“There isn’t,” I grunt.
He lets out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Some kind of scare tactic, eh? You said you were a bounty hunter.”
I am a bounty hunter. It was a traditional trajectory. Military-cop-bounty hunter. Except along the way, I learned some problems require non-traditional solutions.
“I won’t do it again, man,” he blubbers when he realizes I wasn’t kidding.
We’re at the begging stage, then. They all get there eventually.
“I swear,” he goes on. “Jesus Christ. I made a mistake.”
A mistake. It never ceases to amaze me. What men will do, the evil acts they’ll commit, then try to chalk it up to amistake.
Another turn. More darkness. He knows what’s coming now.
He strains against the bindings fixing him to the seat. Spits into the front of the car. His entire face turns red.
“You’ve got no idea who you’re fucking with!”
I let him have his moment. Let him believe he can rage and whine his way out of this. But there’s no escape. Not for him and not for me. We’re both locked onto this path, bound by our dark deeds. The difference is that mine has a purpose.
That doesn’t make sleeping at night any easier, though. That doesn’t stop the demons from chasing me.
The sun is bleeding through the trees when I toss the shovel into the back of my pickup and climb into the driver’s seat. My muscles are aching. It’s an unavoidable aspect of my line of work.
Marshall calls me as I drive back toward the town proper. Gunnison Peaks is tucked away in the near wilds of Colorado, enough mountain to make me feel isolated.
“Morning,” I say.
“Notice you left out thegood,” he replies, in his usual jovial voice.
I say nothing. He leaves a pause, then sighs. I think he misses the old version of Rhett. The version who bantered and joked, before it all became too damn much.
“We were thinking of taking a trip up to the Peaks soon,” he goes on. “Wanted to know if you’d want to come by for some food? Catch up? It’s been too long.”
That’s true. Marshall and I used to see each other every day when we worked in the same police department.
I inject some good humor into my voice. He’s my best friend, after all. “That would be great,” I tell him.
He laughs darkly. “That was almost convincing.”
“No, I mean it. I’d love to see you all.”
I should see more of him, but I’ve isolated myself. Tell myself it makes me powerful. Makes me bulletproof. He’s only a two-hour drive away. But I keep making excuses.
“How’s work?” he asks.
“Fine,” I reply. No need for details. He doesn’t ask and I don’t share.
“I wish you’d come back?—”
“We’ve been over this,” I cut in.
“It was one case.”
“Lucian fucking Conti killed an innocent couple. Knocked out their oldest daughter cold. Left their baby girl shivering,terrified, and traumatized for the rest of her life. And he got what—a slap on the wrist?”
“The Conti Family is powerful,” Marshall mutters. “That doesn’t mean we can’t make a difference.”
