Page 13 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

I nod. “Huh. I wonder what Judge Mayfield would think of a deputy—and one who’s currently running for public office—impeding a murder investigation.”

“I’m not…”

I wave my hand around. “Oh no, I don’t mean you, Mark. Just hypothetically. You get me?”

He grunts.

“See, when you throw around fake addresses to people looking for skips, it looks real bad. Imagine if someone did that for an individual wanted in questioning for a murder.”

Mark puffs out his chest. “I don’t know anything about anyone doing that. And I told you last time, he’s not here. If we knew where Moffatt was, we’d bring him straight to the department, Mr. Hope.”

I smile and chew my gum casually. “Man, you sure are polite. Your moms raised you right. But you can just call me Jeff, m’kay?”

The shade of purple he turns at hearing me say “moms” is interesting.

I dig in. “Which mom was it? Was it the legal one or the one your daddy got engaged to when she was 16?”

Yeah. I did some digging around. That was fun. If your definition of fun is learning horrible things about your not-so-friendly neighborhood cult.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Not sure, Deputy. I’m just sitting here trying to imagine having a stepmom younger than myself. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Welp. If that’s all, then I guess I’m free to go.”

I just can’t help my mouth sometimes.

I don’t get the pleasure of watching Mark’s ears turn a deeper shade of eggplant, because an electronic notification sounds at that exact moment.

The air is sucked from my lungs when I read the cryptic text. I don’t know whose phone it’s from, but I know it’s Georgie, sending up a signal flare.

I have Georgeanne. She’s fine. We’re stopping at the superstore in ten minutes to pick up a birthday cake. Let everyone at Mom’s house know I’ll have her home soon.

I feel like I’ve been lost at sea and I’ve finally spotted a lighthouse.

Swallowing down the elation that threatens to make me freak the fuck out, I turn to Mark. “The bail bondsman has another skip for me, and it’s urgent. You understand. Nice talking to you again, Mark.”

The deputy’s disgruntled face in my rearview mirror doesn’t concern me.

I could go wait at Georgie’s Mom’s house again. But from the wording in that text, I think I need to get to her before that.

My only focus is getting my ass to that big box store on the outskirts of town.

And it’s a nine-minute drive away.

As soon as the deputy disappears over the horizon in my rearview mirror, I’m banging gears. Sonja never lets me down, and I get there in seven minutes flat. I park my baby in the pick-up area because this is Darling Creek, and no one ever gets towed. And also, I do not give a fuck.

My internal homing beacon has been activated. As I stalk around the bakery department, I remind myself that I’m looking for someone who might appear differently after 31 days. She could be wearing her hair up. She could have cut it. In my mind’s eye, I’ve always been picturing her in an oversized baby blue sweater and baggy jeans, when she could be wearing a dress for all I know.

I don’t see Georgie in the cake department.

Where would she go? She mentioned a birthday present. What would that be?

Goldie mentioned something about plants. She likes plants. My instincts tell me I’m going the wrong way, but I check the garden department anyway. No sign of her there.

Goldie said Georgie’s really organized. She likes to keep journals of everything in the greenhouse. She has stacks and stacks of them.

My skin tingles and I quickly pivot and head to the books department.

On my way there, someone in a dirty blue hoodie brushes past me in the home and office section. “Pardon me,” says the even, feminine voice.

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