Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (Charley Davidson)

14

Used Tombstone for Sale:

Perfect for someone named Charlotte Davidson.

—AD

Or, well, shot at me.

I ducked. Not sure why. But ducking when being shot at seemed like the right thing to do. Used to be, I could slow time, I could literally see the bullet hanging in midair, but since being tortured, I seemed to have lost that ability, because Dad fired and I ducked without even trying.

I fell to my knees and covered my head, then turned to look at Dad from underneath my arms.

He was still holding the gun, a stunned expression on his face.

“Leland!” Denise shouted seconds before plastering her hands over her mouth in shock. Had to give her kudos for the effort.

After taking inventory of my vital parts and feeling no pain, I jumped to my feet. Gemma ran up then and squeezed behind Denise to get into the room. She was quickly followed by Sienna, who was holding a pot of coffee in her hands.

I realized the world was spinning. The sound had sent adrenaline rocketing through my system.

After patting myself down for injuries with shaking hands, I screamed at my dad. “What the hell was that?” But he was still holding the gun on me. He seemed to have slipped into a mild state of shock. “Dad!” I said, trying to get his attention. “It is so official. You are a bad father. Good fathers do not shoot their daughters!” I crossed my arms and brought out the big guns. “I am so telling Mom when I die.”

“What happened?” Gemma asked, looking from me to Dad.

I pointed to him. “He tried to kill me. That’s what happened.”

“Dad!” she said, scolding him like one would a child who’d just eaten a bug.

“No, you don’t understand.” He focused on her just as Uncle Bob rushed in, shoving past Denise. Great. The whole gang was here to witness my murder.

Dad looked back at me, his jaw open. “Watch this.”

He fired again.

I ducked again. And fought the dizzying effects of an adrenaline rush that sent me to the brink of unconsciousness. According to evolution, that was not what adrenaline was supposed to do. It was supposed to make me wet my pants, then run really fast as though a bear were attacking. Passing out was so un-Darwinian.

Uncle Bob had his pistol out and pointed at Dad’s head before I could say, “What the fuck?”

I’d fallen onto my knees again. The crack of thunder from the gun jolted through me so hard and fast, I felt like the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. I stumbled to my feet as the spin of the world blurred my vision and turned my stomach. I was going to be sick. My body quaked from the inside out. I swallowed hard, trying to keep down the small amount of coffee I’d had earlier.

I felt a heat rush across my skin and looked to my left. Reyes materialized beside me, his massive black robe undulating and making the world sway even more. I felt like a boat on high seas.

He looked from beneath his hood toward Dad, then back at me. “Why is your father trying to kill you?”

I swallowed again and braced myself against the wall at my back. “I have no idea.” When he started toward him, I hurried forward to cut him off, stepping in between them. “Oh, no, you don’t. He is off-limits, do you understand?”

He took my arm and pulled me into his robes. The scalding heat soothed despite my anger. “Get a handle on this, or I’ll kill him where he stands.”

I pushed away from him and pointed toward the window. “Out. Now.”

With a low growl, he dematerialized, but I could feel him close. He hadn’t gone far, and he could materialize and sever Dad’s spine before I could cry foul. I had to defuse this situation and do it fast, or my dad would never be able to walk again. Or quite possibly breathe.

After gathering myself, I realized everyone was looking at me. Most likely because I was talking to air. They could just deal with it. We had bigger fish to fry. But the look on their faces stopped me in my tracks. They’d seen me talk to air before. Well, everyone but Sienna. I couldn’t imagine that causing the level of shock they were displaying.

Sienna dropped the carafe. It landed with a thud on the floor, and coffee slushed over the sides, but not a single gaze wavered away from me.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I looked down to make sure my boxers were in place. They seemed fine to me. I scanned the faces again. Even though Uncle Bob was holding a gun to my father’s head, he was looking at me. Just like everyone else.

Dad lowered the gun. The movement caught Ubie’s attention. He turned back to him. “Drop it, Leland.”

He did. The gun fell to the floor, but nobody seemed to care. All eyes stayed locked on me. Slowly, and with deliberate care, Uncle Bob kneeled down and picked up the gun, but he looked away for only the split second it took him to grab it.

