The interior was much like it had been the last time I’d been around. Cluttered, but not overly dirty. Aside from the collection of beer bottles on the coffee table, there was no trash strewn about. Just lots of clothes and junk that came with the territory when you had two men trying to store all their belongings in the living room.
“Timmy?” I called. “Mikey? Dwayne? Dustin?” I called as we walked through the living room, checked the minuscule kitchen, then the hall bathroom. “It’s Noa. We need to talk.”
But there would be no talking.
The bedroom was empty.
When we circled back to the kitchen to lean out the back door, York gave us a head shake. There was no one out back either.
“What is it?” Caymen asked when I stared out at the yard, at the strip where the grass was dead from being shaded.
“The camper. It’s gone.”
Part of me wanted to believe that it was just because they’d needed it to get the guns again. The other part of me was sick with the thought that they could not only drive that thing, but live in it. As they transported those guns… anywhere.
They had hours and hours of a head start on us. They could be any number of places—moving across the South, heading up the East Coast. There was no telling.
“Fuck,” I snapped, slamming the door. “You fucking idiots.”
They were going to walk away with this deal with well over a hundred thousand bucks. It was more money than any of them had ever seen before. For doing… almost nothing.
They were going to throw away a done deal for just a little more money?
The sad thing was, they wouldn’t even get that money. They were too inexperienced. They didn’t even know the names of the guns they had. Someone else was going to take advantage of that and steal their shit. If not kill them. And as pissed as I was with them, I didn’t want them to die for their stupidity.
“We will find them,” Caymen said, sounding a lot more sure than I felt.
“How? How are we going to find them? This is Florida. There are thousands of campers on the road. And they are hours ahead of us.”
“Alright,” Caymen said, hands going to my shoulders. “Don’t make me be the voice of reason here. That isn’t a strength of mine.”
“This is bad, Caymen.”
“Yeah. But it isn’t the end of the world.”
“Says the person who isn’t getting deliberately shot at and hit by a car. You were collateral damage. I was the target.”
“Not disagreeing with you. Just saying that you aren’t alone in this. And the club and Zayn will throw everything they have at this now that we know the guys are on the run. Why don’t you look around for any clues while I call this into Huck?” he suggested.
I nodded, glad for a few minutes to try to pull myself together.
I moved through the living room, inspecting any stray papers lying around. I went through the trash in the kitchen and bedroom.
But aside from a receipt for a suspiciously large amount of sushi, there was nothing even remotely telling around.
“What’s that? Sushi?” he asked.
“It’s the amount,” I told him. “Trust me, those guys couldn’t afford that much sushi unless they were looking at a payday.”
“It’s from last night.”
“Yep.”
“Alright. Huck is sending York and Velle to go hit up Arty.”
“The slob?”
“Yeah. We will see what he can do about street cameras around here or the warehouse. Trust me, Arty is good at what he does. And I’m sure Zayn knows someone who can work on it too. This isn’t over. But I do think maybe you need a break. Stop,” he said when my eyes narrowed at him.
