Page 6 of Untamed Sinner

"Crowley," the voice on the other end says.

"This is Hendricks. I was contacted regarding a missing person."

"Mr. Hendricks, I've been expecting your call." The attorney's voice carries the practiced calm of someone who bills by the hour. "A client of mine has a matter of importance that requires discretion."

I pull a notepad closer and pick up a pen in case I need to make notes. "Who's your client?"

"I'll provide all that after the NDA is signed and you've agreed to take this contract."

"I'm going to need more information than that before I agree to take a case," I say dryly.

"Fair enough," Crowley says. "The missing person is a woman. She was last seen in Billings three days ago."

“And your clients wants her found.”

“Immediately.”

Experience has taught me that wealthy clients have one timetable: theirs. "Local PD involved? The FBI?"

"My client would prefer to keep the matter quiet."

Translation: he doesn't want law enforcement asking questions. That's not unusual in my line of work. My clients call me when the problem is too sensitive, too expensive, or too illegal to survive official attention.

I wonder which one this fell under. “Am I recovering a cooperative subject or should I anticipate resistance?”

“My client would prefer she accompany you voluntarily.”

Don’t they all. “And if she doesn’t?”

“My client authorizes you to exercise your professional judgment.”

That’s lawyer for bring her back by whatever means necessary. Convenient. If things go sideways, the attorney hasn’t instructed me to use force. He merely left it in my hands.

I set the pen down. I've done work for the law firm before, but not for Crowley directly, so I’m going to make the rules clear. “Professional judgment doesn’t include abducting people. I don't tolerate games, and I work alone. No chain of command. No committees. No one looking over my shoulder. I find the person, I extract her."

"That's why I contacted you," Crowley says.

"To be clear, I deliver her willingly to a location of your choosing."

"Understood," he says, no hesitation. "The client accepts your terms."

"Fee is nonnegotiable. Half up front, half on delivery. If she's already dead, you pay the full amount anyway."

"She's not dead."

There's something in his tone that I don't like. I frown. Something's off, and I can't put my finger on it.

Crowley must sense it because he says, "The client specifically requested you. He was told you're the best at what you do. As soon as you sign the NDA, I can provide his name."

"Signing the NDA doesn't mean I'll take the commission if I don't like what I see," I warn him.

"You won't have cause to turn this down," he replies confidently. "Once you've reviewed the agreement and decide to accept the contract, we'll wire half the fee to you. You'll receive the rest when the assignment is completed and you've delivered the woman."

I hear the ping of an incoming email. "I'll review the NDA and contract and be in touch within the hour," I say, and I end the call.

Opening the documents, I go through them, making changes to language I don't like. All in all, it's a standard job: recovery.

I sign the NDA and send it back.