This was getting weird.

“How did you do that?” Gemma asked.

“What?” I asked, completely confused. “Almost get shot by my own father?” When everyone continued to gape, I decided now was a good time for a rant. “It really wasn’t that hard. I just kind of stood here while a crazy man pointed a gun at me—”

“They were blanks.”

I refocused on him. “You tried to kill me with blanks?”

“Yes.” He nodded, then caught himself and shook his head. “No, I mean—”

“Isn’t that counterproductive?”

“The way you moved,” he continued, his voice thick with disbelief. “It wasn’t real. Nobody can move like that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, growing angry. Did nobody care that my own father just tried to kill me?

He walked up to me and tried to touch my face, but I blocked his hand and stepped out of his reach. He didn’t pursue it. Instead he asked, “What are you?”

“Besides pissed?”

“Charley,” Gemma said, her voice taking on that gentle therapist tone she was so fond of, “look where you are.”

I glanced around and realized she was right. I had been at the door, and now I was at the windows facing the alley. I shrugged. “So I lunged out of the way. So what? I was being shot at.”

“But you didn’t,” Gemma said. “You were here, then you were there. You—” She paused as though unable to come up with the right words. “You moved so fast. It’s like you disappeared, then reappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I had to know,” Dad said. “I had to know you’d be okay. I knew you were different, but I had no idea just how different. Then when Caruso tied me up and went after you with that knife … the way you moved. It was like nothing I’d ever seen.” Caruso had been one of Dad’s collars. He’d sent the man to prison for a very long time. The minute he was parolled, he came after Dad, and in periphery, me. “That’s when I realized how special you really are.”

I was still fighting the effects of adrenaline rushing through my nervous system, and trying not to seize. “I cannot imagine how you thought that shooting me would be a good idea.” I turned to leave, but Uncle Bob stopped me.

“Charley, hon, I need to know if you want to press charges.”

A malicious smile spread over my face before I said, “No. Not today. I don’t want to have anything else to do with him.”

I shoved my way past Denise and plowed down the stairs.

“Charley, wait,” Gemma said behind me.

I kept walking. “I am writing a letter to Mom about this.”

“Good,” she said, trying to catch up. “That’s perfect, but there’s something you need to know before you get too carried away.”

I’d made it all the way to the front door of my building before she caught up with me. “I know,” I said, my throat closing in on itself. “I felt it the minute I walked up there.”

She took deep, even breaths and said, “He doesn’t know how much longer he has.”

I turned away from her, refusing to acknowledge the sting in my eyes. “How long have you known?”

“Couple of months. He wouldn’t let anyone tell you. He wanted to do it himself, but you wouldn’t take his calls.”

I crossed my arms, still unable to face her. “I’m still telling Mom.”

She stepped behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Tell her hi for me, too.”

After leaning my head on her bony elbow, I said, “Okay, but I don’t think she likes you as much as she likes me.”

Gemma laughed and squeezed me tighter.

Up at the penthouse, Cookie came barreling in as I stood pouring myself a cup of coffee, her eyes wide with worry. When she spotted me, relief washed over her. She walked up, panting with one hand on her chest. “I couldn’t find you,” she said between pants. “And all your stuff was here. I thought you got killed. Or abducted again.”

“Sorry. Here I am.”

She held up a finger, swallowed hard, then said, “Charley, I swear you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill you? You work for next to nothing.”

She nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“I was just over at the office. Dad tried to shoot me. Twice. So Uncle Bob pulled a gun. That man is way faster than he looks.”

Her eyes widened again. Then they narrowed in disbelief. Then widened yet again. Then narrowed. Then they did this little mushy thing as she tried to wrap her head around what I’d said. Then they widened some more. Then narrowed. And as entertaining as her eye movements were, I was in my boxers.

“Okay, so I’m going to take a shower. You let that sink in.”

“How did the offices look?” she finally asked, and I knew she missed them.

“They are really nice since Bobby Joe refinished them. I like the soft taupe he chose.”

“It’s so weird that he thought his girlfriend was trying to kill him with peanuts.”

“I know, right?” I took my coffee cup and headed that way. “It would have made more sense if he’d had a peanut allergy.”

