Page 35 of Stolen By the Hit Man
I feel the anger rising in my chest at the idea. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving her side, so you can just forget it. I know how to keep my mouth shut around the law.”
The attorney gestures at the office at the end of the long, empty hallway. “The county prosecutor is in there with the sheriff. If you go in there, they’re going to do some digging on you, too, and I assure you, you don’t want that.”
I can see in everyone’s faces that I’m not going to win this. Jasmyn looks at me pleadingly.
It’s true. Jasmyn doesn’t need a hit man boyfriend muddying up the details of the story she’s going to give to the police. I’d much rather the focus be on me than on her, but I’m confident in her self-defense argument. Me? I’m only going to tarnish her image. The law around here already doesn’t like me, and the high-ranking polygamists already have it in for me due to my association with Jefferson, Georgie, and their merry little bandof misfits who insist on sneaking onto the compound in the middle of the night to help women and children escape.
If it’s the “upstanding” polygamist crowd’s story versus Jasmyn, an innocent bystander from out of town, then I’d better make myself scarce.
Jasmyn squeezes my arm and makes herself taller by rolling up on the balls of her feet. She tilts her head back and gives me a peck. But fuck that. I cup the back of her neck and lock my lips against hers. I need to feel that connection one more time before I let her out of my sight.
Someone nearby clears their throat. I ignore them until I’m satisfied with the kiss. Jasmyn finally pulls away, her cheeks pink and her lips swollen. Her eyes cut to the left.
There stands someone I really had no intention of running into today. Audrey Bell, public defender.
I give her a smirk and a nod of the chin, then turn my focus back on Jasmyn.
“Who are you?” Jasmyn asks, eyeing the conservative business suit Audrey wears.
“Don’t worry, baby. She’s a regular pain in everyone’s ass. You’d like her.”
“We really need to go,” Brian Casey says, the slightest sneer on his lips in Audrey’s direction. I look between them. Do they know each other? Nah. Can’t be.
Audrey clears her throat again. “And I hate to break up this sentimental goodbye, but I really need to speak to you.”
“Take care of her,” I tell Grady.
“I’ll be fine,” Jasmyn says, then turns on her heels and heads through the office doors with Brian Casey in front of her and Grady behind.
Grumbling, I turn to Audrey. “What is it?”
“Meet me in my office,” she says crisply and walks off, fully trusting that I’m about to follow her bossy ass.
I pop my feet on the desk, half hoping she’ll get so annoyed with me that my presence will no longer be necessary.
“What’s up, Audrey?”
The one decent public defender of Darling Creek gives me a hard look, then shoves my size 14s off her desk.
“I need you to find my client.”
“And who might that be?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
“Orlyn Moffatt,” she says, as if I should know that.
The front two legs of my chair echo against the floor. “Moffat the Prophet?”
They really should have thought about coming up with a new term for their creepy-ass cult leader than a word that rhymes with his last name. Moffatt the Prophet sounds like a Smurf.
“Yes,” she says.
“I can’t believe you’re representing that shitbird.”
Audrey blinks at me. “I represent anyone who requires representation. Doesn’t matter what they’ve done.”
“Tell that to the girls who were forced to marry.”
“Believe me, I understand,” she says, unmoved.
