Page 10 of Stolen By the Hit Man

Chapter Ten

Joaquin

In my life, I’ve done bad things for good money. Awesome money, in fact. Most of the time, I don’t feel any kind of way about it.

Every so often, I feel a sense of responsibility on behalf of the people who hired me.

I tell all of this to Jasmyn, explaining precisely what I do for a living to her. Or what I did. Because I’m not going to do any of that anymore.

None of those events can compare with the emotions roiling through me right now. If those polygamists had hurt Jasmyn—well, I just can’t bear to think about that.

I reach over and take her hand as we pass through the security gate.

“Where are we?” she asks.

It’s dark now, and we’ve been driving for an hour on dirt roads through the wilderness. “Somewhere safe. No one gets through the gates. Cameras everywhere, and the fence is solid. If they try to climb over it, I’ll get alerts.”

“I’m not poor by any stretch, but I’m in the wrong business,” Jasmyn breathes as we approach the rear garage.

When the journey is finally over, we’ve come through the steel door that automatically shuts behind us as light floods the spotless four-car garage.

I watch her take in her surroundings—the Range Rover, Lexus SUV, and the tricked-out four-wheeler.

As I cut off the engine, the sound of the loud metal locking mechanism echoes through the garage.

Jasmyn jumps when the far door opens automatically when we step out of the Blazer. “Someone’s here!”

“Nah,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Everything’s powered by facial recognition. Even the doors.”

“You’ll excuse me for being overwhelmed. I’m barely processing the fact that Braydon is dead.”

“Your kidnapper is dead. And so is his uncle, probably.”

She turns to me before we enter the house. Her throat bobs. “You knew it was going to go down like that. You hinted at it earlier. The joke about the spiritual release…”

“Yeah.”

“Did someone hire you to kill my husband?”

It’s not surprising that Jasmyn would think that. Plenty of people have it out for polygamists. The animosity around town has been growing by the day. “It makes sense now. How we met. I led you to him. You flushed him out. And now he’s dead.”

“Jasmyn, that’s not how it happened. I didn’t use you.”

“How much did they pay you?”

“Nothing,” I insist. “I grip her small shoulder and gently squeeze. “But I would have done it for nothing. They’re bad people, Jasmyn. You’re lucky you got out alive.”

She shakes her head. “But you don’t give a fuck.”

“What?”

“You said you do a shot before a job, so you don’t give a fuck. We did a job. You didn’t get involved because you care,” she says, her voice shaking. “You said that stuff about being attracted to me to soften me up. Or confuse me or…or…”

My hand drags over her shoulder, and then one of my big mitts is cupping the side of her face. “Stop it. You’ve got it all twisted.”

Her eyes blink slowly, and it seems like she’s having a hard time focusing.

“Jasmyn, you need to concentrate on your recovery.”

After leading her inside the house, I make her sit at one of the comfy kitchen barstools, then I pull my phone out and text Jefferson.

After some back and forth, he agrees to make arrangements for the doctor we use, who sees us after hours under special circumstances. We pay him in cash and he asks no questions.

Jefferson: I’ll do my best. And I’ll have Georgie contact the group and we’ll get some clothes and whatever else she needs.

Me: Thanks, brother.

Jefferson: Hold on. I’m getting a news alert that there was a shootout at the compound. Two church leaders dead. And police are looking for a Chevy Blazer that fled the scene.”

Instead of replying, I shove my phone into my back pocket and pretend I didn’t see that last text from Jefferson.

Her eyes are on me as I putter around the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you a proper meal. Ham sandwich isn’t going to cut it. Those assholes haven’t been feeding you, have they?”

We go several rounds of “you don’t have to cook for me,” and “let me help you,” before Jasmyn finally gets the message and stays put at the marble breakfast island, letting me do my thing.

I haven’t needed to use the safe house in a while. I manage to scrounge up a cheesy pasta situation with some of my homemade marinara from the pantry.

“A man who looks after strays and makes his own preserves? Green flags all around,” she says as I work my way around the kitchen, heating up pans on the stove.

“If your barometer for green flags is me, then you really need to work on that,” I say, pushing a plate of bread and butter and a massive glass of mineral water in front of her. “Nibble on that while I make your dinner. You look two minutes from passing out.”

She tears off a hunk of bread, sniffs it, and sighs. “Yeah. You could just be a fake nice guy. But most of those fake ones don’t go so far as to help you kill your kidnapper.”

“Fuck those guys,” I mutter as I stir the pasta into the bubbling stock pot.

“For real,” she says through a mouthful of bread, making me smile. “Look at you. I can’t cook to save my life.”

“Now that you remember things, what are you good at?”

“Why? You gonna put me to work on your farm?” Jasmyn teases with a smile.

“Get the hell out of here,” I laugh.

“Okay, okay!” Jasmyn laughs. “So here’s what I remember…”

Jasmyn tells me everything as I continue cooking.

As she talks, my heart drops because I get a clear picture of who I’m dealing with.

She’s been on her own since 16. She worked her way through community college, all the while starting her own company, designing curtains.

Her quirky designs became an overnight hit online.

Now she distributes her fabrics all over the world, creating tablecloths, napkins, and even high-end furniture.

She never married, never had kids, and doesn’t date often.

That last part is a relief, but there’s no way a CEO of a global company is going to want to have anything to do with me on a personal level. She has a reputation to maintain. I know I’m being selfish. At the same time, I’m so proud of her.

I set a steaming plate in front of her, loaded down with pasta topped with cheese and red sauce. “So then I had to make the tough decision whether to keep the manufacturing here in the US where it’s pretty expensive, or contract overseas…”

She trails off. “This smells incredible, Joaquin.”

“It’s for eating, not just smelling.”

Jasmyn takes a bite of the food I’ve prepared for her, and instantly her eyes roll back in her head.

I chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

“Stop it. I’m taking you with me back to Florida if you promise to cook me food like this every day.”

Without hesitation, I reply, “You won’t have to twist my arm."

Our eyes meet, and she shyly looks away. “Sorry. I’m just overly excited to have my memories back. You know, you’re like the first nice thing that has happened to me in months.”

“Look at me, Jasmyn.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“You’re not overly excited. After what happened to you, you’re allowed to say and do whatever you need to. You’ve been through hell.”

“And I’ve dragged you along for the ride.”

“I went willingly, and I would do it again.”

She takes another bite, and we share the meal in comfortable silence. I’ve never been so confident in a statement in my life. She may be too good for me, too upstanding, too important to sully her name by associating with a guy like me. But I’ll be around for as long as she needs me.

“Something troubling you, Joaquin?”

Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. “I should never have told you some of the things I did.”

“Which things?”

“About me wanting you.”

She gives a small smile and pushes her half-eaten plate of food aside. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’ve got too much to process, and I let my feelings get mixed up in all of it.”

“Well, I am quite irresistible, so I can hardly blame you.” Jasmyn’s smile reaches her eyes, and she shimmies her shoulders.

The movement makes the neck of her tee-shirt gape open and I can see right down to her cleavage in her otherwise modest outfit.

I can feel sweat start to bead on my top lip at the mere sight of her skin.

“You can joke all you want, but I think I need to keep my distance while you’re here.”

Jasmyn blinks slowly. “You don’t need to do that.”

My hand grips the edge of the cold marble countertop. “You need to get checked out by a doctor.”

“My head is fine.”

I try to give her my best glower, to warn her. To push her away. “It’s late. I should show you to the bedroom.”

She blushes, and I realize how that came out.

“I mean, you need to get some rest. Come on. I’ll show you the guest quarters.”