After I got rid of Angel, telling him his shift was up, I took a quick shower and went over my agenda for the day. We weren’t any closer to finding out who Harper’s stalker was, and that saddened me, but I still had several leads to check out. Cook had already obtained the list of nonresident visitors at the Tanoan Estates, and none of them coincided with anyone from Harper’s past that we could deduce.

She also hit me with an address on the Lowells’ long-term housekeeper who’d recently retired. I figured I’d start there, then go to the abandoned mental asylum and check on my friend Rocket. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“I also have a list of everyone who worked for the Lowells when they were married,” Cookie said as I munched on the breakfast of champions, leftover brownies, “but not many of them worked there for more than a couple of years. Their driver still works for them, and their live-in housekeeper worked for them up until a couple of weeks ago.”

“Right, their new housekeeper told me that much.”

“Took me a while to track her down. She worked for the Lowells for almost thirty years. You’d think they would know where she lived. I had to ask Donald.”

“Donald?” I asked, injecting a purr of interest into my voice. “You’re on a first-name basis with Donald?”

“Pffft. He’s the Lowells’ driver, he’s the only one who would give me a microsecond of his time, and he sounds ninety if he’s a day.”

“Maybe he’s a smoker. If he’s still their driver—”

“Sorry. Former driver. Now he just takes care of their cars or something. He said they just keep him around because they feel sorry for him.”

“Interesting. Did you find out anything else?”

She batted her lashes. “Well, he’s a Gemini, likes long walks on the beach, and is very attracted to men in kilts.”

I swallowed the last bite of brownie and chased it with a shot of lukewarm java juice. “That’s so weird. I’m attracted to men in kilts, too.” I elbowed her. “Can I get Donald’s number in case I have any questions?”

“You wouldn’t move in on my territory, would you?”

I gasped and put an innocent hand on my even innocenter chest. “I would never.”

She ignored me. “So, after you interview the housekeeper, you’re going to check on Rocket?” she asked, a knowing grin lighting her face.

Rocket was an invaluable resource when it came to finding out who had passed and who was still kicking. A departed savant who knew the names of every person who ever lived on Earth, Rocket could give me their status updates in seconds flat. And he was big and adorable and loved to hug. Hard.

But Cook wasn’t talking about Rocket, if that mischievous twinkle in her eye was any indication.

“Yes,” I said, memorizing the address of the housekeeper she gave me.

“And what about Rocket’s neighbors? Going to check on them, too?”

I crooked a brow. “I do have a weakness for guys on Harleys.”

She wagged an index finger at me, teasing. “Just say no.”

“You don’t understand,” I said before heading that way. “It’s a really strong weakness.”

I drove to the housekeeper’s residence on the south side, trying not to obsess about the fact that my father had tried to shoot me. Twice. The housekeeper lived in an older part of town. Many of the houses were considered almost historical and they were well kept, as was Mrs. Beecher’s.

After I knocked on the door, I took a moment to appreciate the beautiful flowers on her front porch. They were purple. That was about as categorical as I got. A squat elderly woman with light gray hair and soft gray eyes opened the wooden door but stayed put behind the screen of the storm door. The top of her head barely reached my chin, and she had to look up at me.

“Hi, Mrs. Beecher?”

“Yes?” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She wore a floral dress that looked like it’d had more than its fair share of washings.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. My name is Charley Davidson.” I held up my ID. “I’m a private investigator, and I was hired to look into a case involving your former employer, the Lowells?”

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and her mouth did this little twitch thing where it thinned for just a microsecond before she caught herself. Then she plastered on her best poker face.

“Look, I understand it’s frowned upon to be talking about the Lowells. You were in their employ for many years. But I have their express permission to question their staff,” I said, lying through my whitening-stripped teeth. The Lowells had a strong hold on their staff. Mrs. Lowell was a tyrant if I ever saw one.

“Oh, all right, then,” she said, seeming to calm. “What can help you with?”

She continued to talk to me through the screen, clearly not wanting me to enter. Poor thing.

“I understand you worked for the Lowells for almost thirty years. Can you tell me anything about their daughter, Harper?”

Her heartbeat skyrocketed again, and she glanced around as though wondering if she were being watched. Just as her replacement had when I tried to question her at the Lowells’ mansion.

