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Chapter Nine

Fitz

Jagger Hansen sat at the desk across from me, and I couldn’t help but be intrigued by him. He was a specimen of a man. Tall. Muscular. Blond. Sexy as fuck.

Staring at him across the expanse of the two desks made me miserable. Jagger reminded me too much of a biker who hadn’t called me in far too long.

Sparky strolled into the pit with papers in his hands and a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose. “I got a call from an old friend in Laughlin. I need two teams to go down there and help search for a jumper.

“Our suspect is a woman, Nancy Raymond, thirty-six. The prosecutors say Nancy caught her husband cheating in their home and shot him in the back. The bullet severed his spinal column and if he’d lived, he’d have been paralyzed from the neck down. He was an insurance agent with a hefty bank account, apparently.

“Nancy’s out on a half-million-dollar bond, and her lawyer swears she didn’t shoot him. Claims someone shot him from the balcony door after she left their Laughlin home. My friend was dumb enough to bond her out, and now she’s disappeared. Anyone?”

I lifted my hand. “I’ll go.”

I needed to get away from Vegas because I hadn’t heard from Sawyer in a few weeks, and it was bugging the hell out of me. Had I done something that turned him off so much that he didn’t want to see me again?

To be fair, I hadn’t called him either. When we left the desert that night after our date, he’d seemed in a hell of a hurry to get away from me. It was another disappointing attempt at finding a relationship, on my part.

“I’ll go, too.” Jagger winked at me. What the hell did that mean?

Sparky nodded. “I’ll send Gree and Keats with you. This is a good opportunity for both of you. I’ll get Hardy to make reservations for you four down there. Go home and pack a bag. I’m not sure how long you’ll need to find the woman, but I’d say pack for a few days.”

Sparky headed toward Hardy’s office as I opened my desk drawer and grabbed my backpack to head home. I walked over to Greeley’s desk. “Meet back here and caravan or what? I’m assuming we’ll need two vehicles.”

Greeley began getting his stuff together. “Yeah. I’ll make Keats drive his Jeep. My car needs to go into the shop so I’ll drop it off and Keets will pick me up there. We’ll meet you guys back here in an hour.”

I nodded and headed toward the door where Jagger was waiting for me. “You wanna drive or do you want me to drive?”

He’d just started working with us the previous day, and I didn’t know him well. It was about an hour and a half, so it would be a good chance to see what the guy was all about.

“What’s going on?” I glanced in Greeley’s direction, taking in his red face and the scowl that didn’t seem at home there.

When he and Keats got back to the office, Greeley got out of Keats’ Jeep and stormed over to where I stood finishing an energy drink next to my truck while I waited for Hardy to come out with the information we’d need when we got to Laughlin. Keats stormed into the office and came out a minute later with Jagger behind him.

They got into Keats’ Jeep and pulled over to where I stood, handing me one of the two envelopes in his fist before he drove off without a word. I got into the truck and handed the envelope to Greeley for him to navigate.

“Keats is on his period, I guess.”

Greeley opened the envelope and unfolded the papers. “Okay, we’re staying at the Tropicana. Ever been?”

“Nope. Never been anywhere in Nevada. You from here?”

“Yep. Grew up in Vegas.”

I nodded. “What blew up between you guys earlier?”

I merged onto I-95 South, noticing Greeley hadn’t answered me. I guessed it wasn’t my business, but I was still curious just the same.

We drove along for about ten miles before Greeley said, “Why do people have to complicate shit? See, I went out with that deputy at the lockup that you met the other week, and when I didn’t want to hit it again, the guy got a grudge. He quit giving out our business cards and even tore the fucking page out of the phone book at the jail. That’s why things were sorta slow a couple of weeks ago.

“So, Keats goes to the jail without me on a call this past weekend. I went to Palm Springs to see my dad and had the weekend off. Deputy Marin asks Keats to tell me to call him. Keats gets all pissed off at me for no fucking reason. Tells me he’s not my personal messenger and I need to take care of my fucking business and keep him out of it. I had no control over that shit!”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he pulled it out and answered it. “Hi, Ma. What’s up?”

