Page 13 of Rescued By the Operative
“We’re not allowed to have phones in the church,” I say.
“But you are, I’ll wager,” he says.
Cursing, I fish out my personal phone and hand it to him. The only thing dumber I could do at this moment would be to let him have my government-issued phone.
The glow from the screen reflects on the cowboy’s downturned face, showing me his self-satisfied grin as he types.
“There. Now you have my number. If anyone messes with you, call me. I’ll take care of everything.”
I hold my phone’s flashlight up as he disappears down the tunnel, headed out the way he came in.
This is ridiculous. This silly cowboy with the wise-ass mouth, too much cock, and not enough brains is going to protect me how exactly?
And yet, as I head back to my office, the twinge between my legs makes me forget how much trouble I could be in.
I barely have a care for how I’m going to explain this giant hole in the wall of my office.
Chapter Four
Jake
My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
That’s the only explanation. Because no way I am sitting here at the one stoplight in my hometown, seeing old mug shots of my brother Ennis and me.
Who in their right mind would be digging up crap like that?
“Is that what I think it is?” Ennis asks from the passenger seat.
Well, shit. He sees it too.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I spit out every syllable.
This has to be what my mystery woman was talking about.
Without thinking twice, I hop out of my farm truck with Ennis right on my heels. “What are you doing, brother?”
“What does it look like?” I grit out as I rip down the wanted poster tacked to the kiosk in the town square. I leave the truck running. I don’t even bother closing the driver’s side door.
I take a closer look, and my stomach roils in disgust. It’s exactly what she described.
Those culty fuckers made a wanted poster about my friends and family and me. And they made it look professional.
REWARD
The Wylie Gang is armed, covetous, and dangerous.
Our Father in heaven promises you an eternal reward should you help bring these thieves, kidnappers, and groomers to justice.
“What. The. Fuck.”
“That’s messed up,” Ennis says, laughing incredulously.
As I read and reread the words, the whole thing makes my blood boil. The way these people twist everything is repellent.
“Project much?” I ask rhetorically, my fingers itching to crush the paper in my hands.
Ennis is more levelheaded than I am. “Don’t worry about it, brother. Everyone knows they’re kooks.”