a large city, somewhere they could blend in, unnoticed, become nothing more than a face in the crowd.

  The City of Angels was great for that.

  In the land of the shallow, unless you were a somebody, you were a nobody. Not even worth a second glance. More hopes and dreams had been dashed under these palm trees than anywhere else in the world. Plunk yourself down in a shady neighborhood where even cops feared to tread, and as long as the landlord got paid, you could live quite comfortably without fear of being found. That’s because people were more worried about what color clothes they wore walking down the street than who a newcomer might be.

  The first mistake Alicia Scott made was simple. Traveling to a big city without help relied on transportation, and unless she was willing to thumb a ride, it left only a few options. She’d opted for a Greyhound and had been caught on CCTV arriving.

  Cameras were making it too easy.

  Still, while most in his line of work didn’t have the luxury of access to CCTV, his previous career had afforded him a certain level of VIP treatment. Clear, color footage had placed her in the city. Where? Well, that was the tricky part. After she walked off into the crowd she could have been anywhere. But he rose to the challenge.

  Around the corner, the woman strolled.

  Shuffling, juggling a few grocery bags in both hands.

  Right on time.

  Two months without trouble should have made her feel confident. It hadn’t. Her body mannerisms spoke volumes. Hunched over, she raised her collar against the dry breeze, eyes squinting, scanning nervously. “Huh, you’ve changed your hair,” he muttered, noting longer strands sticking out the sides of her beanie. Extensions? It was shoulder-length, colored dark now and her clothing was very bohemian. “Who spooked you?”

  He was careful on stakeouts, making sure he’d gotten the right person.

  Jumping the gun could ruin a capture.

  Colby sank, lowering his head, his hazel eyes hidden behind aviators. He’d approached fugitives in all manner of ways: in hotels, parking lots, outside apartments. It didn’t matter where only that he brought them in.

  He’d always tried to be respectful, never going out of his way to embarrass them or create a scene. This wasn’t some drama-filled reality TV made to impress an audience. A wrong move could bungle days of investigative work. Besides, he’d known many a civilian to step in, thinking that someone was being kidnapped. That’s why all the bail paperwork, his badge, alerting the PD, and properly identifying his target were critical. And it went without saying, safety was paramount. He wasn’t losing his head over 10 percent even if he needed it.

  Once the woman headed up the outside steps and went inside the apartment, he took out his trusty Glock 19 and checked the magazine, a ritual instilled from years gone by. He palmed it back into place, slipped the pistol back into his shoulder holster, then pulled his leather jacket around his chest and got out. He didn’t expect to use the gun but he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d seen situations go south really quick.

  His eyes darted both ways, scanning the sidewalk for threats. Colby strode down the street toward the slum. He scaled the vomit-covered flight of steps, acutely aware of his surroundings, ready to arrest another bail-jumper.

  That’s all she was to him at that moment.

  Another payday, another fugitive on the run.

  Sure she was cute, many before her had been, but regardless, pretty face or not, she had broken her bond agreement and it was up to him to bring her in. Just like the others before her. Female, male, old, young, it didn’t matter. They were just a number. She’d be the third one he’d nabbed that week. He’d gotten lucky on the first but the last two had made him work for his money.

  While most of his work as a bail enforcement agent, aka bounty hunter, carried its own challenges, he was grateful to be still using skills he’d gained from his previous employment. A year ago, he’d been part of the thin blue line, an officer with the LAPD until he’d parted ways.

  How he got involved with Sure-fire Bail Bonds was a story in itself. He figured he had maybe another year before he changed careers. It wasn’t that he couldn’t continue, it was his partner, Kane. He was getting a little too long in the tooth, and too old to back him up. Without him, he didn’t see the point of continuing.

  Colby made his way past two apartments before stopping outside 16A.

  The window was covered by thin drapes. It offered some privacy but not enough that he couldn’t peer in and see silhouettes if he wanted. However, experience had taught him that was liable to get him a round in the skull.

  Earlier intel had shown that the apartment was in the name of a Madeline Bartridge. A real woman. Not Alicia but someone who had been advertising for a roommate for months online. Someone who didn’t want to carry the month-to-month bills alone.

  No doubt Alicia paid in cash, cash earned under the table from unreported employment. He’d seen numerous ex-offenders, husbands looking to skip out on child support and so on, turn to all manner of jobs: housekeeping, landscaping, farm work, window cleaning, and day-to-day construction labor, just to avoid the long arm of the law. It was a win-win situation for any small business looking to keep the lion’s share of profits out of the hands of the taxman.

