Linwood Barclay - No Safe House

He didn’t know what to feel. It wasn’t joy. Not at that moment. Just relief. The dead guy sure wasn’t going to be coming after him, and the accident would keep the other man too busy to pursue him.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be looking for him later.

Nathaniel got lucky soon after the cab dropped him off. King was scratching at the back door of his own house. Emily, rather than go back to her home, was still hanging out with King, stretched out on the grass, watching him try to carve his way back into his family’s residence.

When the dogs saw Braithwaite come around the corner of the house, they both ran to him, their tails wagging so hard their bodies were gyrating.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Natey’s back. It’s okay.”

He unlocked the door to King’s house, put the dog inside, then locked up again. Then he walked Emily to her place, which was only four houses down the street, and did the same.

The dogs were safe.

The other dogs he should have gotten to that day — well, they were just going to have to do their business on the floor. At least, when their owners got home that night, their pets would be there. They wouldn’t be off roaming the neighborhood. So what if they messed a few carpets?

If he had a chance — and he wasn’t sure that he would — Nathaniel would call these people and tell them he was quitting. Effective immediately. Yeah, they’d be upset. Some of them would start screaming at him over the phone. It was like your day care telling you they wouldn’t take your kid anymore, starting tomorrow. Work out some other arrangement.

Some of his clients, Nathaniel knew, would phone in sick until they found someone else to take their dogs out for a poop and a run through the day.

It wasn’t his problem.

Nathaniel had bigger problems.

He got behind the wheel of his car — God, how he loved this Caddy, the only reminder of his once successful life — and pointed it in the direction of home.

Which wasn’t going to be home for much longer.

Not only might that other guy from the van be looking for him, but there was Vince to worry about, too. The man who’d dragged him into all this. Braithwaite never wanted anything to do with that man again.

Nathaniel drove past his place slowly, looking for Vince’s truck, or the van that had been used to kidnap him. He didn’t see them out front of his place, but they wouldn’t be dumb enough to park there, would they? So he did a quick tour of the neighborhood. The street behind, the next one over. When he didn’t see any vehicles that set off alarms for him, he drove back.

Then thought, Shit .

If one of them drove by anytime soon, they’d see his car and know he was home. Being kidnapped once in a day was enough. So he parked the Caddy one street over and hoofed it back. As he was mounting the steps to the porch, he encountered Barney, who had turned a couple of the chairs into a sawhorse, across which he’d placed a lengthy piece of sculpted wood. The handrail from along the stairs. He had some tools scattered about and a cell phone rested on one of the chair arms, but instead of working, he was leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

Orland was sitting in a porch chair, staring vacantly at the street.

“Nathaniel,” Barney said.

“Hey,” the man replied, not even glancing at him as he reached for the door.

“You okay? What happened to your lip there?”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, you sure don’t look fine.”

“Mind your own goddamn business,” Braithwaite snapped.

Barney took a long drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out through his nose. “Okay, then.”

The sound of a car coming to a halt out front of the house prompted Braithwaite to spin around. He felt his heart in his throat, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was the woman from across the hall. Cynthia Archer. And she had a teenage girl with her. Her daughter. He’d seen her here before.

But the last thing he wanted was to lose time chatting with them. He had much to do, and not much time to do it in.

He took the steps up to the second floor two at a time. He was unlocking his door when he heard Cynthia call up to him.

“Hey, Nate, hold up!”

He pretended not to hear, got the door open, entered his apartment, and closed the door behind him.

Pack.

Under his bed he kept three empty suitcases and a fourth, smaller one that was already full. He hauled them all out, dropped the three empty ones on the bed, and placed the fourth in a chair. The others he unzipped, opened. Then he went to his four-drawer dresser, grabbed clothes, and threw them randomly into the cases.

Someone was knocking on the door.

He ignored it, went to his closet, ripped shirts off hangers, balling them up and tossing them into the suitcases.

“Nate!”

Cynthia’s voice coming through the door.

“I know you’re in there. I want to talk to you.”

He stopped, froze. If he didn’t make a sound, would she go away?

Another knock. “I’m not leaving till you open this door,” she said.

He dropped some shirts onto the bed, crossed through the living area to the door, and opened it. Cynthia stood there, daughter next to her.

“I’m kind of busy,” he said. “Come by later.”

Grace looked at his mangled lip. “Eww,” she said.

Her mother said, “I know what’s been going on.”

“Going on with what?”

“With you. And Vince Fleming. And today. His men — they grabbed you, right? They did that to you.”

That caught him by surprise. How the hell did she know that? “I told you, I’m busy. Leave me alone.”

Grace peered around him, got a view into the bedroom. “You taking a vacation?” she asked.

“What?”

“Look, Mom,” she said. “He’s packing.”

Cynthia forced her way into the apartment, headed straight for the bedroom. She stood at the door, took in the scene.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Nathaniel said, sliding past Cynthia and flipping the lids of the suitcases closed. Now Grace was crowding into the room, too, standing by the chair where the fourth suitcase rested.

“It’s got everything to do with us,” Cynthia said. “We’re all wrapped up in this together. You and me, we both got used, one way or another, by Vince. He used you to get into houses and hide drugs and money and other stuff there. And he used us by making our house one of his storage units.”

“I never would have met that man if it wasn’t for you,” he said. “When he found out what I did, he... he coerced me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But what’s done is done. You made your choice to help him, and now you’re paying for it.”

“He’s not an easy person to say no to. Had my ex-wife’s boyfriend beat up. I felt if I said no, he’d find a way to tie me to that. I didn’t know what to do.”

He flipped the cases back open. He hadn’t wanted to pack in front of them, but he was wasting time. He opened another drawer. Socks, underwear. He grabbed everything and tossed it into a case.

“Where you going?” Grace asked. Her hand was resting on the handle of the fourth case.

“Away,” he said. “Those men nearly killed me. They were going to take out my teeth. God knows what they were going to do next.” He looked hopefully at Cynthia. “If I gave you some names, would you call some people, tell them they have to get someone else to walk their dogs?”

Cynthia said to Grace, “Who are the people who own the house you were in last night?”

“Cummings.”

Cynthia turned to Nathaniel. “You walk the Cummingses’ dog.”

“Not this week. They’re away.”

“But you know how to get in. You have a key, know the security code. Right?”