“I really can’t say much. She was very disturbed and they had a lot of problems with her, but that’s all I can tell you.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Do you remember when it all started?”

She glanced at the dish towel in her hands. Fear radiated off her in waves. “It seemed to start right after Mr. and Mrs. Lowell got married.”

I nodded. “Did you notice anything suspicious at that time?” I couldn’t help but wonder if Harper’s stalker wasn’t an employee, maybe even a disgruntled one. “Did the Lowells hire anyone new around that time? Or maybe someone quit?”

A thought dawned. I could see it in her expression. But she dismissed it with a frown.

“Mrs. Beecher, anything you can tell me will help, no matter how small you think it is.”

She drew in a long draft of air. “It’s nothing. I just remembered that Felix started right before the wedding.”

“Felix?” I asked, taking out my memo pad and pen.

“Felix Navarro. He kept their lawns for years and—” She paused in thought.

“And?” I asked.

When she refocused on me, her expression was full of regret, like she hated to vocalize her suspicions. “And, well, he liked Ms. Harper. Very much.”

“How much?”

“H-he carried pictures of her in his wallet. Several pictures.”

Okay, that was creepy. I couldn’t help the accusation that crept into my voice. “You don’t think he was doing anything—”

“Oh, goodness no,” she said, cutting me off with a wave of the dish towel. “Not at all. He was just … well, he was very fond of her.”

I’ll bet. “Thank you,” I said, offering her a reassuring smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She bowed her head as though ashamed she’d said anything and closed the wooden door.

After making a phone call to have Cook check out the gardener who was fond of little girls and carried pictures of them around in his wallet, I pulled around the side of a mental asylum that had been abandoned in the fifties. I’d found Rocket there when I discovered a love for exploring such mental asylums in college. Partly because of my fondness for old buildings but mostly because of my fondness for departed mental patients. They knew the secrets of the universe, each and every one, and I could talk to them for hours on end. It beat the heck out of homework.

Surprised to discover an abandoned asylum smack-dab in the middle of Albuquerque, I cased the joint for a couple of days, then went in one night when the moon was full of glow-in-the-dark chalk and my belly was full of a cheap, nondescript wine. As I stumbled around the place, oohing and aahing at the forgotten equipment, wondering exactly what one would do with an instrument that looked like garden sheers, there stood Rocket.

I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised by the presence of the other, but once I assured him I was not there to steal his checkers, we became fast friends. However, because of Rocket’s minimalist approach to the whole attention-span thing, it took me several visits to discover anything definitive about him. I did find out that he’d died in the fifties. He also had a sister who’d died during the Dust Bowl. She kept him company at the asylum, but I had yet to meet her.

Oddly enough, a local biker gang, the Bandits, owned the asylum in which Rocket lived, and they lived next door. I’d sneaked past them for years despite their tendency to have a slew of Rottweilers on duty at any given time, but the leader, a rough-and-tough type who went by the name of Donovan, had recently given me a key to the place. I had yet to use it, but today seemed like the perfect day to try it out.

And yet I seemed unable to just pull up to the front door. I’d always pulled around the side and hidden Misery behind a Dumpster so I could sneak in without announcing my presence. Apparently that habit was hard to break. After locking her up tight, I patted Misery’s fender and went in search of the mighty Rocket. Or I would have had my interest not been piqued by the goings-on behind the Bandits’ headquarters.

I looked through the ivy covering a chain-link fence and could just see the back area of the Bandits’ yard, where they had an old attached garage. They’d always had a plethora of bikes and parts scattered around the cinder-blocked area, but there was a van parked out back and several guys dressed all in black loading nylon duffel bags into it. Among the guys in black were Donovan and his two sidekicks: Michael, a Brandoesque kind of guy who could look cool in a tutu; and Eric, a tall kid who looked more like a Greek prince than like a biker. But what struck me as most odd was the fact that they were all dressed exactly alike. Eric and Donovan wore black bandannas around their necks, but other than that, there were four men total and one woman with black long-sleeve shirts and black military-style pants. They all wore leather gloves as well and were either wearing sunglasses or had them propped on top of their heads. That was taking the biker club colors to a whole new level, in my opinion. But to each his own.