  He stared at the door for but a second and then shifted off to one side, habit, you couldn’t be too careful. He placed his ear to it then pulled back. Yep, still inside. Now, which one are you? There were all types: shooters, runners, hiders, fighters, and liars. There was no way of really telling who he was dealing with until the confrontation.

  His phone jangled in his pocket, he let it go to voice.


  Colby hesitated then raised a clenched hand and knocked.

  No response. He got close to the door again and heard whispering.

  He knocked again.

  “Who is it?”

  Now he could lie, and he had done that countless times before, but they were on the second floor and she was on the small side, he figured worst-case scenario she’d unload a round through the door and he’d find himself in a standoff, perhaps receiving assistance from local PD. Twenty minutes and it would all be in the can. Of course, some knew the game was up and just willingly came out. It happened more times than not.

  “Sure-fire Bail Bonds. Open up. I’m here for Alicia.”

  Her nervous disposition from earlier indicated surrender was a probable outcome.

  No response.

  “Alicia, open the door.”

  There was shuffling from the other side.

  He banged again.

  The woman replied, “I don’t know anyone by that name. You’ve got the wrong apartment.”

  “And you are?” he asked, speaking to the closed door.

  “Madeline.”

  Now he knew that was a lie. He’d gotten confirmation earlier that Madeline wasn’t home. “Look, you want to open the door so we can talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  “With the door open.”

  “For safety, I’d prefer not. I don’t know who you are.”

  “I just said. Sure-fire Bail Bonds. Listen, Alicia, I know it’s you. I’m here to take you in. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You decide.”

  Quiet. No movement. He hammer fisted the door again. “Answer the door or I’m coming in.”

  “You can’t. You don’t have the right to. Penal code 1299.09.”

  Colby raised an eyebrow and smirked. A fugitive who knew the law? Well, that was a first. Most wouldn’t know their way around a law book if their life depended on it. Laws varied from state to state but in California, recovery agents had restrictions, and some fugitives knew their rights, though most of those rights were waived when a person signed off on the bond paperwork. One of those rights was the right to refuse consent to search, the Fourth Amendment right. That restriction didn’t apply to them. Calling management to enter with a key wouldn’t have done him any good as tenants had a reasonable expectation of privacy, and cops, well, they’d need a search warrant, and probable cause, though having said that, there were a few exceptions to that rule.

  Colby groaned.

  He didn’t like to escalate things. He could burst in but he wasn’t the door-kicking type, an asshole that needed to prove he had greater authority. There were right and wrong ways to go about it and to date he’d managed to avoid that scenario. But if push came to shove, he would do whatever was necessary.

  Instead, he leaned against the wall and decided to play her game, if only to see what else she could come up with. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere.

  He ran a hand over his beard.

  “You are aware there is an exception to that rule. Section 844.” It was long and wordy but the Cliff Notes were that he had the right to break open a door or window if he knew the person to be arrested was inside or had reasonable grounds to believe that was the case, after having demanded admittance and explained why he needed the door open. He didn’t explain it to her as he figured someone who knew the first code, would know the second.

  This was nothing more than a test. A way to determine who she was dealing with. If she’d seen him pass by the window, and was truly in fear for her life, there was a chance she was trying to determine if he was a recovery agent or someone out to get her. If anyone was out to get her at all. He certainly hadn’t been told otherwise.

  “Come on, Alicia. Let’s go!”

  A shuffling, a door opening inside. Colby crossed to the window and “sliced the pie,” squinting to catch her silhouette inside a dimly lit apartment. “Sonofabitch!”

  The door to the bathroom was wide. She’d opted to go out the back window. She couldn’t be more than a few seconds ahead of him. Colby bounded down the stairs, two at a time. It was about now most would get on the radio and be yelling like a banshee to their partner, not him.

  Now under other conditions, he would have had at least two guys with him, one to back him up, another positioned in the rear for this exact situation. Hell, it was downright crazy to try to take someone in without additional muscle.

  The lack of manpower wasn’t oversight, he didn’t need another guy, he had his own form of backup.

  Kane.

  TWO

  Bursting around the corner of the apartment, Colby pressed the door popper on a small remote attached to his belt. It instantly opened the rear passenger door of his vehicle and released the dog. As a former K-9 handler for the LAPD, he’d been through this scenario countless times. Besides the numerous features the Hot-N-Pop Pro unit offered, this one had saved his life a few years back.

