The Enforcer - Kelli Callahan Page 0,20

is a skill of mine,” she says.

“Is that so?” I ask, a little surprised.

“Yes. When you’re asleep, your abusive partner has fewer opportunities to pick fights with you, or at least in my case,” she says, sitting up straight.

“Hmm,” I say, unsure how to respond to that little bit of information.

“What did you grab?” she asks, looking behind me at the duffel bag.

“A survival kit,” I say, getting back onto the highway and heading north.

“What’s in it?”

“Essentials.”

“Seriously?” she asks, looking back at me.

“Fine. You can open it,” I say. “Just be careful.” Giving me a side glance, she reaches behind her and pulls the heavy bag onto her lap.

“Wow, what do you have in this thing?” she asks. “It has to weigh like twenty pounds or more.”

I nod, allowing her to go through its content. Quickly unzipping the bag, her mouth drops open.

“What is this?” she asks, pulling out a box of ammunition.

“That is the reason why it’s so heavy,” I say.

“I see,” she murmurs. “And what about this?” she asks, pulling out two small cases.

“Those would be the second heaviest items in the bags.”

Reaching over and opening the little cases, she looks dumbfounded at the cases displaying two nine millimeters.

“I see,” she murmurs again, closing the case, and setting it down gently as if she were afraid it would fire. Flicking on the overhead light, she looks down.

“How much cash do you have in here, Jake?” she asks, mouth open.

“$100,000,” I say.

“You’re telling me you got $100,000 from a storage locker in rural Wyoming?” she demands.

“I am telling you that. Thank God nobody broke in and stole it. It’s a good thing I have insurance on it,” I say while casually changing lanes to pass a semi. She stares at me with her mouth open.

“Okay. Why do you have $100,000?”

“Because you can get pretty far with $100,000 cash if you’re careful,” I say.

“Have you ever had to before?” she asks.

“I’ve had to lay low plenty of times,” I nod. “Most recently with Charlie, Lucy, and Noah.”

“Oh, yes,” she says. I wonder if she remembers the news headlines. It’s all Holly could talk about for days,” she says, moving money aside to look below.

“Is this a satellite phone?” she asks.

“Yes,” I nod. “It can be hard to get service in these rural communities, and odd satellite phones are essential.”

“Who would you call?” she asks.

“In times of trouble, I’d call Noah,” I nod.

“I have a hard time believing that a kingpin is someone that you call,” she says, frowning.

“Yes, well, I imagine you’d find it hard to believe that his right hand man; whatever you may call it, can be someone that you could rely on,” I counter. My jaw hard. “I don’t have patience for people talking badly or thinking poorly of the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I know,” I say with a nod. “Just a lot of people misunderstand him, and he’s a good person,” I say. “Maybe you’ll never find him in a suit, or at the country club,” I add as she bites her lower lip, “but he’s a good man, nonetheless, and a good father,” I say, thinking of Abbie and Lucy.

“I see,” she says. “So,” she sighs. “What else do we have? Satellite, ridiculous amount of cash, guns, and…” she trails off

“First aid kit,” I add as she hoists up the red bag for the gunshot wounds.

“Of course,” she says with a shrug, and I can’t help but smile.

“So what’s our first step?” she asks.

“We’ll go to Walmart. It’s probably one of the few towns you’ll find a couple of pairs of jeans and sweatshirts.

“You gotta lay low, Diana.”

“I can’t go into Walmart wearing my pajamas,” she argues.

“You know, there’s a series online called the ‘People of Walmart’,” I smirk. “I think you’ll fit right in with them.”

“I guess so,” she says, sounding less than enthusiastic.

I grin. “How much did you spend on those pajamas?” I ask.

“Why does it matter?”

“Well, if you spent more than 50 bucks on them, it’s probably safe to say that you will be wearing nicer things than everyone else there,” I grin.

“What?” she asks, looking down at her pajamas.

“Seriously.” I shrug. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen people there. It’s less class than you are used to but cheaper,” I nod.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” she says. “I’m a little surprised you don’t have clothes in here, though,” she says while hoisting the duffel bag behind her.

“Yeah. I