Still, there was something about their shape. I looked at the three main guys: Donovan, the leader, and his seconds, Michael and Eric. Tall, medium-tall, and just plain medium.

Surely not.

I’d almost left my hiding place and started for the asylum when something fell out of one of the duffel bags. I studied it as Eric picked it up and stuffed it back into the bag, and my heart sank. A white rubber mask. Just like the guys who had been on the news all over the county. Robbing banks. I knew those guys on the video surveillance footage had looked familiar. Of all the asinine hobbies.

How could I have been so wrong about them? They were good guys. I felt it the moment I met them. True, I’d been on the ground and Donovan had propped a boot on my stomach to keep me there, but deep down inside, they had hearts of gold.

I eased back behind Misery and thought about what I should do. I could try to talk them out of it, but I didn’t really want to die anytime soon. And they’d clearly been doing this for a while. I could turn them in, but what if I were wrong? Maybe they had a perfectly good explanation for why they were dressed exactly like the infamous bank robbers the Gentlemen Thieves. Maybe they were going to a theme party where the attendees dressed like their favorite villains. Bikers did tend to have some off-the-wall parties. But at ten o’clock in the morning?

Ten o’clock in the morning was prime bank-robbing time.

Damn it.

The van roared to life, and I stepped back to the fence. Donovan tossed something to Eric just before the kid slid the side door closed; then the scruffy leader looked around to make sure no one was watching before jumping in the passenger’s side.

That’s when a plan formed. I would follow them. If they really were just going to a theme party, I’d go in and tell them what I’d thought and we’d all have a good laugh. But if they robbed a bank, I’d have to come up with another plan. There was no getting around it.

I hopped in Misery and did my best to keep up with them without looking like I was doing my best to keep up with them. For the first time since I got her, I cursed Misery’s cherry red exterior. Black would have been better. Or better yet, pavement gray. Then I’d really blend. I’d never longed for an invisibility cloak as much as I did at that moment.

When they pulled up to the Bernalillo Community Bank, I was still hopeful they were just withdrawing extra cash for the party. Someone had to pay for the chips and beer. I parked across the street and waited. They sat idling for a few seconds before bursting out of the van in full bank-robber attire, complete with white masks and semiautomatic weapons.

I let my head drop onto the steering wheel and sat in misery, literally, wondering what to do. Today was just not my day. Between my dad trying to kill me, Reyes trying to kill my dad, and the hottest biker dudes I’d ever met turning out to be notorious bank robbers, I wondered why I’d ever left my apartment. I was just fine there. I liked it there. It was warm and cozy in the same way a prison cell was cozy, but at least no one was shooting at me and no one was robbing it. Not that I knew of.

Wait. Maybe I could still talk them out of it. Maybe if Donovan knew that I knew, he’d be embarrassed and put a stop to the whole thing.

And maybe Charles Manson really was just a misunderstood poet.

But it was worth a shot. I mean, we were friends. Friends didn’t shoot friends. Apparently fathers did, but friends were a different story altogether.

I left Margaret in Misery and hurried across the street, past the idling van, and into the bank as stealthily as I could. Which wasn’t very. The place was being robbed, so it wasn’t difficult to spot a new patron stepping inside. I zeroed in on Donovan instantly. The cool thing was, not one of them had his gun drawn. Fortunately, that didn’t seem necessary. Donovan was busy keeping his eyes on the security guard and the patrons who were facedown on the floor. They were so going to be traumatized and I felt bad for them in that regard, but I was still thrilled Donovan wasn’t pointing a gun at them, threatening to blow their heads off. That was much more traumatizing in the long run.

The others were seeing to the cash drawers and the vault, and one of them was standing on the tellers’ counter, keeping watch. It was Eric. He spotted me and stilled. I thought about smiling and waving but didn’t want to look like a complete idiot.

When I looked back at Donovan, he was watching me, his arms crossed at his chest, his head tilted to the side as though asking me, What the fuck?

I wondered that, too, as I stepped over patrons to get to him.

