The judge, sporting a black goatee and black hair peppered with shades of gray, walked in and took a seat behind the desk.
Barrett watched all the protocol that followed with a jaded eye. He just kept thinking, ditch the ritual and get this misery over with.
And Dupree finally obliged.
Barrett Taylor was staring at the US flag behind the judge when the charges were read and the verdict was given, and then they led him away. He was going to die behind bars. It was a risk he’d taken, and he blew it.
* * *
Jessup Wallis hadn’t known Wyrick had published his photo until he stopped in North Dakota for fuel, and saw himself on the TV behind the counter. He just kept his head down, paid for his snacks and the gas and didn’t look back.
His goal was Canada. And when he reached the border, the relief he felt was huge, but short-lived.
The guards took one look at his passport and the rest of his ID, then refused him entry.
He was shocked. “But why?”
“Sir. You are an acknowledged hit man. You have a bounty on your head. We do not welcome known criminals into our country.”
Jessup was stunned. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. She had doomed him. And then what was left of his good sense kicked in.
No. Jade Wyrick had done nothing to him. Until he came after her. He doomed himself. He got back in his car, turned around and drove away, disturbed and just a little bit scared.
He didn’t have any particular skills except hunting, fishing and construction work, and he needed to think.
So he drove back to the nearest town, got a six-pack and a motel room, and locked the door behind him.
Two beers in, he had decided to grow a beard.
Three beers in, he began googling how much it cost to change a name.
By the time the six-pack was gone, he was riding a good drunk, and had decided to bury Jessup Wallis. He always wanted to be called Will, so he was going for William, and would use Banner, his mother’s maiden name, as his surname. As soon as he made that happen, then he was going to Utah. There was lots of land and very few people. It was the best he could make out of a bad situation.
* * *
Farrell Kitt was heading for Bangor, Maine.
All he’d ever known was farming and hunting gators during season. He’d never fished for a living, but he was thinking that knowing how to snag a gator with a treble hook and pull it in close enough to shoot was enough like commercial fishing to get himself hired.
He’d been driving all night on Interstate 80, and was planning to stop at the next town and get a room, when he drove into a thunderstorm. The traffic was heavy, and he found himself boxed in, following a semi on the outside lane. The truck was throwing up a crazy amount of water. His wipers were on high, and he was trying not to hydroplane, when the truck’s brake lights suddenly came on.
He slammed on the brakes, and was trying to stop without getting rear-ended by the car behind him, when the brakes locked. He was doing seventy miles an hour when he slid into the back of the semi, ending his plans, and his life.
He had never expected to go home again, but the people who picked up what was left of him sent him there anyway.
It was a cruel twist of fate for Farrell, and a shock to Judy Kitt and her children, and to Farrell’s family, as well. Just when they were getting ready to denounce him as their own, he boomeranged back in a box.
The irony that Judy was now a widow was a financial boon. She would collect widow’s benefits through Social Security, and all of their children would get death benefits until they reached the age of eighteen—even the baby Judy had yet to birth. But she refused to stand up in a church as a grieving widow, and left the burying of him up to his family.
It was an inauspicious end for a man on the run, and better than he deserved.
Jordy Gooch bragged he was the one who’d turned in Jessup Wallis, and hardly anyone in Paulette blamed him, and knowing he’d come into money now, almost everyone wanted to be his new