I could hear a woman’s voice but wasn’t able to make out what she was saying, so I concentrated on the road. I tried to give him as much privacy as I could with the two of us stuck in the cab of a pickup truck.

A few minutes later, he finished his call and tossed his phone in the console. “Do I look like a fucking bank?”

I turned to him and tried to hide the smirk as he picked up his phone and punched the keyboard so hard I thought he was going to break it. “Son, can I get your rent early? I’m going to The Strip with Rhonda and Brenda tonight.” His tone was high as if he was mocking his mother’s voice.

“You share a house with your mother?” I didn’t really mean anything by it. It just surprised me.

My mom and dad lived in a small house on the ranch back home. My brother Clinton—named after William Jefferson Clinton—and his wife Paige moved into the large ranch house when Clint took over running things.

When I went back to visit, I stayed with Mom and Dad and I helped my father with things, doing my best to keep my “queer ass” away from my homophobic brother. I felt sorry for any kids that were born into his life. My brother was a judgmental prick.

“Yeah. She’s a great mom, but she can be a pain in the ass. I’m afraid she might be developing a gambling problem. She blows through money like I wish I could .”

“Have you talked to her about it?” Hell, I had no advice about anything like that.

My parents were in their seventies. They went to church twice on Sunday, taught Bible study on Wednesday, and went out for lunch on Friday. Other than that, they didn’t step a toe off the ranch.

“No. I didn’t think it was a problem until she started running with these women she befriended at the VFW in Henderson where she goes to play Bingo. They’re all retired and they go from casino to casino. I’m worried they’ll get jumped when they’re out late at night.” Greeley picked up his phone again and sighed.

“I need to call her. Sorry about my little bitch session, Fitz. Nobody deserves to hear this shit.”

The phone rang twice before it was answered. “Hi, Ma. Are you driving yourself to The Strip? Take an Uber. I put that app on your— I’m not saying you’re a bad driver, Ma. I worry about you. Someone could follow you to the parking garage and bash you in the head. Yes, Ma. I’d be lost without you, too. Just take an Uber and be careful when you cash in your tickets at the big cash machine. If someone looks too interested in what you’re doing, walk away and cash the ticket at the window. Okay. Love you, too. See you later in the week.”

After the call ended, he tossed the phone in the cupholder and chuckled. “I really hope she hangs around for a long time. She’s a funny broad, and if I didn’t have her to worry about, I don’t know what I’d do.”

We both had a laugh and traded stories from our childhoods for the rest of the ride. Greeley was a funny guy, and I was happier to have him riding with me than struggling through a conversation with Jagger Hansen.

“We’re here to see Silas Drell. Jesse Sparks sent us.”

The older lady at the desk didn’t seem to be paying attention to the Greeley’s words because she was staring at his broad shoulders. Keats stood behind him and chuckled. I was smirking, too. Jagger huffed and puffed, staring at the ceiling as if what we were doing was too far beneath his station. He was a real joy to be around.

“I’m Delores. Let me go see if Silas is done with his lunch. Would you boys like something to drink?”

She had a grandmotherly vibe, reminding me of my mother, and I stepped forward. “I think we’re okay, ma’am. We’ll just take a seat over there.” I pointed to a group of chairs to the right and led the guys over.

Greeley followed me, and the other two joined us. Greeley and Keats didn’t speak at first, so it was oddly quiet. Finally, Greeley sat forward.

“You can’t stay mad at me, Keats. That guy was an ass to say something to you, but I can’t control what other people say or do.” Greeley’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear it, but the look on Keats’ face was priceless.

“Maybe keep your pecker in your pants?” Keats got up and walked to a water fountain to get a drink before pulling out his phone and scrolling.

