"Understood," Robert said, though his tone was still dismissive. "I'll be careful. This isn't my first rodeo."
That attitude was precisely what worried Harry, and exactly what reminded him of his younger self. Robert treated this like a game, another way to fund his lifestyle without understanding the real stakes involved. Harry had learned those stakes the hard way, but the education had made him more careful.
He was turning to leave when he heard a soft sound from outside the door. He froze, his senses immediately on high alert. "What was that?" he asked quietly.
Robert frowned, listening. "I don't know. Everyone else is down on the beach."
Harry walked over and looked at the door to the room, noticing Robert hadn’t closed it completely. He pushed it open and stepped into the foyer, scanning the area. There was no sign that anyone was around.
"I'm leaving," he told Robert when he returned. "Get rid of that as soon as you can. Don't get caught with that in your possession."
"Relax," Robert said, already moving toward what looked like a wet bar. "Want a drink before you go? I have some incredible scotch."
"No." Harry's voice carried the kind of controlled tension his father used when dealing with contractors who didn't understand the seriousness of their obligations. "And if you're smart, you won't celebrate until this is all finished."
He left the way he'd come, slipping through the side door and staying in the shadows as he made his way back through the pine trees. Every rustling branch made him tense. The confidence he'd felt earlier was tempered now by the familiar reminder that this business required constant vigilance.
As he reached his car and pulled onto the lane, Harry caught himself checking the rearview mirror more frequently than usual. The delivery was completed, but the mixture of satisfaction and unease remained, as he had after every successful transaction.
In a few days, Robert would distribute the contents of that bag to college students with more money than sense, and Harry would be richer. That knowledge carried its own kind of power and the autonomy he craved.
14
Saturday night was perfect in ways Terry hadn't dared to hope for. He sat at his dining room table, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face as he watched the remnants of their evening scattered around him. There were empty pizza boxes, crumb-covered plates, and the lingering warmth of conversation that had flowed as easily as wine.
He'd always found Sandra to be accomplished and unflappable in her role as an attorney, never rattled by whatever legal curveball got thrown her way. But he'd grinned like a fool as she'd texted him three times throughout the day, each message revealing vulnerability.
The first text had arrived around noon.What should I wear?
Casual. Totally casual, he'd replied, picturing her standing in front of her closet with the same focused intensity she brought to helping her clients.
The second text came an hour later.What should I bring?
Just you, he'd responded, meaning every word.
In the third text, she'd sent a frowning emoji followed by,If you don't tell me anything different, I'm bringing brownies.
His response had been immediate:You'll be Toby's hero and Emma's savior. He likes anything sweet, and she swears chocolate puts her in a better mood.
At six o'clock sharp, his doorbell rang. Emma stood nearby, her eyes glowing with excitement. She looked back at Terry and grinned. “She’s here,” Emma whispered. Toby ran toward them, skidding on the floor in his sock feet, nearly sliding into his dad.
Terry ruffled Toby’s hair and squeezed Emma’s hand on his way to throwing the door open. Sandra stood on his porch, and his heart raced. She stood there holding a covered plate, wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a soft green sweater that made her eyes even brighter. The sight of her hit him like a physical blow.
He'd reached out and taken her hand, drawing her forward to place a light kiss on her lips before closing the door behind her. The brief contact had been electric, a promise of what he hoped would come later when they finally had time to talk without interruption.
The kids greeted Sandra, and their smiles tightened Terry's throat with emotion he hadn't expected to feel so intensely.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again, this time announcing the arrival of pizza delivery. Having shared numerous lunches with Sandra over the past months, he knew she'd eat almost anything on pizza except olives, and she was one of the few people he'd met who would actually defend ham and pineapple as a legitimate topping. It was a pizza combination he swore would never pass his lips, but watching her enjoy it made him consider that maybe his standards were too rigid.
The kids had been spectacular, not at all surprised that he'd invited a woman to their house for dinner. Their easy acceptance had made him wonder whether they'd been hoping for exactlythis kind of evening, when they could see him integrate someone else into their lives.
Their conversations jumped quickly from one topic to another with the kind of chaotic energy he was used to navigating, but Sandra had rolled with whatever Toby and Emma threw at her with the grace of someone genuinely interested in their thoughts and opinions.
Besides their shared love of yogurt, Sandra and Emma had discovered a mutual passion for reading, which led to an animated discussion about favorite authors and book recommendations. She'd impressed Toby with her surprising knowledge of Olympic sports, engaging him in a detailed conversation that had his son practically glowing with excitement.
“Tug-of-war? No way!” Toby practically shouted, eyes wide.
“Yep,” Sandra said, nodding. “From about 1910 to about 1920.” She laughed. “It didn’t last long. I guess someone decided it wasn’t a great Olympic sport.”
