She Can Hide (She Can #4)(32)

After Derek went home, she let the dog out one last time. Across the backyard, Mr. Sheridan waved at her and walked up to the fence. Abby grabbed her jacket, stomped into a pair of boots, and went out to see what her cranky old neighbor wanted.

“Bad storm coming.”

“I know.” Abby clutched the lapels of her jacket together. “Do you need anything?”

“No, but thanks for asking.” Mr. Sheridan rubbed his gnarled hands together. “Not many people know how to be neighborly these days. I got extra rock salt in the shed if you need some.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Sheridan jerked a thumb toward Derek’s house. “The Tanner kid was in your yard again.”

“I know.” Abby smiled. “It’s all right. He walks the dog for me.”

“Long as it’s all right with you.” Mr. Sheridan thought everyone under the age of twenty was a “hoodlum” with intentions of robbery or vandalism, but he meant well.

“Thanks for keeping an eye out.”

“The weather keeps me in more than I’d like, but I try.” He shrugged. “You take care. Good night.”

“Good night.” Abby called Zeus and went back inside. She shed her outerwear and checked all her locks before going up to her bedroom. The door to the walk-in closet was open from Ethan’s search. She turned on the light and went inside. A small fireproof safe hunkered in the far back corner. Abby picked it up and carried it into the bedroom. Inside was her plan-of-last-resort. Spinning the combination to the correct numbers, she lifted the top. Tucked in a neoprene holster was her mom’s 9mm Glock. She ignored the envelope full of cash and the prepaid, unregistered cell phone that remained in the box.

Abby gripped the weapon in her right hand. The weight and feel was simultaneously comfortable and eerie. She hadn’t handled the gun since her mom overdosed. The kidnapping and trial had proved to be too much for Mom’s already precarious emotional state.

But she hadn’t left Abby without a legacy. Some women passed beauty tips down to their daughters. They instructed them in the art of applying mascara and lipstick. Others taught their girls to cook, leaving recipes as their lasting gift to their families.

Abby’s mom had taught her daughter to put a cluster of bullets into a torso-shaped target at twenty feet.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zeke parked his Camaro behind the Dumpster and hurried toward his room. His get-out-of-jail-free card had been a lucky break. But were a couple of years long enough for a certain client to forget about money spent and not earned? Too bad his release had been so public. It was hard to stay under the radar when he’d been in the paper. The list of affected inmates had been long, though. Maybe no one had noticed his name among the many.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was a bare-bones rat hole complete with bolted-down remotes and mystery stains on the carpet. But it was only temporary housing. Once the settlement from the county came through, Zeke could pay off his outstanding debt and move far, far away from New Jersey. He tossed his jacket on the bed and shivered. Enough wind blew through the window jambs to move the faded curtains.

Florida sounded good. Yeah. He was heading south. No more freezing his nuts off.

He cranked the thermostat on the wall to seventy-five. The unit on the wall shuddered, rattled, and wheezed out a pathetic cough of lukewarm air. Zeke knew the room temperature would barely budge.

The attorney he’d met with said the county would settle. His conviction had been based on tainted evidence, which was why it had been overturned. They’d fucked up, and they knew it. They wouldn’t want the expense of a huge lawsuit they couldn’t win.

It was only a matter of when and how much.

Zeke headed for the bathroom. The room was a friggin’ freezer, but the hot water heater worked just fine.

He stopped short at the gun muzzle in his face and the pair of dead eyes focused on him. “Hello, Zeke.”

Guess his client hadn’t forgotten. Zeke cursed himself. Lawsuit or not, he should have left for Florida the day he was released. Poor was better than broken kneecaps, missing fingertips, or worse.

“I can get the money.” Zeke backed up, hands in the air. He was going to be OK. Right? A dead man couldn’t repay debts, and money was the key to the universe. But the guy with the dead eyes was scary. “I’ll even pay interest.”

“Zeke, close the curtains.”

Zeke back-stepped and drew the heavy drapes across the window. Thick blackout fabric completely blocked the sunlight, showing his willingness to cooperate in good faith. “There. No one can see in.”

“Perfect,” Dead-eyes said. “This is a very private conversation.”




Ryland picked up his buzzing phone.

“I’ve handled the first issue,” Kenneth said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Moving on to number two.”

“Thank you, Kenneth.” Pleased, Ryland ended the call. He swiveled to stare out the glass wall of his office. The afternoon sun sparkled on the choppy sea with deceptive brightness. The sand below looked warm and inviting. But whitecaps dancing across the Atlantic exposed the truth. A frigid arctic wind turned the beach brutally cold.

Unfortunately, Kenneth’s phone call had been the highlight of his day. Completing the cessation of his last illegal business venture was proving to be even more difficult than he’d anticipated.