But that just left me with more questions. I wanted my money back; I couldn't do my repairs without them. But more than my money, I wanted answers.
"So let me get this straight," Nash said as soon as Aver locked the door behind the sheriff. "You put the moves on the one man in this bar who was planning on robbing you?"
"Or did he rob you because you put the moves on him?" Branson asked.
I didn't like either of those options. My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it. "I don't know."
"We're sure this doesn't have anything to do with Delia's note?" Riley asked.
Paul shook his head. "If this is her, I didn't hear about it. I am really sorry about delivering it to you yesterday," Paul said. "And about what happened after."
No one else in this room knew what Paul meant by after except me, but I wasn't going to throw him under this bus with me.
"No one ever came by to drop one off at Walker Construction," Aver said. He owned the construction business with Branson. "I was disappointed actually."
"She must be afraid of the control I have now over my father's company," Branson said. "She knows that her living allowance is coming up for a board vote. She's gotten an increase every year, and I imagine she wants one this year as well. It won't be happening."
"She isn't getting any money out of me, so it was a waste of time." What Kansas had done wouldn't change anything where that was concerned. I was sure Delia had formed some twisted reasoning to justify her claim that I owed pack tax; I just didn't care what that reasoning was.
"The sorry note was a nice touch," Nash said. "Maybe this guy really needed the money. He could've taken more."
"That doesn't make this okay," Paul snarled.
They were both right. Maybe Kansas did need the money. Maybe his aunt's mother's puppy needed surgery, but that didn't make it okay for him to steal from me.
The disrespect gnawed at me more than the loss in funds.
"What are you going to do?" Nash asked.
My lip curled. I knew exactly what I would do next. I'd teach Kansas he had no idea who he'd taken from. "I'm going to find him. And I'm going to make him pay."
Chapter Four
Kansas
I'd gone so far north I needed a passport if I wanted to go any farther. But, if I tried to cross the border and one of the patrol agents scanned my passport, they'd call the cops immediately after.
This new town wasn't quite as cute as Walkerton had been, and I couldn't remember the name of the place for the life of me. I'd taken a train, car, and ferry to get here, the whole time waiting for Wyatt's shadow behind me. I didn't normally worry so much after draining a mark. I imagined some of them woke up embarrassed. A few made reports—like the man who was responsible for a sketch of my likeness currently circulating around Seattle.
There'd been no other way of leaving Walker County, though, so, taking the ferry after leaving The Greasy Stump had meant I'd spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was chasing me.
Parts of me had wanted to see Wyatt trudging angrily down the docks, but he hadn't. I'd gotten away scot-free. It had been two days since I saw him, and a moment hadn't passed when I didn't wonder what he was doing. Or how angry he likely was with me.
I deserved his anger. Leaving The Greasy Stump had been the hardest thing I'd done since making the decision to leave home. I hadn't had the guts to count how much I'd stolen from him until Mr. Boots and I were on the ferry floating away from Walker County.
Ten thousand dollars.
I still couldn't believe Wyatt would've left an envelope laying around with so much money in it. When he'd talked about going on a vacation, I'd thought he meant a few days in a hotel on the coast. Apparently, he'd been planning on something far more extravagant. Most of the money was still in the envelope, burning a hole in my backpack. I'd nearly mailed it back twice before realizing the tiny town I was in didn't have a post office open over the weekend.
It had a bar, though, a secluded yet exclusive golf resort within ten miles, and a motel. So, while Mr. Boots was in the room, lounging and protecting my backpack, I was in another bar trying to make enough money to justify sending Wyatt's back.
Normally, my questions did a good job of weeding out those who didn't deserve to wake up with blue balls and zero valuables. They'd failed me this time. Or I'd been too far gone to pick up on the signs. I didn't think Wyatt was a saint—he gave way too good of head for that—but he didn't deserve what I'd done to him.
The back of my head tickled, and I scanned the small bar. This place was so similar to The Greasy Stump, but in none of the ways that mattered. The signs and decorations looked sanitized, generic, like they were bought in a store that specialized in hotel room decor. Maybe some would say this bar was nicer than Wyatt's, but only because they didn't know how it felt to sit on a stool in The Greasy Stump. There was no charming woodsy decor here.
Most importantly, there was no Wyatt.
There was a man in his late forties responsible for the Ferrari parked outside. He had black hair, brown eyes, and a beer belly that was just starting to show his age. He'd been buying shots for the entire place for the past hour, celebrating a good golf game, he said.
I also knew he was married but up for anything. The latter part I only knew because he'd told me while pressing a twenty into my palm like it was a down payment.
I chose horrible people for a reason.
I stole from people. I was a horrible person. The least I could do was take from the same pool I peed in.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," the older man—just like this town, I couldn't recall his name—snapped his fingers in my face. "Pay attention. I was getting to the good part."
The good part to a story he'd already told several times. I rolled my eyes, too distracted to remember I was supposed to be pretending to hang off this guy's every word.
His eyes narrowed, and I sat a little straighter. I opened my mind, letting some of this man's energy seep out and into me. I hardly felt it. That was another thing about Wyatt. The energy that had flowed from him had been purer than anything I'd experienced. At the end, when I'd zapped him unconscious, I'd been strong enough after to carry him to one of the booths so he wouldn't wake up cold or with a crick in his neck.
He'd been heavy, but I'd managed. And I'd only been breathing slightly hard when I was finished too. If I hadn't already spent most of the evening zapping him, I was pretty sure I would've overloaded before he hit the ground.
"I thought you were ready to party," the man snarled. I needed to remember his name if I was going to do this.
I didn't want to, and that was becoming very clear. I should've counted myself blessed. I'd managed to find a wealthy jerk in a bar in the middle of nowhere who was at least bi. That alone was a miracle.
And yet, knowing all of that did nothing to motivate me. My heart wasn't in it. Wyatt wouldn't ever know it, but he'd won in the end.
Nine thousand was better than nothing. I'd pull out just what I needed to get some distance between myself and the Pacific Northwest, and then I'd send the rest back. "I changed my mind," I said, getting to my feet. "I'm not interested."