I do not own these character or make any money from them.

This is the first chapter of a long story still in progress. I have about 25,000 words so far.

Chapter 1

Steph's Point of View

Today, Friday at three o'clock I was supposed to be flying to Puerto Rico for a 7-day Caribbean cruise. Margaret Molnar had hit it big on a lottery ticket she'd purchased at Delio's Exxon and to celebrate her upcoming 35th Wedding Anniversary she and her husband were taking friends and family on an all-expense-paid Caribbean cruise. Margaret's guest list included all of the original wedding party, friends of the family, and relatives-at-large. This included my parents, my sister, and me.

My name is Stephanie Plum and I am a bond enforcement agent for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. If you've ever seen the show Dog the Bounty Hunter, well, that's close to what I do, except I don't have the tattoos, or the leather chain clothing, or the mullet. Nope, I'm pretty much an average Burg girl from Jersey, I have a "thing" about my hair, I like my bras to match my panties, and I almost never leave home without my pocketbook, although I have found myself in a few situations without my panties.

Usually I do my job fairly well. I find the bad guys, I chase the bad guys, I cuff the bad guys, and deliver them to the police station. But not always in that order. I catch most of my skips by the second or third try, and I haven't had anything explode around me - lately. Thinking about it, I guess the incident that ended my travel plans last week was destined to happen. One minute I was chasing a skip at the Newark Airport, and before I knew it, I was in a locked room being grilled by a buzz-cut from Homeland Security.

Apparently, carrying Sure Guard without a handling permit gets you a third degree criminal possession of a weapon charge. And also apparently, carrying Sure Guard when jumping over a TSA security checkpoint at the airport gets you a third degree land-your-ass-in-jail-without bond charge. It didn't matter that Marlon Whittaker had been charged with sexual assault on a minor, then decided to skip his court date, or that he had booked a trip to Thailand with a travel company specializing in under-age "escort" services.

By law, I had the right to stop, subdue, and transport an FTA to jail, and under normal circumstance, the TSA would think the FTA was a slime sucking piece of scum they didn't want flying their friendly skies. But there are certain regulations that even a bond enforcement agent can't fudge; Military Grade Nerve Gas was one of these regulations.

I knew the moment the canister of Sure Guard fell from my pocket as I was leaping over the x-ray conveyor belt, I was screwed. Luckily Tank had seen the whole thing and the big guy was able to negotiate terms that didn't include me being taken into custody on the spot.

To avoid arrest and a mandatory jail sentence, I agreed to hand over my passport and have my name appear on a "no fly" list for 6 months. The end result, no cruise, no air travel, and a new Bounty Hunter Blooper video making the rounds on YouTube. I had already had a few other videos posted by gawkers who used their cell phones cameras or business security cameras. The way my luck was going, I was in danger of getting my own Bounty Hunter Blooper channel. At 300,000 hits, I had achieved "feature" status on a video of me tackling a skip on the ice during the second intermission of a Ranger's match at the Garden.

It all went south last Friday, when I went to the Bonds office to pick up some files. Vinnie met me at the door.

"Steph, where the hell have you been, I've been calling you? That fucker Marlon Whittaker is headed to the Newark airport to board a plane for Thailand! His bail was set a half a mil, you know what that means?" It means Vinnie got paid 50,000 to put his ass on the line for half a million, and whoever caught the skip got twenty-five-thousand dollars.

"Isn't he Ranger's bond?" I asked.

"Yes, but Ranger is headed back to town and he won't be here in time. Tank is close to the airport but he doesn't have the required paperwork. And ya know those fuckin feds have to have their paperwork in order. If you get this file to Tank in time you can split their end. It's twenty-five big ones." Vinnie looked desperate.

I grabbed the file, sprinted to my Nissan Altima and gunned it for Newark. I had twelve-thousand-five-hundred reason to get to the airport fast. I abandoned my car in the white zone pulled into short-term parking and dashed across the street to the terminal. I had my shoulder bag in one hand and the file in the other as I made my way through the mass of travelers and toward gate B27.

As I approached the security checkpoint I saw Marlon getting ready to take off his shoes and put them on the conveyor belt. He happened to glance up and he locked eyes with me. I saw the look of recognition on his face before he sprinted through the metal detector toward an unguarded gate.

My instincts took over and I hauled ass through the little belt barriers used to corral the line. When I reached the x-ray conveyor belt, I leaped onto the stack of grey tote trays and launched myself into the air, over the x-ray conveyor belt like an Olympic hurdler. I had almost cleared the security area when I felt my foot catch on the x-ray box. I went down hard on my left knee and rolled a few times toward Marlon. I could see Tank out of my peripheral vision, and I slid the file five yards across the polished tile floor with all my might. Tank grinned and caught it under his foot. He had Marlon cuffed, and on his belly in no time. It was then that I heard the canister rolling around on the floor. "Shit." I rolled on my back and found myself staring up at four gun barrels.