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Chapter Eleven

Fitz

“How do we wanna play this?” Jagger stared at the three of us as we stood outside a small bungalow in Yuma, Arizona.

It was a tan and white stucco building with a tiny front porch and a postage-stamp-sized backyard. It was meticulously kept, and there were some nice cacti outside in a sand bed in front of the porch.

The home belonged to a cousin of Nancy Raymond—who we’d tracked from Laughlin through Lake Havasu, down to Yuma. “I don’t think we need to go in, guns blazin’. If Nancy’s in there, I’m pretty sure she’ll come out without a problem.”

I picked up the Taser from the console of my truck and shoved it into the oddly shaped holster on my hip beneath my Kevlar vest. I turned to my three companions as I made sure my bail agent badge was visible. “Let me go knock.”

The three of them followed, one on each flank with Jagger behind me. I walked up and rang the bell, hearing footsteps approaching.

A woman appeared in the entrance and stared at me. “May I help you?”

“Hello. My name is Fitzgerald Morgan. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with Nancy Raymond. Is she here?”

The woman started bawling. “She’s in a hospice facility. I’m on my way there now. Who are you?”

I glanced at the guys to see fallen faces. “How bad is she?” Keats asked as he stepped next to me from the right. Greeley joined us from the left.

“I’m Maddy Colby, Nancy’s cousin. She doesn’t want to die in jail.”

My heart hammered in my chest. It was the most horrible outcome I could have imagined. Did the cousin’s statement mean Nancy was admitting guilt?

“Ma’am, where are her sons? Are they here with you?” I prayed to heaven that those boys were safe.

“She had her mother come pick them up and take them back to Laughlin. She didn’t want them to go into the foster system. Nancy has a sister who lives in San Francisco. Her name is Flora Hopkins. She’ll be named guardian after Nancy dies, but in the meantime, she can’t care for the boys, so her mother took them after Nancy said goodbye.”

I looked at the guys, not sure how to proceed. Greeley sighed. “If she’s dying, we can’t take her into custody. Silas will get his bail money back after she, uh, passes.”

None of us met the cousin’s gaze because it was such a tragic fucking story and we were ashamed being there to retrieve a dying woman. Jagger cleared his throat. “Ma’am, excuse me for saying this, but we’ll need more than just your word. We’ll follow you to the hospice facility if that’s okay.”

The marshal in me knew he was right, but was it ethical to accost a dying woman?

I glanced at Keats, who shrugged. “He’s right. We need proof for the judge and the prosecutor.”

We all hopped into the SUV and followed cousin Maddy to a care facility about five miles from her home.

“How do we legally get proof that will satisfy the court?” I wasn’t doing anything to disrespect a dying woman. Evan Drell would have to get somebody else to carry out anything of the sort.

“Well, nothing will be dismissed until she dies, but at least we can provide proof she’s in the end-stages of life and can’t attend a hearing. That should release Silas’ bond. The case will be dismissed altogether upon Nancy’s death.”

Keats took his cell phone into the room with Maddy Colby as a witness. Nancy was on a ventilator, and the doctor allowed Keats to record his statement that Nancy’s condition was terminal and in no way would she improve. Her parents were coming back to Yuma to say a final goodbye, and then they’d cease lifesaving measures.

That would have to be good enough for the folks back in Laughlin. It was a sad situation, but I was ready to get back to Vegas. I had some decisions to make.

I hauled myself out of my truck, grabbing my duffel, and heading into the house. Thankfully, the mattress had been delivered a couple of days after I had my one and only date with the president of the Steel Cowboys. I’d paid extra to get it delivered overnight because I was under the stupid fucking impression that we were going to have a second date and a soft mattress might be more comfortable than the metal bed of his pickup truck.

After sorting the laundry into the hamper, I stripped and took a shower to wash the dried sweat from my body. Keats and Greeley had ridden back to Las Vegas together and had volunteered to go to Silas’ office and advise him—or Evan, who really ran the show—of the outcome of Nancy’s case, turning over the doctor’s statement in support of her prognosis.

