“I don’t want to leave this house,” I muttered. “If I do, where will I go? Not back to California, that’s for damn sure.”
I considered getting a map from my car and sticking a pin in it, but I felt too stressed and depressed to bother. Taking my glass, I wandered my house, looking at what I’d unpacked, what pictures I’d hung, what I still had to do. I pondered calling the U-Haul company to rent a trailer, then sat on my sofa.
The blanket Brody had used still lay on it. Lifting it to my face, I breathed in his scent and called myself an idiot for doing so. What is he to me? A neighbor. That’s all. I dropped it, then ambled to the front window to look out. At least the neighborhood spies weren’t standing in their driveways.
A long, black Lincoln drove slowly past my house to halt in front of Brody’s.
Alarm shot through me.
A neighbor reported a black Lincoln stopping there before the truck fire started.
Two dudes stepped from the car.
I didn’t pause to think. I left the window and went to the kitchen. Seizing the Glock, I made sure a round was chambered, then stuck it into the small of my back. By the time I stood on my porch, the guys were gone, perhaps already in Brody’s house.
I wasn’t a hero. I didn’t intend to put my life on the line for someone I barely knew.
I crossed the yard to Brody’s place because I had to.
Like a spy or a cop, I crept toward the closed front door close to the house’s wall, not letting myself be seen from the interior. I glanced around for any possible bad guys creeping upon me, saw nothing, then put my ear to the front door. I heard raised voices but couldn’t understand what they said.
Testing the door’s handle, I found it unlocked.
Silently swinging it open, I stepped cautiously across the threshold.
“Where’s my dope?” yelled a guy, no doubt Austin Rivers, our local firebug.
“I don’t have it,” Brody shouted back. “I never took it, you dumb shit.”
I slid closer to the voices, peered around a corner.
Brody faced two guys, his expression angry but not much scared. Or so I thought. The dude on my right slipped a switchblade knife into his hand, then clicked it open.
In a move so fast I barely saw it, he’d slashed Brody across his cheek.
Chapter Six
Brody
Fire burned along my cheek. I stumbled back, away from Rivers and his pal, Greg. Smacking my hand to my cut, I felt my blood gushing from under my palm, trickling down my face and neck. It sent my rage spiraling madly out of control.
“Mother fucker,” I snarled, lunging at the knife-wielding asshat.
He slashed again, this time catching the blade along my forearm.
“Back off,” Lindsey suddenly screamed from behind them. “Drop the knife.”
I don’t know which of us was more startled. Rivers and Greg spun around, Greg ready to use his weapon. I gaped past them, my fury shunted aside for the moment.
Lindsey, and yet not the Lindsey I’d just had breakfast with, aimed a gun squarely at Rivers’s chest. A nine millimeter, I suspected, though I focused most of my attention on her face. Where I’d detected fear in her less than an hour ago, I now saw determination. And the willingness to shoot. Fear wasn’t an option.
“Who the fuck are you?” Rivers demanded. “This isn’t your business.”
“I’m making it my business,” Lindsey snapped. “Drop it or I drop you.”
Greg, at least, believed she meant it. His switchblade thumped to the carpet I bled on. He lifted his hands in surrender.I think I’d be shitting my pants if she aimed a gun at me with that look on her face.Austinshot a half glance at me before facing Lindsey again.
“You don’t want to interfere, lady,” he said, faking reasonableness. “I just want my shit, then I’ll go. Peacefully.”
