Chapter 14

Hands grabbed me roughly from behind and I was shoved face-first against the wall, my arms wrenched behind me. I felt the cold sensation of handcuffs closing tightly around my wrists. My heart was thundering in my chest and spots danced in front of my eyes.

"Damn bounty hunters." Givens spun me around, lips curled in disgust as he glared down at me. "Move it, you."

He shoved me past the security team and we had almost made it to the door when Elrod spoke. "Wasn't she with you?"

The look Givens threw Elrod's way said in no unspoken terms that Elrod was dumber than a brick. "You ever see the U.S. Marshals Service workin' with this kinda trash?"

I was thrust out the door with a rough shove and then hustled into the back of the Explorer. If this was an act, Givens deserved an Oscar. What if I was really in trouble? What if I screwed up his investigation? What exactly was Super Max and would I get sent there to share a cell with Joyce Barnhardt?

Givens got behind the wheel and Tim hopped into the passenger seat beside him. Neither one of them said a word to me as we pulled out of the parking lot. The silent treatment continued as we got back onto 421.

Now I was really getting worried. The handcuffs were painfully tight and I was itchy, probably from whatever Dalton was using to mop the floor. I itched everywhere and I couldn't scratch. Worse, the air-conditioning in the Explorer was on full-blast. I started shivering in my soaked T-shirt from a combination of the chill and panic that I was in a lot of trouble.

Givens' eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I nearly cried with relief when I saw that he was worried, not angry. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and got out, coming around to the back. This time, he was gentle as he uncuffed me. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I tried to be careful but it had to be convincing or you woulda ended up in County lockup."

"It was definitely convincing," Tim said, turning around to look at me. "I was sure she was either gonna faint or start crying."

"My junior marshal would never faint or cry." Givens pocketed the handcuffs. "But that wet T-shirt ain't doin' much for you. I got a jacket you can borrow."

"I think the wet T-shirt does plenty for her," Tim put in.

"Eyes front, Gutterson." Givens handed me a blue nylon windbreaker that had the words 'U.S. Marshal' along each sleeve and across the back. "I'm not supposed to let a civilian wear my jacket but you're a junior marshal so I think we can bend the rules a little."

He turned his back to give me privacy and I peeled off the soaking wet T-shirt, grateful for the loaned windbreaker. And then I looked down at myself. "Holy cow!"

Givens spun around. "What?"

"I either have a rash or a chemical burn. Is it on my face too? He got my face. Ohmigod. What about my hair? Is it falling out? Is it turning colors? I just got rid of those weird highlights." I couldn't have a hair crisis. Not when I was hundreds of miles from Mr. Alexander.

"Your hair is fine but your face looks irritated. I have a first aid kit back here so we'll see if we can't fix you up." Givens patted my shoulder. "You did real good with Dalton, Stephanie."

"He dumped mop water on me."

"Is that the worst thing you ever had dumped on you?" he asked, opening a tube of hydrocortisone and dabbing some on my face.

"Well, no," I admitted.

"Your objective was to shake him up an' you did." He held the tube out to me. "And you helped me distract security while Tim did his part. Tim, what'd you find out?"

"Dalton Crowe is driving a 1984 tan Caprice. Your pal Tom Bergen is running the plates." Tim turned to look at me. "Holy shit!"

I yelped. "What? What is it? Is my skin peeling off?"

He shook his head. "Your makeup is completely intact. That stuff must be military grade!"

"Why me?"

Tim's phone pinged and he read the screen. "Well here's a surprise. Dalton's car is registered to a Luther Daley, resident of Bennett County. And here's another shocker, old Luther has a record."

"Worked for the Bennetts?" Givens asked.

"Any other gainful employment in Bennett County?" Tim's phone pinged again. "Trooper Tom says he believes Luther's working for Dickie. You think Dickie's the shoe kingpin?"

Givens shook his head. "Dickie wouldn't know a fancy designer shoe from a pair of Keds and credit card fraud is way beyond him."

"Is money laundering?" I asked. I had no idea who Dickie was but since he shared a first name with my ex-husband, the horse's ass, I hated him already. "What do these Bennetts do?"

