“When you two went to Hallow Ranch for a romantic weekend getaway,” Murphy boasted, swiping up on the tablet. A second later, a mugshot of Scott and his demographics were on the shades.
“Thomas Herman,” Angel read aloud, gaping at the mugshot.
It was a few years old, the man in the photo much younger and skinnier than the fucker who’d tried to shoot me.
“Yup,” Jake said, popping theP. “Forty-year-old male. Born in North Dakota. Son to Martha and John Herman, both deceased. Went into the Army right out of high school and didn’t even make it through basic training. After that, he spent the rest of his twenties dealing drugs, gambling, and racking up a ton of debt with the Italian mafia in New York.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Collin Stevens is going to have a fucking field day with this.”
“Who’s Collin Stevens?” Angel asked.
Carrie pressed her lips together. “He’s the Don.”
“A don? Like a mafia don?” she gaped.
Margo clicked her tongue. “No, Blue, liketheDon. He’s the head of the Italian mafia.”
Angel looked up at me with wide eyes. “That’s bad, right?”
“No, he’s a friend,” Carrie chirped, looking at the screen.
Angel fisted my shirt and yanked me down. I smirked at her. “You’re friends with the mafia?”
“He’s a good guy, Starlight. His wife owns a few bakeries in Chicago. You’d love her,” I assured before I looked at the rest of them. “Let’s hold off on calling Stevens, yeah?”
“Agreed,” Hayes drawled, looking annoyed.
“So the fucker gets caught and wants to off himself to avoid jail time,” Gray summed up.
“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking,” Jake said, sighing. “The second I got this fucker in the chair, he confessed to everything.”
“Naturally,” Dominic deadpanned, pushing up his sleeves.
“Herman was hired by Fitzgerald, who he knew as Rom, to take out Ash. He was also under the impression that he had been hired by the United States government to take out a SEAL who’d gone rogue and was conspiring with terrorists. Fitzgerald told him the award for bringing him in was forty million dollars.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Aside from all the other bullshit, Tucker sent a drug dealer after me?”
“No.” Jake held up a finger and swiped it across the tablet. “That bastard sent a hit man after you.”
The screen was filled with various emails and texts from multiple jobs. Jake swiped again, revealing a section of the FBI’s most wanted list. Thomas Herman was in the dead center. Hayes pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying that Tucker Fitzgerald, a trained Navy SEAL, hired the man who assassinated the CEO of Ruby’s Gas Stations to take out Ash? And on top of that, he got this dumbass to believe the USgovernment would pay him forty million taxpayer dollars for doing so?”
Jake adjusted his glasses. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”
Gray and I shared a look. “How in the fuck did he manage to convince him?”
I shook my head and gestured to the screen. “That’s not the question we need to be asking, if Tucker said I’m worth more alive than dead, then why hire a hit man?”
“Psychological torture,” Dominic answered, stroking his jaw.
“But he hasn’t done anything to Ash. What the fuck was the point?” Margo chimed in. “Ash has only been back for a month and a half. Scott—or fucking Thomas—has been working at Margie’s place for years.”
“And the hardware store during the holidays,” Carrie noted, chewing on her cheek.
“A decoy?” Angel guessed. “I don’t think he knew about our connection. When you walked into the kitchen on the day of Felix’s funeral, Scott looked genuinely shocked to see you there.”
I grunted, remembering how he lingered next to the ovens.
Carrie moved away from Grayson and walked up to Jake. “You said this guy used to deal drugs?”
