This Hero for Hire Read Free

can fill in for you. Important thing is for you to be there at night and to guarantee that Susie won’t be caught off guard by someone who doesn’t have the family’s best interests at heart.”
    The governor’s plan had underlying ramifications that Boone didn’t want to think about. How the heck was he supposed to dictate behavior to a member of Georgia’s first family? How was he supposed to keep her from saying the wrong thing if a person from the media showed up? Boone thought of his partner, Lila Menendez. He knew she’d hate this detail, too. Lila was a good cop, honest and hard working. But she wouldn’t want to take care of a Georgia peach who probably had never even had a bruise on her delicate skin.
    After getting a few more details, Boone disconnected and walked into the squad room. He promptly thanked his chief for being part of an ambush that Boone was going to live to regret.
    â€œSorry, kid, but it was the governor,” Stickler said. “What was I to say?”
    â€œAnything but yes,” Boone answered.
    At least, if the governor’s timetable were correct, he had a couple of days before his duties would commence. Because there didn’t appear to be anything he could do to avoid this assignment, maybe he could at least put himself in the proper mindset.
    Two hours later a call came into the station. A citizen was reporting that a truck had gone off the pavement on High River Road. Boone was dispatched to investigate.
    Calls to High River were rare and usually involved a couple of old-time farmers bickering over whose cow was whose, or occasionally it was a minor vandalism report from one of the mini mansions belonging to Mount Union’s elite population. Of course, the governor’s personal residence was out there, too, and right now, that’s all Boone could think about.
    When he reached the scene, he saw a truck on its side in a ditch. An older model Suburban was parked on the shoulder, perhaps a Good Samaritan who’d stopped to help. The lady who’d phoned in the report, a longtime High River Road resident, had called both the police and EMTs. Boone arrived before an ambulance, but he quickly deduced that one was not going to be necessary. The driver of the truck, a man Boone recognized, was outside the vehicle stomping around in the dust, waving his arms and shouting.
    â€œAnybody need an ambulance?” Boone called to the driver.
    â€œNot yet,” the middle-aged man hollered back. “But if I catch her, she darn well might!”
    Who was he referring to? One of the hens he just noticed running around? The truck had been carrying chickens to slaughter, a common sight on Georgia roads. But these lucky broilers had postponed certain death by an odd quirk of fate that had sent their truck off the road. A few crates remained in the bed of the truck, the panicked poultry prisoners squawking and trying to flap their wings in the confined space. This was not how they thought their day would end up.
    Not all the birds faced such a frightening scenario. Dozens of the doomed cluckers were right now scurrying over the meadow bordering Route 213. Free as...well, birds, Boone thought, hiding a smile. He watched the scattered hens run in circles in the bright sun.
    The truck driver, a Mount Union citizen named Hank Simpson, darted among his escaped birds, trying to nab as many as he could. Grabbing a wild chicken by one leg wasn’t a pleasant job at any time, but it was fairly easy if the birds were packed into row houses. Trying to wrap your hand around the spindly appendage in an open meadow was nearly impossible. Boone had no interest in trying to help in a situation that would only make him look considerably less intelligent than a broiler. And necessitate him covering his peck marks with iodine when he got home.
    â€œGive it up, Hank!” Boone hollered. “You’ll be lucky to round up a dozen.”
    The driver,