Page 17 of Stolen By the Hit Man

Chapter Seventeen

Joaquin

Grady was right about one thing. The next morning, the tiny downtown of Darling Creek is a mob scene.

As we finally find a spot to park two blocks from the sheriff’s office, we walk by people holding protest signs saying “C.O.C.K. Needs to Go,” and “Cut Off the C.O.C.K.”

It’s all I can do not to laugh as we snake through the crowd, my arm tight around Jasmyn and Grady bringing up the rear.

The shooting has evidently stirred things up, and it’s the last straw for a lot of people.

Eventually, little by little, we make our way past the crush of people and into the building. A familiar, serious face greets us. Grady’s attorney, Brian Casey, is there in his three-piece suit and briefcase.

“You don’t need to be involved in this,” I say.

He holds up his hand. “You don’t say another word.” He turns to Jasmyn and gives her a thousand-watt smile. “You must be Jasmyn.”

“Now, wait a minute. I have a lawyer. We’ve got this handled,” I protest.

“How nice for you,” Brian says, irritated. “You should definitely call them for your own reassurance. But Jasmyn is my client.”

Grady rests a hand on my shoulder as we make our way toward the bench outside the sheriff’s main interior office. “As far as we’re all concerned, you weren’t even there. Got it?”

Brian Casey adds, “In fact, I would recommend you disappear while we’re giving our statement to the sheriff.”

I feel the anger rising in my chest at the idea. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving her side, so you can just forget it. I know how to keep my mouth shut around the law.”

The attorney gestures at the office at the end of the long, empty hallway. “The county prosecutor is in there with the sheriff. If you go in there, they’re going to do some digging on you, too, and I assure you, you don’t want that.”

I can see in everyone’s faces that I’m not going to win this. Jasmyn looks at me pleadingly.

It’s true. Jasmyn doesn’t need a hit man boyfriend muddying up the details of the story she’s going to give to the police.

I’d much rather the focus be on me than on her, but I’m confident in her self-defense argument.

Me? I’m only going to tarnish her image.

The law around here already doesn’t like me, and the high-ranking polygamists already have it in for me due to my association with Jefferson, Georgie, and their merry little band of misfits who insist on sneaking onto the compound in the middle of the night to help women and children escape.

If it’s the “upstanding” polygamist crowd’s story versus Jasmyn, an innocent bystander from out of town, then I’d better make myself scarce.

Jasmyn squeezes my arm and makes herself taller by rolling up on the balls of her feet. She tilts her head back and gives me a peck. But fuck that. I cup the back of her neck and lock my lips against hers. I need to feel that connection one more time before I let her out of my sight.

Someone nearby clears their throat. I ignore them until I’m satisfied with the kiss. Jasmyn finally pulls away, her cheeks pink and her lips swollen. Her eyes cut to the left.

There stands someone I really had no intention of running into today. Audrey Bell, public defender.

I give her a smirk and a nod of the chin, then turn my focus back on Jasmyn.

“Who are you?” Jasmyn asks, eyeing the conservative business suit Audrey wears.

“Don’t worry, baby. She’s a regular pain in everyone’s ass. You’d like her.”

“We really need to go,” Brian Casey says, the slightest sneer on his lips in Audrey’s direction. I look between them. Do they know each other? Nah. Can’t be.

Audrey clears her throat again. “And I hate to break up this sentimental goodbye, but I really need to speak to you.”

“Take care of her,” I tell Grady.

“I’ll be fine,” Jasmyn says, then turns on her heels and heads through the office doors with Brian Casey in front of her and Grady behind.

Grumbling, I turn to Audrey. “What is it?”

“Meet me in my office,” she says crisply and walks off, fully trusting that I’m about to follow her bossy ass.

I pop my feet on the desk, half hoping she’ll get so annoyed with me that my presence will no longer be necessary.

“What’s up, Audrey?”

The one decent public defender of Darling Creek gives me a hard look, then shoves my size 14s off her desk.

“I need you to find my client.”

“And who might that be?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

“Orlyn Moffatt,” she says, as if I should know that.

The front two legs of my chair echo against the floor. “Moffat the Prophet?”

They really should have thought about coming up with a new term for their creepy-ass cult leader than a word that rhymes with his last name. Moffatt the Prophet sounds like a Smurf.

“Yes,” she says.

“I can’t believe you’re representing that shitbird.”

Audrey blinks at me. “I represent anyone who requires representation. Doesn’t matter what they’ve done.”

“Tell that to the girls who were forced to marry.”

“Believe me, I understand,” she says, unmoved.

“Thought that church had money to afford a whole team of lawyers.”

She shrugs. “That’s not my concern. My concern is that my client is missing, and I need you to find him.”

I point in the general direction of the jail, situated at the back of the law enforcement building. “I don’t know if you know this, but your client is in jail awaiting trial. The one sane judge in this town declared him a flight risk.”

Audrey cocks her head. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but there was a mob scene at the county jail. Some protesters created a diversion, while others used a homemade battering ram to break into the building. They took him away.”

I lean forward. “What do you mean? Took him where?”

She shrugs. “Who knows? That’s why I need you to find him before some of our citizens do something foolish and end up charged with murder.”

I think about this for a moment, silently fantasizing about the most notorious criminal that Darling Creek has ever seen since the Wild West days.

Not going to lie, it’s pretty satisfying to think about some good-old-fashioned street justice when it comes to a guy like that.

This kind of revenge is what I’ve built my life on after all.

Audrey taps her desk with her forefinger. “I know what you’re thinking. I can see it all over your face. And you need to get that thought right out of your head. We are about due process in Darling Creek. End of story.”

“Call Jefferson. He’s a bounty hunter. He’s the one you want.”

“This isn’t a parole skip,” she reminds me. “This is a rescue effort.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“I’ve heard you’re good at tracking people down,” she says with a smirk.

“You’ve heard that, huh?”

She’s not wrong, not totally. I wag my finger at her. “You’re getting kinda nosy, Audrey.”

“I know you’re friends with Jefferson. He and his friends have inside knowledge about the effort to dismantle that church. You might easily be able to find out where Moffatt ended up.”

“You think Jefferson took him?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe the Wylie Gang knows something. I know you and Jefferson are tight, and he’s tight with that group. For all I know, you already know where Moffatt is.”

“If I did know where he was, he’d be dead.”

The unflappable public defender blinks. “Is that a confession? Because I’m kinda full up on clients at the moment.”

“Audrey, you really ought to let this one play out. Free yourself from getting mixed up with that church. Better yet, go private. Become a corporate litigator. You’re scary as hell. You’d be great at it. Retire early. Buy vacation property in Turks and Caicos…”

She crosses her arms, waiting me out.

I stand up and head toward the door.

“You’ll get paid as a contractor for the court. Honest money.”

I look back. “I’m retired. And if I let myself get involved with these people, someone’s gonna wind up dead. Better if I don’t.”

“That’s unfortunate. Will you at least keep your eyes and ears open? And if you know of anyone — anyone who might have information and likes money? Please send them to me."

I nod. And then a name pops into my head. Nelly. I know she knows a ton of shit she’s not telling me. And she does like money. “I might know someone.”