“Sorry,” I said when I stepped on a woman’s skirt. Then I tripped on a man’s arm. “Sorry,” I repeated. When I finally got to Donovan, I did that fake smile thing so I could talk without moving my lips. No idea why. “You’re a bank robber?” I asked through clenched teeth, looking around nonchalantly.

Eric, the youn gest and tallest of the crew, jumped from the counter and landed solidly next to us. He eased around me, crowded into me, dipped his head until his mouth was at my ear. “Don’t we need a hostage?” he asked, his words breathy with adrenaline. I could hear the smile in his voice.

Donovan kept tabs on the room with quick, sharp glances that landed on me at regular intervals. He looked at his watch. “Fifteen seconds!” he yelled before refocusing on me. At least I think he did. It was hard to see past the rubber mask. “I think you’re right.”

Before I could protest, he turned me around and put one arm around my throat and one around my waist.

I rolled my eyes. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, my teeth still clenched.

“This is going to be fun,” Eric said.

“Could you do your job?” Donovan asked him.

“Oh, right.” He jumped back and started grabbing the nylon duffel bags that one of the others had brought out of the vault. I couldn’t believe that a bank that size carried that much cash. Sirens blared in the distance, and I wondered if I should be relieved or worried. It was a strange feeling. I was on the side of the law. I worked as a con sultant for the Albuquerque Police Department. Surely my participation in a bank robbery would look bad. But adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and I couldn’t help but wish they’d hurry the heck up.

As the guys started filing out, Michael swaggered up to us. I could tell it was him because no one did swagger like Michael. “A hostage,” he said, offering me a nod in greeting. “Cool.” Then he walked out to the van like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Oh, yeah. These guys were crazy with a side of fries.

Donovan dragged me along behind him, following the others out the door, his hold tight enough to pull my entire length against him. He was such a perv.

“Sorry,” I said as I tripped on the guy’s arm again. He glared up at me, but really, he saw us coming. He should have moved his freaking arm. It was hard being half-dragged backwards across a floor of bank patrons. And I’d never been accused of being sure-footed. He had to know that after our first encounter.

I clutched at Donovan’s arm and said, “This is not winning you any brownie points, mister.”

When we got to the door, Donovan whispered into my ear, “Nice to see you, too, beautiful.”

I started to respond, but he jerked me out the door and shoved me into the van. I landed in a heap among boots and bags of money. And I was broke. I blinked and looked at them longingly for exactly two-point-seven seconds before reality struck. I couldn’t take stolen money. Not even if I lived to see another sunrise, which wasn’t super-likely if all the white faces staring down at me were any indication.

The van peeled out and took a sharp curve, sending me crashing between a pair of legs. I fought for balance and pretended the moment wasn’t awkward in the least as I turned back to Donovan. He was on his knees, keeping perfect equilibrium as he ripped off the mask and stuffed it into a bag. The others did the same. Eric’s demasking revealed an evil smirk, as it was his legs I’d crashed into, his charming grin accompanied by dark, sparkling eyes.

When Michael took off his mask, his grin was filled with both humor and curiosity. But I was more concerned with the fact that everyone had started disrobing. They peeled off the black shirts to reveal a varying array of T-shirts. Then off came the pants. Donovan wore jeans underneath, but Eric and Michael both wore leather.

The driver also peeled off his mask—or, well, her mask—and tossed it back, and I recognized her from when I was at the house a couple months ago. Curvaceous with long hair the color of midnight and striking hazel green eyes, she seemed to be the only woman within the inner circle of higher-ups of Donovan’s gang. And she could drive like nobody’s business. I saw why Donovan chose her, as she took just enough risky chances to make lights and hurry through turns without drawing too much unwanted attention.

She looked at me in the rearview mirror and winked humorously. At least they enjoyed what they did for a living. Something to be said about that.

“Strip,” Donovan ordered, and I realized he was talking to the last guy. He sat by the back door and had yet to take off his mask.

“Are you for real?” he asked. “She knows who we are.”

“She knew who we were before she ever stepped into the bank,” Eric said, becoming defensive instantly. “Get your shit together.”

“Fuck you,” the guy said. “I ain’t going to prison for that skank.”

Skank?

“Get your mask off,” Donovan said, his tone sharper than I’d ever heard it. “We’re almost at the drop point.”

