At the end of the hall is the living room. Fast-food cartons on the floor, beer cans, a burned-out pack of matches and a bent spoon. There’s a collapsed canvas folding chair on the floor near a small fireplace. Wind whistles through gaps in the plywood.
A calmness comes over him. He’s been in constant motion, reacting rather than planning, forced to make decisions on the fly. He’s felt it all getting away from him, the risks increasing. Now he can control the situation again, make things happen the way he wants, when he wants. Bring them all to him, and finish it here.
TWENTY-NINE
A nightmare wakes her. Joette sits up with a start, slick with sweat, pushes the sheets away. She sits on the edge of the bed, head in her hands. She can’t shake the dream. Troy calling to her out of blackness, a warning. But his voice was faint and far away, lost in the wind. She couldn’t make out the words.
Stay with me. Don’t leave me alone, she answered. But he was already gone.
She goes to the window, looks out at the morning. The hotel is in Tinton Falls, just off the Parkway. She got into New Jersey at 4 a.m., tired and wired, rented a car in Newark and drove south.
A shower makes her feel better, the bathroom filling with steam, the heat untangling her muscles. She tries Noah’s cell, but after six rings it goes to voice mail. She leaves a message. An hour later, he still hasn’t called back. Something’s wrong.
She locks the money in the room safe, then drives to his house in Millstone Township. It’s an old farmhouse set back from the road, with a gravel driveway. His truck is parked out front. She pulls her rental Ford in behind it.
She doesn’t have to knock. Noah opens the door, looks out at her through the screen. He has a black eye, and there’s a strip of surgical tape across the bridge of his nose.
Noah, what did you do?
“Jo,” he says. “I thought that might be you.”
“What happened?”
He slips the hook-and-eye latch, pushes the screen door open. She follows him into the kitchen. There’s a gun holstered on his right hip.
“I’m glad to see you,” he says. “Was wondering if I would.”
“I called and left a message. You didn’t call me back.”
He opens the refrigerator. “Something to drink? Couple Bud Lights in here. I had some Blue Moons awhile back, but I guess I drank them.”
“Tell me.”
He takes out a bottle of water, opens it, turns to her. “I didn’t call you back because I wasn’t sure what to say.”
“And now?”
“You’d disappeared. I hadn’t heard from you, had no idea where you were, or what happened. So I went to see this Travis Clay.”
“Christ, Noah, why?”
“Find out what he knew. Maybe scare him off.”
“You shouldn’t have gone there. There was no reason.”
“I wanted to know what the deal was between you and him. I’m still not sure.”
“There’s no deal. Only what I already told you.”
He could have been killed, and that would have been on you. And now you’re lying to him again.
“You went there alone?” she says.
“I didn’t want anyone else involved, until I knew what was going on, where you figured in.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Noah. I’ve never asked you to solve my problems.”
“I was worried.”
“He hurt you.”
“Not so bad. Nose got the worst of it. Some sore ribs, nothing else. I’m tougher than I look.”
“Where is he now?”
He sips water. “I don’t know.”
“Is there a warrant out on him?”
“Not yet. I haven’t told anyone about this. I’ve been calling in sick.”
“Why?”
“Story gets a little complicated, doesn’t it? What I was doing there, where you fit in. Not easy to explain. And he said some things to me I didn’t understand. Like he was assuming I knew more than I did.”
He’s different now. He doesn’t trust you anymore.
“I also ran a check on the driver of the car that wrecked outside the motel—Nash. Don’t know why it took me so long. Never occurred to me before, I guess.”
“And?”
“He and Clay were in prison at the same time a few years back. Rahway. Coincidence, isn’t it? I mean, not impossible, a couple of lowlifes like that, in and out of jail. But maybe there’s a connection there.”
“What kind of connection?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” he says. “Like maybe Clay is the one shot this Nash guy. Then he came to the motel to find out what you knew, what you saw. But that doesn’t make any sense, him exposing himself like that. So it had to be something else brought him there.”
“And you think I’m involved?”
“I don’t know what to think. You walk off your job. Your trailer gets torched. You’re mixed up—somehow—with some scumbag ex-con. Hard not to think something’s going on. I just don’t know what it is.”
“I’m sorry I asked you to run that plate. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want any of this to come back on you.”
“Talk to me now, Jo, while I can still help. Before it’s out of my hands.”
“No one else knows about this?”
“Not yet, but it’ll only take a phone call.”
“Would you do that?”
“If I have to.”
“Don’t. Please.”
“Jo, if you’re into something, if there’s trouble ahead, you need to get out in front of it. I know people in the prosecutor’s office we can talk to. That’s the way these things work when there’s others involved—first deal, best deal. Longer you wait, the worse your chances are.”
There it is again. The choice. You can still tell him everything. Take what’s coming.
“What about it?” he says. “I can get on the phone right now.”
“I’m sorry you got hurt, Noah. That was the last thing I wanted.”
