Page 31 of Givin' Me Fitz!
Keats took his cell phone into the room with Maddy Colby as a witness. Nancy was on a ventilator, and the doctor allowed Keats to record his statement that Nancy’s condition was terminal and in no way would she improve. Her parents were coming back to Yuma to say a final goodbye, and then they’d cease lifesaving measures.
That would have to be good enough for the folks back in Laughlin. It was a sad situation, but I was ready to get back to Vegas. I had some decisions to make.
I hauled myself out of my truck, grabbing my duffel, and heading into the house. Thankfully, the mattress had been delivered a couple of days after I had my one and only date with the president of the Steel Cowboys. I’d paid extra to get it delivered overnight because I was under the stupid fucking impression that we were going to have a second date and a soft mattress might be more comfortable than the metal bed of his pickup truck.
After sorting the laundry into the hamper, I stripped and took a shower to wash the dried sweat from my body. Keats and Greeley had ridden back to Las Vegas together and had volunteered to go to Silas’ office and advise him—or Evan, who really ran the show—of the outcome of Nancy’s case, turning over the doctor’s statement in support of her prognosis.
Unfortunately, I had to deal with Jagger the whole way back to Las Vegas. The man didn’t like air-conditioning, so we’d sweat the whole way home as he told me the harrowing tales associated with being a Nevada state trooper.
I’d dropped him at the office to pick up his vehicle before I headed home, and I said, “Amen and the end,” as he closed the passenger door to my truck. The guy was definitely a snooze fest.
After my shower, I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt before I went into the kitchen to get a beer. Since I had no groceries to make dinner and was too damned exhausted to go to the store, I grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn and tossed it into the new microwave I’d bought at the big-box store when I picked up sheets, pillows, and towels the day before heading to Laughlin.
Something moved in the backyard and caught my attention. There was a new wrought iron table and chairs out on the patio, complete with khaki cushions.
In one of the chairs under the open khaki-and-white-striped umbrella, sat a very familiar man with long, wavy golden-brown hair that whipped in the breeze. Two full sleeves of tattoos that I very much wanted to inspect up close and personally made my heart pick up.
Just beyond the patio, his tricked-out Harley with the skeletal cowboy on the tank, was parked in the gravel near the concrete block wall, and a white plastic bag with a six-pack of beer was perched on the table. What Sawyer was doing in the backyard was a complete mystery.
“What the fuck is this all about?” I slid my feet into a pair of athletic sandals I kept by the back door and stepped outside.
As the door opened, Sawyer glanced over his shoulder before he popped the cap off another beer and tossed it into a bucket I’d never seen by the edge of the patio. “Where ya been?” I stepped closer, peering into the bucket where several bottle caps had already been dropped.
“I had a job out of town. Nice patio set. You been living here while I was gone?” I meant it as a joke—but only partially. If he was there to kick me out, especially since I hadn’t signed a lease with the asshole yet because he hadn’t called me, I was gonna be pissed.
“Sit down. We need to have a chat.”And here it comes…I sat across from him and waited, my mind going at light speed.
Sawyer reached into the inside pocket of his cut and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the table to me. “Here’s the lease. I left the term open for you to fill in. You never mentioned how long you were going to stay. Any thoughts?”
I took a sip from my beer before I spoke. “Well, I’m not sure. Things haven’t exactly worked out too well for me here in town.”
Sawyer turned in his seat, a toothpick in the right corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? No luck hunting the bad guys?”
“No. The job’s going well.”
Sawyer lifted his eyebrow. “What else isn’t working out? I’d think the job would be half the battle of settling into a new place.”
That was true, but… “I don’t want to have to move again so soon. I didn’t hear from my landlord for three weeks, and I was sure he’d changed his mind about me renting here. I’d been contemplating returning to Texas to work for my brother.”Not on your life!
“Huh. I never figured you for a quitter, Fitz.” The smirk on his face was sexy.
“Funny, I thought the same thing about you until you ghosted me.” I lifted my eyebrow to study him.
Sawyer chuckled as he removed the aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of his very attractive nose. “Sometimes, I get too far into my head and analyze shit to death. I decided my lifestyle might not be a good match for a former US Marshal.”
Interesting.“We all have secrets, Sawyer. Explain to me why you came to that conclusion.” I was curious to hear how his mind worked.
“One of my guys was being held against his will by his family who planned to beat the queer out of him. I took care of it, such that he’ll never have to worry about a similar attempt ever again, and I don’t feel a damn bit of remorse about my actions.”
My marshal instincts told me to press him for more information but… I wasn’t in law enforcement any longer. It wasn’t my business what he did until hemadeit my business. And even if he felt comfortable giving me details, I wasn’t sure I had the desire to see justice served as I’d once had.
I’d seen so many underhanded dealings couched in the pursuit of justice that I’d become disillusioned with the entire justice system. Part of my coming to terms with the inequalities I’d witnessed over my time in law enforcement had led me to the idea that if given a chance, the justice system would perform as it was created to do. The bad guy would get what was coming to him, and the innocent would persevere.
Unfortunately, that hadn’t always been the case. There were many innocent folks behind bars, and the wheels of justice turned at a snail’s pace to release them, which was where my skepticism that the justice system was fair had begun.
After much thought, I settled on the idea that the accused should have the chance to prove their innocence, so I came to terms with the idea that bringing suspects to the bar to stand trial for their alleged crimes was where I could participate with a good conscience. That was how I came to pursue bounty hunting.
I nodded. “Would you ever tell me if something happened that might get the law involved?”