Did he call me a skank?

“And fuck you, too,” he said to Donovan. “She sees my face, she can testify in court.”

Before anyone could respond, Michael was on the guy. He charged forward, took him by the collar, and jerked his mask off. “She can testify anyway, dipshit.” He threw the mask to Eric, who stuffed it into the same bag with the others.

The guy nodded in astonishment. He had blond hair cut so short, he looked almost bald. His skin was leathery from too much New Mexico sun, but his cheeks had a ruddy complexion. I didn’t remember seeing him, but I’d been to their house only once, and it had been a very tense situation. “Great,” he said, his anger hitting me like a wall of heat. “Now we’re all going to prison.”

“We’re going anyway if this doesn’t work,” Donovan said. “Quit your whining or get out at the next stop.”

The guy worked his jaw as he peeled off his outer shirt as well, but he kept the black military pants on.

“How we doing, darlin’?”

“Ten seconds,” the driver said.

Eric zipped the bag just as she took another sharp turn, this time down an alley and into a parking garage. She skidded to a stop, sending me flying forward. And yet I was the only one. I had serious gravitational issues.

The driver grinned down at me.

“Hi, I’m Charley,” I said as Eric opened the door and jumped out the second the van stopped.

“I know,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’m Sabrina, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat that in court.”

“You got it.”

I watched as they transferred the money to the trunk of a yellow Hyundai and the bag with the clothes to the back of a green Dodge Ram truck. But the part that fascinated me the most was the fact that Michael and Sabrina peeled a plastic wrap off the sides of the van. I couldn’t see what the van now looked like from my vantage, but surely they had just changed its entire appearance.

They wadded the wrap and stuffed it into a storm drain; then Michael tossed Eric a set of keys. He jumped in the truck and started it up as Sabrina headed for the Hyundai while Michael took her place behind the wheel of the van.

“I’m going with the money,” the blond said, but Donovan pulled him back in and closed the door.

“We stick to the plan. Unless you want to give up your share and leave now.”

The guy sat back, his expression full of anger, and most of it was directed at me.

“Hold on to your panties,” Michael said as he charged forward. The Hyundai and the Dodge followed until they were out of the garage; then everyone went their separate ways.

“You just signed our arrest warrant,” the blond said to Donovan.

He unsheathed a wicked-looking knife, and my gaze locked on like a laser-guided missile. My chest weakened, the walls caving in as I withered inside myself like paper. I’d felt a knife once as it slipped past layers of flesh and tendon until it hit bone. It was not something I wanted to repeat.

He pointed it toward me. “Either she goes in the dirt,” he said, shifting the pointy end toward Donovan, “or you do.”

Adrenaline pumped hard through Donovan’s body, so if this chain of events surprised him, I couldn’t feel it. Without a hint of hesitation, he pulled his Glock and fired. For the third time that day, a gun went off way to close for comfort.

I should’ve known the day was going to turn out bad when it started with my father trying to kill me. They always went downhill from there.

“Fuck!” the guy yelled, ducking long after the bullet flew past him and broke through the glass of one door.

He’d ducked, too. For some reason, that made me feel better about my earlier reaction. But not about the sound. Nausea punched into my stomach and pushed hard, but I was getting used to the massive adrenaline dumps. I tensed and fought the surge of bile, forcing it down and holding it there.

“Drop the knife, and the next round will never leave the chamber.”

The guy tossed the knife right at me, but more as a warning than an attack. It hit my shoulder and landed harmlessly on the metal floor with a clang. I grabbed it before the guy could change his mind. The blade was as long as my forearm, and holding it did little to alleviate the fear coursing through me. I couldn’t help but wonder if Reyes had been right. I was afraid of a guy with a knife. Two months ago, that would only have registered about a 4 on my Richter scale, but now the slightest offense seemed to rocket my fear response off the charts.

We hit a rough spot as Michael barreled forward, and then the world went dark. Everyone exited out different doors: Michael out the driver’s door, the blond out the back, and Donovan out the sliding side door. He grabbed the last bag and nodded for me to follow him. We were in his detached garage.

Michael was busy taking off yet another wrap; this one had yellow letters that read D & D PLUMBING. Now the van that had been black when I first saw it was white. Clever.