Unfortunately, I had to deal with Jagger the whole way back to Las Vegas. The man didn’t like air-conditioning, so we’d sweat the whole way home as he told me the harrowing tales associated with being a Nevada state trooper.

I’d dropped him at the office to pick up his vehicle before I headed home, and I said, “Amen and the end,” as he closed the passenger door to my truck. The guy was definitely a snooze fest.

After my shower, I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt before I went into the kitchen to get a beer. Since I had no groceries to make dinner and was too damned exhausted to go to the store, I grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn and tossed it into the new microwave I’d bought at the big-box store when I picked up sheets, pillows, and towels the day before heading to Laughlin.

Something moved in the backyard and caught my attention. There was a new wrought iron table and chairs out on the patio, complete with khaki cushions.

In one of the chairs under the open khaki-and-white-striped umbrella, sat a very familiar man with long, wavy golden-brown hair that whipped in the breeze. Two full sleeves of tattoos that I very much wanted to inspect up close and personally made my heart pick up.

Just beyond the patio, his tricked-out Harley with the skeletal cowboy on the tank, was parked in the gravel near the concrete block wall, and a white plastic bag with a six-pack of beer was perched on the table. What Sawyer was doing in the backyard was a complete mystery.

“What the fuck is this all about?” I slid my feet into a pair of athletic sandals I kept by the back door and stepped outside.

As the door opened, Sawyer glanced over his shoulder before he popped the cap off another beer and tossed it into a bucket I’d never seen by the edge of the patio. “Where ya been?” I stepped closer, peering into the bucket where several bottle caps had already been dropped.

“I had a job out of town. Nice patio set. You been living here while I was gone?” I meant it as a joke—but only partially. If he was there to kick me out, especially since I hadn’t signed a lease with the asshole yet because he hadn’t called me, I was gonna be pissed.

“Sit down. We need to have a chat.” And here it comes… I sat across from him and waited, my mind going at light speed.

Sawyer reached into the inside pocket of his cut and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the table to me. “Here’s the lease. I left the term open for you to fill in. You never mentioned how long you were going to stay. Any thoughts?”

I took a sip from my beer before I spoke. “Well, I’m not sure. Things haven’t exactly worked out too well for me here in town.”

Sawyer turned in his seat, a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? No luck hunting the bad guys?”

“No. The job’s going well.”

Sawyer lifted his eyebrow. “What else isn’t working out? I’d think the job would be half the battle of settling into a new place.”

That was true, but… “I don’t want to have to move again so soon. I didn’t hear from my landlord for three weeks, and I was sure he’d changed his mind about me renting here. I’d been contemplating returning to Texas to work for my brother.” Not on your life!

“Huh. I never figured you for a quitter, Fitz.” The smirk on his face was sexy.

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you until you ghosted me.” I lifted my eyebrow to study him.

Sawyer chuckled as he removed the aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of his very attractive nose. “Sometimes, I get too far into my head and analyze shit to death. I decided my lifestyle might not be a good match for a former US Marshal.”

Interesting. “We all have secrets, Sawyer. Explain to me why you came to that conclusion.” I was curious to hear how his mind worked.

“One of my guys was being held against his will by his family who planned to beat the queer out of him. I took care of it, such that he’ll never have to worry about a similar attempt ever again, and I don’t feel a damn bit of remorse about my actions.”

My marshal instincts told me to press him for more information but… I wasn’t in law enforcement any longer. It wasn’t my business what he did until he made it my business. And even if he felt comfortable giving me details, I wasn’t sure I had the desire to see justice served as I’d once had.

I’d seen so many underhanded dealings couched in the pursuit of justice that I’d become disillusioned with the entire justice system. Part of my coming to terms with the inequalities I’d witnessed over my time in law enforcement had led me to the idea that if given a chance, the justice system would perform as it was created to do. The bad guy would get what was coming to him, and the innocent would persevere.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t always been the case. There were many innocent folks behind bars, and the wheels of justice turned at a snail’s pace to release them, which was where my skepticism that the justice system was fair had begun.

After much thought, I settled on the idea that the accused should have the chance to prove their innocence, so I came to terms with the idea that bringing suspects to the bar to stand trial for their alleged crimes was where I could participate with a good conscience. That was how I came to pursue bounty hunting.