  Catching sight of Colby, Alicia turned tail and raced in the opposite direction.

  He shouted one word.

  “Fass!” It was an apprehension command.

  Alicia let out a scream as the sandy-colored Belgian Malinois pursued her at full sprint, barreling past Colby. He bellowed for her to get on the ground but she’d opted to launch herself over a fence, except she never quite made it. Kane soared in the air, clamping down with his teeth on the corner of her pant leg, and began shaking wildly, hanging from her leg. Once he had hold, there was no letting go.

  Alicia clung desperately to the top of a chain-link fence, feeling the dog’s full weight. She frantically hollered for him to call off the dog. Colby reached her, then with one word Kane released. “Off!” The dog dropped and sat down, tail thumping the ground, waiting, ready, always ready. With one hand on Alicia’s back, he removed a small tug toy from his pocket and tossed it to Kane. The dog caught it in his mouth and bounded around, all pleased with himself.

  As soon as Alicia was down, face pressed up against the fence so he could cuff her, she unloaded on him, they all did.

  “Are you out of your mind!? That dog could have mauled me.”

  “You’re right. Or he could have licked you to death,” he said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You picked the hard way, remember,” he said as he patted her down for weapons. She had none.

  “Do you mind?” she said as his hand slipped between her legs.

  “Very much so. You haven’t exactly helped yourself, Alicia.”

  “You know I could sue you,” she spat.

  “That’s why I have high liability insurance and my attorney on speed-dial.”

  “I’m serious, I could make your life a misery.”

  He leaned in closer to make sure he was heard. “Lady, you already have.”

  “Hilarious. Oh, you wait and see, mister, a lawsuit is coming your way.”

  “For what... a torn pant leg?” He reached down and hiked up her loose jeans, to check that the tattoo was there.

  “Huh. Who said an old dog can’t learn new tricks?” He chuckled. In years gone by the dog would have torn her leg up pretty badly, leaving her with some serious wounds, but after Kane had retired at the age of seven, Colby taught him new commands, one that had him grab clothing instead of the leg. He saved those beauties for the assholes.

  Colby eyed her tattoo.

  Sure enough. It matched the photo they had. The perfect angel.

  Except she was no angel, though she did have nice legs.

  “I’ll have you know there are laws against the use of force.”

  “And there are laws against bail-jumping.”

  He strong-armed her toward his vehicle, Kane trotting beside him. It was rare he had to call on him but he was glad to have him there. He was more than just a dog, he was a partner, family, his first and only dog as a K9 handler before they both left the department.

  Kane hopped into the open SUV and Alicia dug her feet into the ground. “I’m not going in the
back with him?”

  “Never said you were, you’re riding upfront with me.”

  Never once in his career as a K9 handler was the canine vehicle used for the transportation of suspects. The rear seat had a cage that took up a good portion of the room, and all of it was for Kane. There was some trunk space but that was used for gear. Usually, he had one of the other guys from the bail bonds take the fugitive down to county for booking, but today was different. Manny had given him strict instructions to text him as soon as he had her in custody. Colby placed her in the front seat. It was a short ride to LAX, he didn’t expect any trouble.

  As Colby slammed her door, his phone rang again. He figured it was Manny. The guy had been riding his ass on this one ever since he offered him the job. Alicia was glaring at him as he fished into his pocket.

  The caller ID made him consider hitting decline.

  It was his sister. One of them. The rest of the family had gone radio silent. Though if anyone would call, it would be her, not his brothers. He held the phone long enough that it stopped ringing. A sense of relief, then a quick check and he noticed she’d called him twice before, the last two had gone to voicemail. There were messages. He was about to check them when it rang again.

  Colby drew a deep breath and hit accept.

  “Yeah.”

  “Colby, it’s Miriam. Did you get my messages?”

  “Uh. I’ve been a little busy.” He glanced at Alicia to make sure she wasn’t trying to get out of her cuffs. It was rare but he’d had one person manage to do it. Had he not had his key fob on him, that person might have taken the vehicle on a joyride.

  “Dad’s dead,” Miriam said.

  When the words hit him, his reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.

  Over the years he’d mulled it over from time to time. You know, how he’d respond when they told him. What he would do. His father was getting older but he wasn’t over the hill, he was a strong man, healthy, he’d figured he would last until he was eighty.

  “Colby.”

  “Yeah, I’m here. How?”

  “Do I need to say?”