“You kidnapped me,” I said to Donovan.

“We didn’t kidnap you. We borrowed you.”

“You took me hostage.”

“Which is like borrowing.”

I marched behind him and he busied himself with this task or that one. “Why banks? Why do this?”

He dropped his gaze and fiddled with his gloves, unsnapping and resnapping the strap. “Sadly, we won’t see a penny of that money we took today.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“That was the goal.” He lifted his brows into a shrug. “It was always the goal. We had to make it look like we were just robbing banks randomly. Like we just stumbled upon a fresh shipment of cash by accident. Like we didn’t know it would be there. Waiting.”

I’d wondered how they happened upon so much cash.

He took out a saddlebag and stuffed it with some personal effects. “The deal was we get to keep everything we’ve taken so far. That’s our payoff. But the money from the heist today all goes to one guy.”

“And who would that be?”

“The guy who’s blackmailing us.”

The air siphoned out of my lungs as I laughed; then I realized he was being serious. “You’re being blackmailed to rob banks?”

“Stranger things have happened,” he said, lifting one shoulder.

“Not to me.” When he offered me a skeptical stare, I said, “Well, okay, but this is still a bit out there, even for me. Donovan, what happened?”

“I happened.” Eric walked up then. He’d apparently ditched the truck and strolled up to us with hardly a care in the world. “I was jumped one night outside a club by a group of guys, and I killed one of them. This guy filmed the whole thing.”

“He has evidence that would put all of us away for a long time. We were there. I watched it happen. Eric was holding his own, so I didn’t step in. But we just left the guy there.”

“We didn’t think he’d die,” Eric said. “Those guys fucking started it.”

“But if it was self-defense?”

“Not when you’re a Golden Gloves champion boxer,” Donovan explained.

Michael shoved Eric to the side. “And these dipshits fled the scene.”

Donovan gave him a stern look. “He would have gone up for a good stretch either way.”

“And when this guy came to us,” Eric continued, “he knew everything about banks.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “Said he could get us in and out, told us what to take and what to leave, how to avoid the cops, everything.”

“Then he set up every job to make it look completely random,” Donovan said.

“So, who is this guy?” I asked, hoping they’d tell me.

A slow grin spread across Donovan’s face. “I’m going to a lot of trouble to keep your ass alive and unharmed. The last thing I’m going to do is feed you to the wolf.”

“But he works at the bank you robbed today, right? That’s how he knew about the shipment.”

“Yeah,” Michael said with a wink, but he was lying. I could feel it as easily as I could feel cool breeze on a hot summer day.

“Thing is, I don’t think it was going to stop here. I think he was going to force us to hit one more bank. He’s been talking about it for a while. When we told him it couldn’t be done, he said he had a guy on the inside. The fact that you made us basically saved our asses.”

“We’re out,” Michael said, a smile playing on his mouth. The same mouth that smirked more often than not, so the smile was nice. Genuine.

Eric was at my back then, too close as usual as he bent over me. “You saved us from ever having to do this again. There’s no way he can force us to continue now.”

“We’re off to Mexico anyway,” Donovan said. “This just seals the deal.”

“Not for me, it doesn’t.” We turned as the blond strode in, his movements sharp with anger. “This guy had no idea who I was. That I was even involved.” There was something odd about his anger. He wasn’t being completely honest, I just couldn’t quite figure out which part he was lying about.

“He still doesn’t,” Eric said.

“But she’s seen my face. You insisted on it, remember?”

Donovan grabbed him by the collar, clearly as sick of his whining as I was. “You were the one who wanted in on this. We stick to the plan.”

“Since when did the plan involve taking a hostage?”

“I improvised,” Donovan said, pushing him away. Then he turned to me with another grin. “How much time do we have until you turn us in?”

Oh, they really were leaving. And they knew I would have to turn them in. I was a little stunned no one was trying to kill me. “As long as it takes me to get free.”

He frowned in confusion, so I showed my wrists. The next grin that crept across his face could only be described as wolfish. “I can’t make any promises once you’re tied up.”

I smiled. If Donovan was anything, it was a gentleman. A scruffy, vagabond gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless. “I think I’ll take my chances.”