I nodded. “Would you ever tell me if something happened that might get the law involved?”

“Only if it would put you in physical danger or in jeopardy of arrest. I never plan to put you in the crosshairs of anything, Fitz. We had a robbery at the dispensary last week. One of my guys has disappeared, and we can’t find him. We’re not supposed to be looking for him, because the cops don’t want us interfering, but he’s a member of our club family, and we look out for our family.”

“Any leads?” Couldn’t help it. I’d been applauded for my natural inquisitiveness—read that as being nosy.

“A few that don’t point in a direction I’d like to consider. I’m not here about that. I’m here about us .” Sawyer wrapped his fist around his long hair before twisting it up into a bun and securing it with the elastic band around his wrist as the wind picked up.

“ Us ? Is there an us ?” His lack of contact since our one-and-only date said otherwise.

Sawyer stood and walked around the table, dragging the other chair until he was sitting directly in front of me. He reached for my right hand, grasping it between both of his before he rested his forehead against my knuckles.

“I’ve been a real prick, Fitz, and I’m sorry. I’ve had you on my mind since that night, and I’ve analyzed things up, down, and sideways. I’ve worried about how you’d react if I had to leave in the middle of the night because one of my brothers was in trouble. I’ve thought about whether you’d be on my side if a war breaks out with a rival club, as I think it might after the bullshit at Tumbleweeds. I’ve tried to figure out if you’d get pissed if I smoked pot, or how you’d react with some of the nonmembers who hang around the clubhouse, or if you’d ever want to come to the clubhouse with me for a party.”

Dallas St. Michael had told a couple of stories about how shit went down at the Scorpions clubhouse with “hangarounds” as he called them. Sex on pool tables with women who serviced everyone at the club. Running illegal drugs up and down the West Coast. Fighting turf wars. Human trafficking and gun smuggling. Could I be with someone who lived that lifestyle?

I’d never have considered that I could look the other way to shit like that, but for a man like Sawyer Abbott, I had the feeling I’d do just about anything. Maybe not murder—but then again, if I fell in love with the man, I couldn’t rule it out if he was in danger.

“You’re right about one thing. You’ve been a real prick. Why were you in such a rush to get rid of me that night?” The way he rushed me back to my truck and peeled rubber to get away from me still had my head spinning.

Sawyer released my hand and took the toothpick out of his mouth, breaking it in half before flinging it into the bucket with the bottle caps. “I thought you’d think I was dumb for taking you out into the desert to give you a hand job. I mean, I’m not a virgin. I’ve fucked people—guys and girls—and I don’t usually give a fuck about my partner. I get mine, you know.

“That night, when we were getting to know each other, something clicked inside me that you and I could have fun and hang together without awkward silences. Then I thought I was stupid because of the age difference. I was embarrassed because I was sure I wouldn’t measure up to other folks you’ve dated. Hell, dating isn’t anything I’ve done since I took Kailey Columbus to senior prom.”

I smirked. “Did you lose your cherry on prom night?” It was a stupid thing to ask, but I needed a minute to process what he’d said.

His laugh was a deep vibrating bass. “Long before that. We lived behind the clubhouse and there were always opportunities for a teenage boy.

“Kailey was a very sweet girl, and I was a stubborn, smelly teen boy who got around far too much. For the first time in my life, I actually behaved like a gentleman. I heard she married a Mormon guy and lives in Provo with seven kids.”

We both laughed hard. Imagining that many little ones running around would make me nuts, but more power to those who could take the heat.

“That’s a lot more mouths to feed than I’d want to worry about.” I took a deep breath. “Look, I told you my history—I fall too hard, too fast. If you’re just lookin’ for a hookup, I gotta take a pass. I’m not good at it.”

There. I’d told the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was that I was a romantic and wanted the happy ending. I pulled my hand from his and stood from the table. “I’ll sign this if you’ll give me a minute. I plan to stay six months, if that’s agreeable.” He nodded, so I went inside to get a pen.

I still had no idea where we stood.