Page 92 of Dangerous Pursuit

“Okay. Mary, I like you, I think that’s obvious. But it seems like you’re trying to get over someone and if you need me to back off, I will.”

“Please don’t. I like what we have going. It’s just… I can’t promise that I’ll ever be able to say yes. That doesn’t mean I want you to stop what you’re doing, though.”

“Then we’ll pretend today didn’t happen, and I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe you should tell me what I did, though, so I don’t do it again?”

My cheeks go red. “The Scout’s honor thing,” I say, turning away and busying myself by wiping a counter. Just saying it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it was a sign.

“Good to know. Won’t happen again.” He goes to raise his hand to do it but stops abruptly. “Aaand… I’m going now.”

Once he’s gone, I sigh in frustration. I’m so confused. When Jeff said I was trying to get over someone, it hit me—that’s not what I’ve been doing at all. I’ve been trying to hang on to someone. I don’t want to let Jackson go, but maybe that’s the problem. When he made that motion with his hand, all I could see was Jackson, and it felt like a sign, like the universe was telling me to remember.

But you know what? Fuck the universe, because for the last 230 days, it’s done a pretty shitty job of things.

CLOSING IN

Jackson

After moving to Los Angeles a couple of months ago, I finally feel like I’m on the brink of finding Roland. One of the Vegas tables eventually paid off, and a guy knew who he was. He’d heard that Roland left Sin City to try his hand in a more lucrative market and assumed he went to LA, where the big money was. By no means was it solid evidence, but at that point, I would have gone on less.

It turned out to be a wise decision because I’ve been talking to other players about the transplants coming in recently, and there’s a good chance Roland is around. I’ve become comfortable enough with one of the guys to have him join me for a pregame drink. He seems to be in the know around here and not on the wrong side of the fence. I’ve been buddying up to him for weeks now, and I’m ready to divulge why I’m here and show Roland’s picture.

“Hey, Jackson, thanks for the invite,” Darryl says as he reaches me.

“Yeah, I’m glad it worked out. I thought having a beer somewhere away from the poker table for once would be nice.”

As he sits, the waitress brings our drinks. “I ordered one for you, hope that’s okay.” I say to him.

“Never one to turn down a beer. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” We each take a sip, and then I dive right in. “So, I’ve been around for a couple months now and noticed you’re pretty connected with the poker circuit. Seems like you’ve been playing a long time and have things dialed in with who’s who.”

“When it’s your full-time job, that tends to happen. I wouldn’t be any good if I weren’t paying attention.”

“Right, so I imagine you’re the right person to ask about a guy I’m trying to find, and you seem like someone I could trust to keep this confidential.” So far, he doesn’t seem put off.

“As long as you’re not looking to start any trouble or do something illegal, I don’t see why not. Are you working for the government or some shit?” He sounds a bit skeptical, so it’s now or never.

“Yes and no. I’m not working for the government, but I’m trying to find someone for them.”

“Like a bounty hunter?” he asks, making me laugh.

“Huh. Now that you say that, I guess, in a way, I am. But instead of getting money for the guy I’m looking for, I’ll get my girlfriend back.” His eyes go wide as I take a swig of my beer.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one.” He laughs.

“The FBI has my girlfriend in a witness protection program. If I bring her dad in, they’ll trade her testimony for his. They gave up looking for him when they landed her, and I’ve been trying to find him for over eight months now.”

“Fuck, that’s some fucked up shit,” Darryl says, sighing.

“You’re telling me.”

“What will you do when you find him? Have the FBI pick him up or what?”

“I was thinking of paying him a visit to tell him how he fucked up his daughter’s life, and if the asshole doesn’t feel like manning up and making it right, then I’ll cuff him myself and bring him to their doorstep.”

“Jackson, the fucking bounty hunter. I like it. So, what’s his name, and what does he look like?”

“Glad you asked.” I pull the picture out and set it in front of him.

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