Page 23 of Stolen By the Hit Man

Ten years later

Jasmyn

My husband is especially surly today.

“Who are you texting?” Joaquin asks.

“Give me a minute.”

“You don’t have to sit here and physically watch the bank transfer. It’s not like the FBI didn’t sign a contract,” he says.

“I’m not waiting on the money. I’m waiting on feedback from the job.”

“Come on. Nelly’s debrief at the Pentagon is next week.”

I tear my eyes away from my phone, and I scowl playfully at my husband. “But I want to make sure.”

“I’ve created a monster.”

He’s not wrong. Since I sold the company in Tampa five years ago, Joaquin and I have been doing a lot of traveling.

If you followed us on Instagram, you might think we’re quite the jet-setters.

But in reality, we’ve been doing contract work here and there for the federal government.

Joaquin’s tracking skills have been in demand ever since we helped Nelly take down the polygamist cult.

And because we’re a package deal, Nelly can’t get rid of me.

If she wants Joaquin’s help, I’m tagging along.

And because most of what we do is classified, I’m also officially a government contractor now, too.

Finally, the three little dots appear on my screen, and then confirmation.

“The Denver field office confirmed. Threat neutralized.”

“Excellent.”

“‘Don’t be surprised if the state director contacts you for another mission,’” I read out loud.

Joaquin sighs. “Colorado sounds nice, but I’m gonna lay low in Montana for a while. Enjoy some peace and quiet with our godchildren.”

My husband parks the Charger named Sonja in front of Georgie and Jefferson’s house.

“That sounds like a plan,” I say.