“If you don’t listen to me, I can’t guarantee what happens next. This isn’t a game.”
“I never thought it was.”
“And that’s all you’ve got to say?”
“I’m not keeping anything from you. You know everything that I do.”
“I don’t think I believe that. I’m trying to do the right thing here, Jo. You’re not making it easy.”
“It never is,” she says.
* * *
As she backs out of the driveway, she sees him behind the screen, looking out at her. Then he closes the door.
THIRTY
He follows the Denali home from the strip club again, parks the Saturn in the darkness of the cul-de-sac, unbraids wires to kill the engine.
Once the woman and the driver are in the house, he gets out, walks quickly up the street. By the garage door, he pulls on the ski mask he’s brought, flexes his gloves to loosen them.
When the driver comes back out, Travis steps in behind him, puts the Ruger in his back. “Right there’s good. Don’t yell. Don’t run.”
The driver raises his hands. “If you want the wheels, man, take ’em.”
“You have a key to the house?”
“This one? No.”
“Knock on the door. I’ll be right behind you. When it opens, you’re going in. Try to make a move, I’ll kill you and whoever’s on the other side.” He prods him with the gun. “Go.”
The driver goes to the door, knocks tentatively.
“Louder,” Travis says. He stays behind him to his right, out of sight.
The door opens. Brianna says, “Hey, babe, you forget something?”
Travis pushes him forward into her. She stumbles back, and he shows her the gun. “Don’t scream.”
They’re in a half-lit living room. The little girl is asleep on a couch, a blanket pulled up around her.
Travis eases the door closed behind him. “Anybody else in the house?”
“No,”
Brianna says. “Don’t hurt us.”
“Do what I say, and I won’t. Do anything else, and I’ll kill all of you. The girl, too.”
Do they recognize his voice, remember him from the day he fixed the bike?
“Get the girl,” he says. “We’re going to take a ride. Bring a blanket, whatever you need for her.”
“I’m not leaving here,” Brianna says. There’s fear in her eyes, but anger, too. He’ll have to watch her.
He touches the gun muzzle to the side of the driver’s head. “You ready to watch what happens next?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You know why.”
There’s a tremor in the driver’s voice. “Bree, let’s do what he says.”
“What’s your name?” Travis says.
“Keith.”
“Keith, here’s where we find out how much your girlfriend loves you.”
“Don’t,” she says. “Just take me.”
“I need the three of you. Keith will drive. I’ll show you where we’re going.” He lowers the gun. “You ride in front with the girl. If she wakes up, keep her calm. Do what I tell you, and you’ll all be back here before dawn.”
“Where are you taking us?” Brianna says.
“Bring your phone.”
“Why?”
“You want to get out from under this—all of you—you need to make a call. Or however many it takes until you reach her. If you can’t, then things are gonna end bad. You know who I’m talking about.”
“I told you,” Keith says. “I told you she’d get us in trouble.”
“You should have listened to him,” Travis says. “He was right.”
THIRTY-ONE
They park on the street near the beach house. Blowing sand clicks against the Denali.
“I want to go home,” Cara says. “I’m cold.” She woke up halfway through the twenty-minute ride.
“We will, angel, soon,” Brianna says.
“Give me your cell phones,” Travis says.
He pockets them, touches the woman’s shoulder and points to the house. “Take the girl, go around to the back. It’s open. Go inside and wait for me.”
“What about me?” Keith says. His hands are tight on the wheel.
“I need you here.”
“I’m not going without him,” she says.
“He’ll be fine. No one gets hurt if you listen, remember?”
He hands her the penlight. “Bring this. You’ll need it.”
“No.”
“You want to force the issue? Right here? Make me do something I don’t want to?”
She takes the penlight from him, opens the door. Hoisting the girl up, she tightens the blanket around her. They start toward the house, heads down against the wind. He watches the penlight beam move through the dune grass, then disappear.
He puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, feels the tension there. “Relax. You’re doing fine. Pull into that pavilion across the street, park behind the bandstand, close as you can get. Then cut the lights and engine.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. You’ll be okay. This isn’t about you.”
Keith U-turns in the street, pulls into the pavilion lot and around to the back of the bandshell. He turns off the engine and lights, looks at Travis in the rearview.
“Now it’s just the two of us, you can tell me,” Travis says. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Something happened, I’m not sure what. She took off.”
“When did you see her last?”
“A few days ago, in Atlantic City. She wanted to meet. She gave me some money, for Brianna.”
“My money,” Travis says.
“I don’t know where it came from.”
“I’m telling you where it came from. Have either of you seen her since?”
He shakes his head.
“Have they talked?”
“On the phone, yeah.”
“She’s still in Jersey?”
“As far as I know.”
“You don’t know much.”
Better to kill him now, Travis thinks. Take him out of play. But then he’d have to kill the woman and the girl, too.
