Сандра Браун - Thick as Thieves

He came to a crossroads, braked, and looked over at her. “I’m not taking you to your house. You shouldn’t be out there alone. So back to Crystal’s for the night?”

“Do you still have that bottle of whiskey?”

He was at a crossroads in the figurative sense, too. Being alone with her in a place with multiple horizontal surfaces, he didn’t think he could resist the temptation to have her.

But his conscience wouldn’t allow him to touch her again until he told her that he was a thief as well as a liar.

“One drink.” He made a left turn onto the road that would lead to his house. A whiskey might make his confession go down a little smoother, but he seriously doubted it.

Dwayne lay there in the dirt, unmoving, until he could no longer hear Burnet’s truck, then he got up and ran into his house. Dyle could give you pause, but he was a lot of swagger and not much substance, and everybody knew it. He got other people to do his dirty work.

Burnet, though. That guy you did not want to cross swords with. If Dwayne ever had thought otherwise, Burnet had shown him the light. He was a convert. To stay alive, he had to get gone. Like right now.

He scrounged around in the junk inside the house until he found the duffel bag he’d carried out of Huntsville packed with his meager belongings.

As he tramped through the rooms, he gathered up pieces of clothing that were strewn everywhere, and, regardless of which body part the article covered or its state of cleanliness, he crammed it into the duffel. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of boots, castoffs that the twins had given him when he made parole.

The waistband of his jeans was too loose to hold his pistol, so he poked it into one of the front pockets. He pried up a plank in the closet floor that gave him access to the crawl space where he kept mason jars full of cash. They were the last items to go into the duffel before he zipped it.

He was almost to the front door when his cell phone began playing the riff to “Bat Out of Hell.”

He dropped the duffel at his feet and pulled the phone from his other jeans pocket. There was no caller ID, but he had a fair idea of who it was, and it weakened his knees. “Jesus.”

If he didn’t answer, Dyle would know something was up. So he swiped his sweating forehead with his forearm, then clicked on. Acting like he was put out over being disturbed, he said, “Who’s this?”

“How’d it go, Dwayne?”

He forced his voice to sound laid-back. “Oh, hey. It went good.”

“You found them all right?”

“Right where you said.”

“Were they hurt?”

“Don’t know. The dogs attacked, but during the fray, the girl managed to get back into his pickup. She leaned on the horn. Sounded like a damn freight train was coming. So I called the dogs off and got away from there before anybody could see me.

“Cain’t say if either of them was hurt or not, but they got the bejesus scared out of them. Scaring them shitless would be good enough. That’s what you said.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Dwayne, but I remember what I said. You got away clean?”

“Yes, sir. No problemo .”

“You haven’t talked to anybody about this?”

“No, no. Not a word.”

“Because this can’t come back on me.”

“I didn’t tell nobody. Not even my brothers.”

“Okay then, we’re square, Dwayne. Nice work. Have a good night.”

The DA hung up before Dwayne could wish him the same. He took a deep breath of relief and swiped his forehead again. His worry had been for nothing.

Phone in hand, he was tempted to call the twins and alert them to his abrupt departure, but he figured he ought to land somewhere first, where neither Dyle nor Burnet could find him, then notify his family of his sudden relocation and the reason for it. They would understand.

He picked up the duffel, killed the floodlights as he went through the front door, but didn’t even bother to shut it. He would never be back. Whatever was left inside or out of the house, the next inhabitant was welcome to.

It had started to rain. He trotted across the yard but didn’t forget to retrieve his shotgun. Burnet hadn’t taken all his ammo. There was a box of shells in his pickup.

When he reached it, he looked wistfully toward the dog pens, where the animals were still acting agitated and bloodthirsty. Big money earners, those dogs. Trained to be killers. He hated like hell having to leave all that talent behind.

“Fuckin’ Burnet,” he muttered.

He opened the driver’s door and tossed the duffel into the passenger seat, then climbed in. He was reaching for the ignition when a silky voice spoke from the back seat.

“If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a cowardly liar.”

They had to run through the rain to reach the porch. Ledge unlocked the front door and ushered Arden in, reaching around her to turn off the alarm.

“I’ve been promoted,” she said. “Last time, I came through the back door.”

“Last time, you weren’t invited. You came in on your own.”

“You didn’t want me to follow you inside?”

“No, I didn’t. But not because I didn’t want you to be here.”

She looked at him with frustration. “Another riddle. What does that even mean, Ledge?”

“Hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“A drink first.” He turned toward the kitchen, but she stopped him by grabbing his sleeve.

“Let’s wait on the drink and have this out right now. Is Crystal the hang-up, or not?”

“Not.”

“You love her.”

“Yes. But sex isn’t part of it. Never has been.”

“So is this some kind of unrequited love thing with you, like Lancelot and Guenevere? Crystal is off limits, so you make do?”

“As I recall, a kingdom fell because Lancelot and Guenevere screwed each other blind.”

“You know what I mean. Are you pining after the unattainable love of your life?”

“Yes, I know what you mean. And, no, I’m not pining after Crystal.”

She regarded him, her brow furrowed. “There’s a story, isn’t there? Something in her past?”

“It’s Crystal’s story to tell, not mine.” No one would ever hear about Morg’s abuse from him. Even with his uncle, he had hinted at it just enough to enlighten him so something could be done to stop it. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “You’re very good at keeping secrets.”

He damn sure was. He was especially good at keeping his own.

“You’ve been rained on.” He motioned behind her. “The bathroom is down that hall, second door on your left. Grab a towel; grab two, one for me. I’ll pour you a whiskey.”

He turned and beat it into the kitchen before she could detain him again. He got the bottle of bourbon from the pantry, took two glasses from the cabinet, thought about cheating and taking a hit straight from the bottle for an added measure of courage, but resisted.

He poured an inch into each glass and added a couple of ice cubes. Leaving the bottle, he returned to the living room with a glass in each hand. Arden hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet. He went over to the opening into the hall. “Did you get lost?”

The bathroom door was standing open, and the light was on. “Arden?”

Getting no answer, he walked down the hall. When he got even with his open bedroom door on his right, she said, “In here.”

She was standing at the window, looking out at the rain. “You have a view of the lake from this room.”

Seeing her there in his shadowy room, his heart began to thud with a mix of dread and anticipation. But he ignored the dread. Officially they hadn’t had a drink yet. He’d made a vow to himself to tell her “after a drink.”

He walked into the room and joined her at the window. “This view sold me on the house. When the mist rises over the water, it looks otherworldly.”