Dirty Deeds Read Online Free PDF Page A

wallet on a chain and sported a spiky blue hairstyle. Why did everyone insist on calling her a bounty hunter? Too many bad "reality" television shows.
    She removed her hand from his. "Bail enforcement agent." Though she tried, she couldn't keep the edge from her voice. Half a decade of defending herself made Louie a bit on the touchy side.
    "Oh yes," he said, her brusque words seeming to bring a twinkle to his eyes. "Harry told me you don't like being called a bounty hunter, although I've got to say you aren't exactly what I expected."
    "And that would be?" Oh, this ought to be good .
    He raised an eyebrow, shrugged his shoulders and said, "A man."
    That pissed her off. She was sick and tired of people assuming bail enforcement was a man's job. She did it better than ninety-nine percent of the men in eastern Washington and she was damned tired of having to prove herself over and over again. Was this world ever going to change and stop pigeonholing women?
    Her thoughts tumbled of her mouth before she could stop them. "Women are perfectly capable of doing this job, Mr. McDonald." Her cheeks were hot, and she hoped it didn't show on her face.
    He put his hand up as if to shield himself. "Whoa, Ms. Russell," he said in a neutral voice. "I didn't mean it in a discriminatory way. I was expecting a man because every other Louie I've ever met was a man. It was your name that threw me, not your profession."
    Well, crap . She didn't want to think she'd jumped to a conclusion or made the same sort of assumption she'd accused him of…except it appeared she just did. She'd sped right straight to the conclusion he was making a sexist statement. If she was truthful, she couldn't blame him for not knowing she was a woman. Her nickname was masculine and if it wasn't for the fact everyone had called her Louie since the first grade, it might have occurred to her.
    So now she owed him an apology and a bigger person probably would. Louie didn't feel like it. Besides, she didn't even know the guy. He was simply the brother of a fugitive. Yeah, a really attractive and successful brother of a fugitive . She didn't have to explain herself to him or apologize for what she considered justifiable defensiveness. So she didn't. She shrugged and pulled a small notebook out of her jacket pocket.
    "About your brother James," she began.
    Darkness flowed across his face at the mention of his brother's name. Interesting .
    "Come on," he growled. He turned to head for an entryway that opened between the rows of seats that came down all the way to the boards surrounding the ice. Once through it, a private area was revealed. She assumed it encompassed the locker rooms, equipment storage and offices for the hockey team staff. Sure enough, he pulled open one door and ushered her into a warm and inviting office.
    The furniture was old though comfortable-looking in a homey way, and well-used, not put in place for simple decoration. The room smelled of sweat, old leather and, very faintly, cologne.
    The desk he walked around was a cluttered mess with piles of papers and file folders. In the corner was a huge hockey bag, just like the kind his brother had used while attempting to smuggle his stash of BC bud into the States. Paul dropped into the chair behind his desk, bending over to take off the skates.
    "Go ahead," he said, his attention focused on the laces.
    Louie poised her pen over the as-yet-empty note pad. "Any ideas on where we might find him?"
    "Not a clue," he answered.
    "Friends, girlfriends?" Surely he'd have something to point her in the right direction.
    "I don't know any of his friends, and I don't believe there's a girlfriend. I'm relatively certain Mom would have mentioned a woman, if there was one."
    "He wouldn't tell you?"
    The skates hit the floor with a thud and he pulled back upright in his chair. His green eyes narrowed. He didn't look like a happy man. "No, he wouldn't tell me. You need to understand, Ms. Russell, my brother and I aren't close.