Сандра Браун - Thick as Thieves

“I won’t. I promise.” The accountant scrambled out and disappeared into the maze of vehicles.

Rusty opened the passenger door and pulled the canvas bag from the floorboard. He patted it affectionately and grinned across at Ledge. “Well, see you around, partner.”

Moving faster than Rusty could blink, Ledge’s right arm cut an arc across the console, his fingers locking around Rusty’s wrist like bands of iron. “Hear me, and hear me good, you prick. You had better hope that nothing bad happens to my uncle or this place, because if something does, I’m gonna assume you’re behind it, and I’ll come after you, and I will kill you.”

Knowing he’d made himself understood, he released Rusty as swiftly as he’d grabbed him. Rusty appeared too shocked, too afraid maybe, to move. Then he climbed out with the bag and closed the door.

Ledge put the car in gear and drove away, out of the parking lot.

Although he realized that his uncle and Don could use an extra pair of hands on such a busy night, he couldn’t face them just yet. They would know right away that something was bothering him, and when they probed him for a reason, he would have to lie, and they would detect that, too.

His getting caught smoking pot and having to go to detention had come as a disappointment to his uncle. But Henry had been unwavering in his support. They had weathered that dim chapter in Ledge’s life without Henry losing all faith in him.

So God forbid that Henry ever find out what he’d done tonight. Sick over the mere thought of that possibility, he headed back toward town and Crystal’s house. He could shelter there with her for a while. She didn’t require him to make conversation.

The squad car’s flashers didn’t come on until it was right on his tail, and the lights nearly blinded him, causing him to swerve toward the shoulder.

He braked hard and skidded to a stop in the gravel.

His heart began racing. His breathing turned choppy. Mentally chanting, No way they could know. No way they could know , he watched the two sheriff’s deputies in his side mirrors as they approached, one on each side of the car. He placed his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two.

The one who came to the driver’s side shone a flashlight in his face. “Hey there, Ledge.” He kept the beam of his flashlight on Ledge’s face, while the other, on the passenger side, swept his over the interior of the car. Ledge wondered if there was mud from the ditch on the floorboard. Shit!

“Keep your hands where I can see them, Ledge,” the deputy instructed. “Open the door slow, and get out.”

“What did you stop me for?”

“Get out,” he repeated.

Ledge did as ordered. “Why’d you stop me?”

“Assume the position.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“I wasn’t even speeding.”

“Assume the position!” the officer shouted.

Ledge turned and placed his hands on the roof of the car and set his feet wide apart. While the deputy was patting him down, the other was rifling through his glove box. “There’s nothing in there,” Ledge said.

“Where are you keeping your stash these days?”

“I don’t have a stash.”

“What? You gave up smoking dope for Lent?”

“I gave it up after being put in jail only for sharing a joint with friends at a party.”

“Every druggie has a sob story.” The deputy said to his partner, “Pop the trunk.”

Ledge said, “There’s nothing in there but a tire iron and a spare.”

“You wouldn’t lie to us, would you?”

“No.”

“Well, we got a tip saying you were selling out of your car on the parking lot of your uncle’s bar.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Somebody saw you chatting with a group of people inside your car.”

Ledge broke a cold sweat.

“Have you graduated from using to dealing, Ledge? Were you having a get-together with customers, or competitors?”

He knew not to say anything more. Some lessons learned in juvie were valuable.

“Give us names, Ledge. Who were you meeting with?”

My accomplices .

The deputy prodded him in the spine. “Cat got your tongue? What have you been up to tonight, Ledge?”

From the opened trunk, the second deputy chortled. “Unless he can come up with a real good alibi, it’s back to jail he goes for dealing.”

“I’m not dealing.”

“Then you must be planning on staying high every day for the rest of your life.”

The deputy frisking him whistled. “I hope you have a good lawyer and a better alibi.”

Ledge dropped his head forward and snorted a bitter laugh.

The deputy jabbed his backbone again. “You think that’s funny?”

No, there was nothing funny about it. But, at the very least, it was ironic.

He had a killer of an alibi.

He’d been stealing half a million dollars.

Chapter 7

In reply to Arden’s question about his criminal history, Ledge was accurate, if not quite truthful. She had asked what crime he’d committed . It wasn’t the one he’d been arrested for.

“A lot of smoke was found in a bag in the trunk of my car. More than one would have on hand for personal use. I was booked for possession with the intention to sell.”

“A more serious offense,” she said.

“And I was two years older. Not quite eighteen, but charged as an adult.”

“Were you guilty?”

“I was set up.”

“Isn’t that what all criminals say?”

“I’m not all criminals. It happens to be the truth.”

Gazing up at him were wide eyes the color of a smooth, expensive bourbon, the kind that warmed the belly. Only a few minutes ago, her eyes had been sparking with anger. Now he saw in them only apprehension.

Small but telling, involuntary, feminine motions—hooking her hair behind her ear, shifting her weight from one foot to another, wetting her lips—were indications of her uneasiness. He made a lot of people uneasy. But usually it didn’t bother him. With her, it did.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Without equivocating, she said, “I haven’t made up my mind.”

“If you’re that unsure, it means you are. I sensed it the minute I darkened the door. You’ve been on edge the whole time I’ve been here. How come?”

“Well,” she said around a mirthless laugh, “because somebody is coming past my house every night, and that’s creepy.”

“I ask again, why would I do that?”

“I can’t come up with a single reason.”

“Then why have you singled me out as a suspect?”

“Because before we had exchanged two sentences yesterday, you treated me with hostility.”

“I wasn’t hostile. Inhospitable, maybe.”

“Why?”

“Not many people just show up at my house.” Especially not Joe Maxwell’s kid. Joe Maxwell’s kid all grown up and…and filled out.

“I had called.”

“Not to say that you were coming. And when you got there, you admitted that I was your last resort.”

“Which should have made you want to win me over.”

“Not my style.”

“You’ve made that apparent.” She studied him, her brow furrowed. “What did you do in the military?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“The man I called for a reference told me. He said you fought in the Middle East.”

“That’s right.”

“What branch of the service?”

“Army. Special Forces.”

“What was your specialty?”

“Killing the enemy.”

She took a swift breath. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. And if I tried to describe the warfare I engaged in, it would scare the living daylights out of you.” Realizing that his heavy-handed tone was probably doing that already, he modulated it. “I apologize for yesterday. Sometimes I come across as rude when I don’t mean to be.” She gave him a look, and he added, “Okay, and sometimes I mean to be.