Page 45 of Stolen By the Hit Man
I quickly retreat to Joaquin’s room.
If Joaquin thinks a roving band of criminals are his friends, then I need to give myself some space.
I sit on Joaquin’s bed and try to think.
Chapter Twenty-One
Joaquin
The back door opens once more, and I worry that this kitchen floor might collapse under the weight of yet more people.
In walks Nelly, followed by a tall, lean fellow who appears to be in his 60s. Wavy silver hair, trimmed salt and pepper beard, and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and long, thin, black tie. Shined shoes and a leather belt. He looks like he belongs in Washington, D.C., rather than rural Montana. Or maybe in a Men in Black movie. He has that kind of vibe, like a dude who knows too much. Way, way too much.
Is this her guy she’s been so secretive about?
Nah. He looks far too serious to be a secret boyfriend.
Everyone cuts the chatter when the older man enters the room.
Wylie is the first to speak. “Curly? What are you doing back?”
Curly meets Wylie’s gaze with the resolve of iron. He pulls out a badge, but before he can answer, Nelly rears back. “Curly? Who’s Curly? This is Special Agent in Charge Carl Williams.”
“No, that’s my Uncle Curly,” Wylie insists. To the older man, he asks, “What is going on? What’s with the suit?”
When the guy finally does speak, he could narrate a whiskey commercial. “It’s a long story.”
He flashes his badge, and everyone in the room exclaims something different.
“Relax, nephew,” he says. “I’m here on behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Whatever your group is planning, I’m here to oversee the operation.”
Wylie splutters. “But you…you said…dammit, you’re a retired ranch housekeeper! You’re supposed to be fishing!”
“I lied.”
“Jake and Ennis should be here for this,” Wylie insists, looking equal parts mystified and miffed.
“I’ve already been to see them,” the Agent in Charge replies.
Wylie shakes his head. “That’s messed up.”
“Those two are essential to the mission,” Nelly says.
Squinting at her, Wylie says, “Those chuckleheads are supposed to be working the ranch while the rest of us strategize. They’re the front. They’re supposed to make everything appear as business as usual, so no one knows the ranch is ground zero for the big operation.”
Nelly blushes. “They’re helping. In their own way. We’ll tell you more about it as soon as things start to come together.”
“Suppose you tell me right the hell now what you’ve really been doing here, Nelly,” I say.
“She works for me,” Curly says.
My renter works…for the FBI?
The idea that this rancher and a bunch of cowboys have been planning something big—and Nelly’s involved in it—shocks me to my core. But it all makes sense, somehow. Of course, sneaking people out was just the beginning. An excitement builds inside me. That same excitement I get when I'm tempted to do a really big job. This one, though, is for a good cause. I’d love to see that whole place blown sky high, on Jasmyn’s behalf.
“How can I help?”
Turning to me, the male agent says, “Name’s Carl. But you can call me Curly.”
