Page 33 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

“It’s not about your job. I don’t think.”

“Fine. Ask away.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“No comment.”

“You agreed to tell the truth.”

“‘No comment’ is not a lie.”

“What about Jefferson? Has he ever killed someone?”

“It’s better if you don’t know the answer to that.”

I let that sink in. I wonder what my life will be like from now on, tied to someone who might or might not have killed someone.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s good,” Joaquin says after a while.

I turn to him. “What?”

“He’s a good guy and he deserves to be happy. He gets obsessive about his side quests—the latest being you—so you’ll have to pull him back once in a while to show him the big picture.”

I think about this. He’s talking like Jefferson and I are a committed, long-term item. I like how that feels. Yet, I think I can see the obsessive side of Jefferson that Joaquin is talking about. Can I handle that?

“Also, he’s rough around the edges. If he ignores you because he’s babying that ridiculous car of his, just kick his ass a little bit.”

I gasp. “Oh, I would never…”

“I mean that figuratively. He forgets to eat, and when he does, he eats like shit. So you’ll have to make him eat a vegetable every now and then.”

“I can handle that.”

“Jefferson wasn’t raised right at all. He was removed from his parents’ custody for neglect when he was eight years old. That’s where we met. We looked out for each other in a pretty shitty group home, and we’ve been like brothers ever since. He doesn’t usually get attached, but in the end, he always sticks up for victims. That’s also you.”

“I’m not a victim.”

“Whatever. I’m just telling you the way it is.”

“He’s a hero,” I say.

“Don’t tell him that. He’s too humble. He’s also driven, hard-headed, and doesn’t give a shit if he puts himself in harm’s way. That’s why I finally decided to do what I had to do.”

“Why was it better that you find Orlyn than Jefferson?”

Joaquin turns to me and says, “Because our man Jeffy finally has something to live for.”

I blink. “Which is?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You, baby girl. It’s you.”

I turn away and face the courthouse lawn, processing what he just said.

“And he’s not gonna have you out of his system anytime soon. So I suggest you buckle up and make an honest man out of him.”

Jefferson exits the courthouse as half a dozen men in polo shirts walk in hurriedly, followed by a team of what looks like very expensive lawyers. My heart nearly stops when I see among the crowd the faces of my father, Uncle Nevyn, and four other elders from the church.

On the lawn, a small group of people have assembled, holding up colorful protest signs demanding that the polygamists leave Darling Creek. Some are pretty vulgar, and some invoke street justice.

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