I gave Jagger a look and saw his right hand was over his mouth, but the crinkles around his eyes told me he was trying hard not to laugh. I was right there with him. If Greeley didn’t know there was something more to Keats’ anger, he was a fool.

Delores came back with an old man following her, using a cane. “Gentlemen, this is Silas. Silas, these are Sparky’s guys.” She floated her hand in the air like a spokesmodel, which made me smile.

There was no way they weren’t a couple. They were absolutely adorable and reminded me I needed to call Mom and Pop back in Midland.

Greeley stepped forward like a leader. “I’m Brian Greeley. This is Jay Keats. Fitz Morgan, and Jagger Hansen. Sparky said to give you his regards. What can we do for you, Mr. Drell?”

“Come with—”

Drell began the most awful coughing fit I’d ever heard outside of an emergency room. Delores stepped closer and led him into the conference room, so we followed the pair of them.

Once we were inside, a young lady joined us. “Hello. I’m Evan, Delores and Silas’ granddaughter. I work with them, preparing the detailed packets we give to the hunters we hire.”

She grabbed some folders from a credenza, handing one to each of us. As if on cue, Delores stood and walked to the wall, flipping two switches that turned off the lights. A screen descended from the ceiling as Evan pressed some buttons on the laptop.

“This is Nancy Raymond, charged with open murder.”

A mug shot appeared on the screen with a woman in her mid-thirties. She was bald and had dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and there was a bruise on her cheek.

“What are we seeing? What happened to her?” A woman with a bruise on her face had a story to tell. The lack of hair and dark circles gave the impression she was quite ill.

“Mrs. Raymond is thirty-six years old. Mother of two boys, ages seven and ten. Allegedly, she caught her husband screwing his assistant in their bed. The babysitter, who was supposed to watch the boys while Nancy went to a scheduled chemotherapy treatment that day, cancelled at the last minute. Nancy knew her husband was working from home, so she rescheduled her appointment and took the boys home to return to the medical center an hour later.

“She heard noises coming from the bedroom, so she went to check it out and found her husband having sex with his assistant in their bed. She claims she walked away and ended up taking the boys with her to her chemo appointment.”

I heard a gasp, turning to see Jagger Hansen with his hand on his throat clutching his invisible pearls. If the trooper wasn’t ready for the world where we worked, he wouldn’t last long.

“Did she shoot him in front of the kids?” I turned to see Keats with an inquisitive expression.

“Not that the authorities have been able to confirm. He was shot in the second-floor bedroom, though, but by the time the neighbors called it in and the police arrived, nobody was there. When Nancy and the boys left the house to go to the medical center, Nancy claims Mr. Raymond was still alive and his secretary was still at the house with him.

“After her appointment, Nancy went to the house of a friend who was out of town, and she and the boys spent the night there. The police called her cell phone about one in the morning to give her the bad news. She took the boys to her parents’ house and went to the hospital where her husband had already died during surgery.”

I flipped through the file to see the suspect had no priors. Not even fucking speeding tickets or a violation of Nevada watering rules. “How did she end up charged with open murder?” My old Marshal’s instincts kicked in.

Greeley stood. “It doesn’t matter. Who are her friends or family in the area? How about the friend’s house where she stayed? Are they back in the area?”

He was right. All we were required to do was bring her back. “When was her court date?”

“Last Thursday. My grandfather had a tail on her after he bonded her out because he was worried about her, not because he thought she’d skip town. She disappeared sometime in the middle of the night with her kids because grandpa’s friend fell asleep.” Evan smiled at her grandfather, who was napping.

“Didi, we don’t need you. If you wanna take—”

“I’m on it, Evan. Will you lock up?” Delores asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Evan walked over and kissed her grandfather on the cheek.

His eyes sprung open, and he smiled. “Are they on the case?”

I tried like hell to hold the laugh. How did the old man still do business? Obviously, the granddaughter was running the show. I couldn’t figure out why they still showed up at work.