I flip my phone over and sigh. I’ve been waiting here for an hour already. Just as I’m turning my phone face down on my thigh, it vibrates. I look at the screen and smile.
“Chris, how are ya?”
Chris Rivers is a longtime friend of mine and the guys. He’s also an attorney, which came in handy tonight. Unfortunately for him, he keeps claiming not to practice criminal law anymore.
He’ll figure out he still does, eventually.
“Ian, why the fuck do I have ten grand in my account? From you?”
“Is that not your retainer fee?” I ask. To be honest, when he was a defense attorney, it was probably much higher, as he was considered the best in Nashville and possibly beyond. But I figured it was discounted since he’s been out of the game for a few years. And with the friend discount I applied, ten grand sounded reasonable.
“Not if you want to retain my services for acontract dispute.Which is the only kind of law I practice. As I have told you idiotsrepeatedly.”
“Well, let’s just say, you have the retainer, so you’re my attorney for anything that may come up.”
“Ian, what the fuck do I have to do to get you all to understand I don’t fucking do this anymore?” I hear him snapping his fingers. “I got it. A billboard. Do I need a fucking billboard? Will that help?”
Headlights flashing through the front window from someone turning into the driveway illuminate the inside of the house.
“Gotta go. Let’s get a beer soon.”
“Goddamnit, Ian. Don’t-”
I disconnect and slide my phone into the pocket of my jeans, removing the gun from the holster at my side.
I inhale and exhale, calming any remaining emotion in my body and clearing my mind of anything except the task at hand.
It’s only a few minutes before the door clicks open. He steps into the house and flips a switch. The lamps on the end table turn on, revealing the piece of shit I’ve paid a lot of money to find.
“Jenson, it’s been entirely too long, buddy.”
Every penny I spent is worth the visible paling of his skin and the slight tremor that runs through his skinny body. Apparently, being on the run has been difficult for him. He’s lost quite a bit of weight, and the stress has aged his face.
He finally gains a minuscule amount of composure and spits out, “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
Tilting my head to the side, I regard him for a moment. “You already know that.” I tap the gun against the top of my thigh, drawing his attention down. I smirk when his throat muscles work on his heavy swallow. “A lot of people have been looking for you. Who knew you’re being stowed away in fucking Ohio?”
“What do you want?” As he speaks, Jenson attempts to reach behind him slowly, toward the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t try to run if I were you. There’s no escaping. I have a buddy outside, and he won’t be nearly as nice as I will.”
I don’t, but Jenson doesn’t need to know that. I stand, and he tenses. Stalking across the room, I stop in front of him, holstering my gun and narrowing my eyes. Sweatbeads along his hairline. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, eyes locked on my face, so he doesn’t notice when I rear back my hand and punch him as hard as I can in the stomach. The guttural groan that leaves him delights me. I catch him before he can collapse onto the ground.
Gripping the top of his jacket, I throw him down onto a dining room chair I strategically placed. He continues to groan and hold his stomach. Grabbing the duct tape I left nearby, I quickly secure him to the chair.
Once that’s complete, I step back and withdraw my gun. Jenson’s eyes widen. I tap his chin with the barrel and laugh when he lets out a pathetic whimper.
“Tell me, Jenson, did you get off on almost getting Maggie killed? Every time you released information to someone who wanted to hurt her, did it make you feel alive knowing she might not be because of your actions?”
He squirms against the duct tape. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me what it was like.”
Another hard swallow. “It wasn’t personal. It was just money. They promised me a lot of money.”
I shake my head in disgust. “You say that as if it makes it better.”
“I-I’m sorry. Look, please?—”