He gets out on the driver’s side, gun in hand, leaves the door open. “Come out, slow. Take off on me and you won’t get three feet. I’ll put a bullet in your spine, leave you on the ground.”
Keith opens his door, slides out. Travis takes the cap from his head, tosses it into the backseat. “Get in.”
When he hesitates, Travis whips the butt of the gun into his left temple. It drops him to his knees. Just enough pain to keep him from doing something stupid.
“Up.”
Travis sets the gun on the roof, takes zip ties from his pocket. He binds Keith’s hands behind him, pushes him facedown onto the rear seat. “Get on in there.” He ties his ankles.
“I could gag you to keep you quiet,” he says. “Run the risk you’ll choke to death. Do I need to do that?”
“No.”
“Because if I hear you out here, calling for help, making noise, I’m going to come back and shoot you in the head. There’s nobody around anyway, so save your breath. Just lay there and be quiet.”
He shuts the doors, takes the Ruger from the roof. The pain in his shoulder is back, extends down his arm. He’s sweating despite the cold.
Sand stings his face as he crosses the road. He passes through the waving dune grass, starts toward the house, puts away the gun. He doesn’t want to scare the woman and the girl any more than he has. He needs them under control, doing what he says, not panicked.
They’re huddled in the living room, sitting with their backs to the wall. He found two short candles in the kitchen earlier. Now he sets them on the mantelpiece, lights them with a plastic lighter. Their glow dances on the walls.
“Where is he?” the woman says.
“Across the street, waiting for you. I just needed him out of the way for a while.”
“Don’t hurt my mom,” the girl says.
“I won’t. If she does what I say.”
“I’m not scared of you, whoever you are. Or your gun.”
He takes the two cell phones from his jacket pocket, puts them on the floor in front of the woman.
“What do you want?” she says.
“Call her.”
“Who?”
“Play it that way, it’ll be a long night. I figure at least one of these has her new number. No way she takes off, doesn’t leave you a way to get in touch with her.”
“I don’t know where she is. She could be anywhere.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait for her, won’t we? However long it takes.”
He pushes the phones toward her. “Make that call.”
* * *
The phone jolts Joette out of sleep. It’s vibrating on the nightstand, light blinking. She reaches for it, sees the time—Brianna’s number. Something bad.
She opens the line. “Bree?”
Silence, then Travis Clay’s voice. “I wake you?”
“Where did you get that phone?”
“Where do you think? Someone here wants to talk to you.”
Brianna comes on the line. “Jo, he made me call. I’m sorry.”
“Is Cara with you? Are you all right?”
“Yes…”
He takes the phone away. “That’s enough for now.”
“Don’t hurt them.”
“You don’t get to make demands anymore,” he says. “All you get to do is to shut up and listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“What I’m going to tell you, I’ll only say once. You screw it up, pull anything, complicate anything, and it’s over. Then I call you back and make you listen to a sound that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”
THIRTY-TWO
Joette shuts off the car, looks at the beach house a block away. She can see faint light around the edges of boarded-over windows.
If you go in there, you’ll die
.
The money is in a sports bag in the trunk, a little less than $250,000. All that’s left. She has to trust him, that he’ll let Cara and Brianna go in exchange for the money. But she knows he won’t leave her alive.
She takes the .25 from her vest pocket, unlocks the slide, checks the bullet in the chamber. Last one. If she can distract him with the money long enough, she might be able to bring out the gun, pull the trigger. She’ll aim for his face.
This is where it ends. Where it’s been headed all along.
Wind shakes the car. She calls Brianna’s number. When Travis Clay answers, she says, “I’m here.”
“Come around back. I’ll be waiting for you.”
She gets the bag from the trunk, slips the gun into her right rear jeans pocket, flat against her hip.
The wind is loud. The dune grass sways around her, seems to whisper as she moves through it.
She starts up the beach toward the house. A dark figure comes out onto the deck, wearing a ski mask, watching her. When she reaches the steps, he raises a gun, letting her know it’s there.
“I should shoot you where you stand,” he says. “All the trouble you caused.”
She slips the bag off her shoulder. “Here it is.”
“Bring it up.”
He won’t kill her until he has a look at the money, she thinks. He’ll want to know how much she’s brought.
“Go on in,” he says. “And say hello.”
She walks through into a dark kitchen. Candlelight flickers at the end of a hallway. She feels his gun at her back.
“Where are they?” she says.
“Door on the right. Go ahead, open it.”
It’s a bedroom. Brianna sits on a mattress in shadow, Cara asleep in her arms, her head on her mother’s shoulder. A candle on the floor is burning low.
“I’m sorry, Jo,” Brianna says.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. Are you both all right?”
Brianna nods. Cara stirs but doesn’t wake.
“Take off,” he says to Brianna. “Your boyfriend’s waiting for you. Keys are in the ignition.”
“Did you hurt him?” Brianna says.
“Gave him a headache. That’s all. Go, before I change my mind.”
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