Page 32 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

“You didn’t.”

I wave my hands around. “Children! Stop fighting and explain to me right now what the hell is going on? Joaquin? What do you mean Jefferson was busy?”

Jefferson clears his throat and I turn around to face him. “Well?”

“Joaquin is under the impression that I was so busy looking for you that I wasn’t focusing enough on finding Orlyn Moffatt.”

I think about this. “Is that true? Was I a distraction to you?”

Jefferson reaches a hand out to cup my face. “No. You were not a distraction.”

Joaquin coughs something that sounds like “Liar.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you just say thank you for the help?”

Jefferson growls, on the verge of exploding. “Because I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“One victory in 24 hours is enough, don’t you think?” I remind him.

Joaquin pipes up with, “Oh, it’s still your catch, brother.”

We both turn to Joaquin.

He adds, “What, you think I want to get involved in all this cult bullshit? He’s your catch. You get the bounty.”

We both watch, dumbfounded, as Joaquin unlocks the car and slides behind the wheel. The man raises an eyebrow and revs the purring engine. “It’s not a Charger, but it’s a sweet ride. Get in, losers; we’ve got a delivery for the sheriff.”

We must pass a dozen campaign signs on our way to the sheriff’s department, advertising Elder Mark’s candidacy for sheriff. A dozen more signs read things like “Keep Polygamists Out of Office.” “No Polygamists in Darling Creek.”

All of it makes me want to vomit and wish I was invisible. I don’t want my friends and families persecuted for who they are, but I also don’t want to see someone like Mark Lund in positions of real power.

I stay in the car with Joaquin while Jefferson hauls the zip-tied, disheveled, and groggy Orlyn Moffatt to the county courthouse.

“I want my lawyer,” the oily fucker squawks as people turn to stare.

“Don’t care. I’m not a cop,” Jefferson says in a flat, lethal tone as they march up the steps.

After they disappear through the doors, I turn to Joaquin. “Thanks for helping him,” I say.

“Had to be done.”

“You could have collected the reward yourself.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter, but nice try guessing.”

“It was worth a shot,” I say.

He chuckles and fiddles with the buttons on the touchscreen until he finds the hip-hop station he likes.

“Can I ask you a yes-or-no question?”

“Sure.”

“Promise you’ll tell me the truth?”

“Hmm,” Joaquin replies. “That depends on if you’re going to try to guess my job.”

---