Despite my worry for Dean’s well-being, I can’t help but be irritated by the entire situation. Dean is literally in and out of jail and seriously jeopardizing my parents’ finances by skipping bail, and yet somehowI’mthe problem child because I only go to church once a week now and I maybe/someday/hopefully will have sex. Explain that one to me, slowly.
Thad must read the warring emotions on my face as something more benevolent than they really are. “I can tell you care about your brother. Let me help him.”
I snort. “By putting him back in jail?”
“In custody, away from the mob? Yeah, I’d say that’s much safer than whatever game he’s playing right now.”
I debate this idea internally, weighing out the pros and cons. More to buy myself time than anything, I fold my arms back at him and ask, “How do I know you’re really who you say you are? According to Google, bounty hunting is illegal in the state of Illinois.” Yep. I did some research. I put my MS in library science to good use. “Maybe you’re part of the mob and trying to trick me into leading you to Dean.”
I don’t actually think this is true, but it feels like something I should clarify, just to show I’m not as naive as everyone seems to think I am.
Sighing, Thad changes screens on his phone and pulls up…YouTube?
“Is this your swearing-in ceremony, or something?” I ask as the video loads. “Do bounty hunters have swearing-in ceremonies?”
“Shush,” he orders me. “Just watch.”
What follows is the most amazing five minutes of my life thus far. A brief, thirty-second introduction clip for a show calledBama Bountyplays, with overlays of a city I don’t recognize, juxtaposed with swamps and alligators, cheesy graphics, an older man with a faint resemblance to Thad—but with a blue mohawk!—and Thad standing back-to-back with two other twentysomething guys who also faintly resemble him. And all of them, every last one, has matching mohawks: Thad’s is his natural shade of red, while one guy has dyed his green and the other purple.
Thad clears his throat. “My brothers. And the first guy is?—”
“Your dad,” I finish for him, watching eagerly as the clip continues.
The scene is a brief one from what appears to be a reality television series following Thad and his bounty hunter family as they arrest people who break their bail. All of them have very thick Southern accents, much more defined than the occasional hint I get from him every now and then.
“Is this in Mobile?” I ask, remembering what he told me about splitting his time between here and there.
Thad clears his throat. “Yep.”
In the clip I’m watching, Thad’s father—Darius, according to the chyron on the screen—breaks down the information about the perpetrator and his criminal record for Thad and Thad’s brothers (Orpheus and Amadeus—I’m not making this stuff up, I swear). The three sons make a lot of colorful interjections about the perpetrator’s clothing and hair—most of which seem pretty badly scripted—and Darius promises to bring him swift Bama justice!
Then a very pretty, very made-up woman in sleek black athletic gear and a bulletproof vest sits on Thad’s lap. Her outfit is no-nonsense but her hair is teased up to an unnatural volume and she’s wearing long lavender acrylic nails. Her chyron reads “Vera” and I watch in morbid fascination as she runs her purple-tipped fingers up and down Thad’s chest. As she does so, I spot a huge diamond engagement ring on her left hand. “Good luck, baby. Bring him into custody and I’ll let you take me into custody tonight?—”
In the lingerie store, Thad clears his throat and takes the phone back from me. “So, yeah. Verified bounty hunter. Itisillegal in Illinois, but I technically practice out of Indiana, where it is legal, so.”
I nod, pretending to still care about whether or not he has the right license, when I’m really still stuck on the woman in the video. Are they still engaged? Or married now? This video is date-stamped from a few years ago, and Thad no longer lives in Mobile or has a mohawk, so clearly some things have changed. But still…engagement usually leads to marriage. Was he kissing me in my apartment while he has a hot, high-maintenance bounty hunter wife at home?
All of this really shouldn’t matter, considering the kind of trouble Dean is in. Still, I can’t help glancing down at Thad’s left hand. No ring. That could mean anything, though. Lots of people don’t wear wedding rings, or they might still just be engaged…
Focus, Helen, I reprimand myself. I don’t even like Thad as a person anymore, much less as a romantic prospect, and my attention should be on Dean and the best way to help him. “Why shouldn’t I go to Shane instead of you? He’s a private detective. That seems a little more legit than a bounty hunter who shouldn’t even be bounty hunting in this state.”
At the mention of Shane’s name, Thad grimaces, like he’s just bitten into something sour. “I don’t know what kind of act Shane was putting on for you, but trust me when I say he’s a complete douchebag. Finding Dean will be all about boosting his career and his ego, and if Dean gets fed to the sharks along the way, well, too bad, so sad, move on to the next job.Imight be a lowly bounty hunter, but I only get paid if I catch my man alive.”
He says this all matter-of-factly, and it’s the first time it sinks in for me that Dean is actually, truly in danger. Not just his usual slap-on-the-wrist hijinks, but real and legitimate life-and-death danger.
It doesn’t make any sense why I should trust Thad, but for some reason, I do. Sighing, I look down at my hands, where I realize I’ve been twisting the red lacy panties around. I drop them on the display, forcing myself to meet Thad’s gaze and hoping he didn’t follow the movement. “I’m going to see my parents on Sunday. They’re coming into town and staying with my aunt Linda. Dean is supposed to call.”
Thad’s eyes light up, and he steps in closer to me, lowering his voice. “Bring me with you.”
I suck in a breath, shaking my head. “My mom will freak out if she knows a bounty hunter is after Dean.”
“So don’t tell her I’m a bounty hunter. Tell her I’m your boyfriend.”
My dumb heart speeds up a little. I feel myself reaching for the panties again—nervous habit, I guess?—and have to clench my hands at my sides to stop myself. “I don’t know if they’ll buy that. I haven’t ever introduced someone to my parents, not since…” No need to be coy anymore. He knows it all. I square my shoulders. “…since ever. Even before I was a sister.”
His eyes flicker down, then back up again. “The red panties suggest it’s only a matter of time. I might as well be your first.”
The words seem to register with him at the same time as they hit me, and he flushes. “First guy you bring home, I mean.”