"Most of 'em are dead, thanks to Raylan." Tim smirked at me. "Raylan shot and killed Coover Bennett. Doyle Bennett shot Raylan and I shot and killed Doyle and then Mags, their mama, poisoned herself. Dickie's the last one standing but only on one leg. He's sort of gimpy."

"They were in the weed business mostly but there were side businesses that went along with it." Givens shot Tim a look that would have made me shut up for a year. "Mags orchestrated a land deal with a mining company that screwed over a lot of people in Bennett and Harlan. She made a killin' and was goin' to retire. Her intent was to hand the weed business over to Dickie. Things didn't quite work out."

"Raylan's not too popular over in Bennett. Good thing I brought my rifle. We might end up in another shoot-out." Tim rubbed his chin and peered at me. "Ever been in a shoot-out?"

Gulp. "Sort of."

Givens got back behind the wheel and eased the Explorer back onto the road. "What do you mean, sort of? If there was at least two people shootin' at each other, it's a shoot-out."

Tim twisted around in his seat. "C'mon, spill. Tell me what it's really like in the private sector. Who shot at you?"

I sighed. "I wasn't working as a bounty hunter at the time."

Tim's mouth curved upwards. "I like this story already. Keep going."

"I got sick of rolling in garbage and being shot at," I explained, "so I tried a job at the button factory and got fired for being late. That was actually a good thing because the boss was a creep -"

"Back up." Tim raised an eyebrow. "Why was he a creep? Because he fired you for being late?"

"No, because he said I could keep my job if I'd perform a very, very lewd act involving nakedness and bodily fluids." I shuddered, remembering Mr. Alizzi. "His exact words. Also I needed to wear something revealing that showed my breasts. Still think I'm overstating it?"

"Raylan, didn't the junior marshal dress code have that exact requirement?"

"You ain't much more than a junior marshal yourself, Tim," Givens commented. "Go on, Steph."

I really didn't want to tell this story so I said it as fast as I could. "I took a job at Kan Klean, working for Mama Macaroni, a scary old lady with a giant mole on her face. That mole was like the dermatological equivalent of a seven-car crash with blood and guts spread on the highway. She was miserable and mean. Anyway, my friend Lula from the bonds office came in for her dry cleaning, words were exchanged between Lula and Mama, Mama refused to give Lula her dry cleaning and Lula pulled her Glock. Mama pulled her semi-automatic and started shooting at us. That was my last day at Kan Klean."

"Well, hell," Tim said, turning around to look at Givens. "Forget Winona. This is your perfect woman right here. It's like you were made for each other."

Unh. Mental head slap.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled up in front of a faded red clapboard house where Luther Daley lived and Givens turned around to look at me. "You see what I see, Junior Marshal Plum?"

It was impossible to miss Joyce Barndhardt's shiny black Mercedes GLK parked in the gravel driveway. The house, which was shabby to begin with, looked even shabbier next to the expensive SUV. "Yeah."

"I'm going to let you handle this." He unclipped the badge from his belt and pulled a silver chain from his pocket, hanging the badge on it. Then he slipped the chain around my neck. "Don't say a word, Gutterson. Not one word."

Tim mimed zipping his lips.

Givens got out of the Explorer and pulled his shotgun from the back. He removed the shells and grinned at me. "Let me teach you a little trade secret, Junior Marshal Plum. Nothing gets you instant respect like the sound of a shotgun bein' racked. Here's how you do it."

He racked it and he was right, the sound nearly made me jump out of my skin.

"It's not loaded but it won't have to be. Joyce isn't stupid enough to fire on you if you're wearin' my badge, my jacket and armed with this. Rack it for me." He handed me the shotgun.

I hesitated for only a moment. This was it. The perfect payback for every humiliation. Joyce was going to wet her pants. I racked the shotgun and tried not to flinch at the sound.

"Don't be scared if you're the one pointin' the shotgun." Givens came around behind me and adjusted my grip. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered. "And remember what I said about those cow eyes."

My eyes narrowed and my expression shifted into the mean look that I imitated earlier. Then I racked the shotgun like I'd been doing it all my life.

Givens squeezed my shoulder. "Perfect. Let's send Miss Barnhardt back to Trenton."