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CHAPTER 24
In the darkness Chad edged to the side of the bed and slid open the drawer of his nightstand. He didn’t want to wake Brittlynn, didn’t want the fight. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his wife had her back to him, was breathing rhythmically, lost in deep slumber as the old furnace rumbled low and steady, the background noise he counted on.
Good.
The bedside clock glowed a soft blue. 3:57. Early. But Britt wouldn’t wake for another three hours and by that time he’d be long gone, already in Washington State, and possibly Idaho. Ultimately out of the country.
If everything went as planned.
It had to.
His fingers brushed against the leather sheath of his bowie knife and then the smooth grip of his handgun, a sweet little Ruger 9mm, a pocket pistol with incredible accuracy. He retrieved both weapons, glanced again at his slumbering wife. Then he hurried on bare feet to the bathroom, where he’d left his clothes hanging on a hook near the door—just as he always did. He dressed quickly in ski pants, sweater and down vest pulled over his thermal underwear, patted its pockets to make certain he had keys and three extra clips for his pistol. He left his cell phone. On purpose. Didn’t trust Britt not to put a tracker on it somehow and he needed to disappear. Really disappear.
He slipped noiselessly into the second bedroom.
From the closet he pulled out his duffel bag, already packed, then moved the never-used skis and, by feel, located the loose floorboard in the closet. It slid out easily, allowing in a rush of cold air and the smell of the earth. He reached inside, twisting his hand to find the plastic packet he’d duct-taped to the underside of the closet floor. Carefully, nerves strung tight, he retrieved the bag, then carefully replaced the floorboard and skis. So that Britt wouldn’t find his hiding spot. Just in case.
Still kneeling, he shined the light on the thick plastic and saw the roll of cash, a burner phone, and several small bags of weed, which would be like cash in states where marijuana was still illegal.
A small stake.
But it would have to do.
He stuffed the bag into a pocket of his vest.
And felt something brush the back of his leg.
He froze.
What?
There it was again—
His heart stilled.
Every muscle in his body reacted before he realized his mistake.
The cat! Shit! Britt’s damned cat Jasper had sauntered stealthily into the room unnoticed and was crawling over the backs of his calves. Relieved but irritated, Chad pushed the tabby roughly away, toward the door, and climbed to his feet just as the light snapped on, casting the small, pine-paneled room in harsh illumination.
Brittlynn was standing in the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked. “God, you’re dressed and sneaking around and . . .” Her gaze landed on Chad’s duffel bag gaping open on her grandmother’s old brass bed with its handstitched quilt.
“What does it look like?”
“Like you’re leaving,” she accused. Her red hair was a mess, her gaze still bleary from sleep, her oversize T-shirt she always slept in, an old souvenir from a U2 concert, wrinkled.
Chad had hoped he could sneak out without waking her and therefore not being asked dozens of questions. She usually slept like the dead. Not tonight. “Why are you awake?”
“I had to pee. And what does that matter?” Her little pointed chin jutted and traces of yesterday’s mascara shadowed the skin around her eyes. “What’s going on, Chad?”
He zipped the bag. “What’s it look like?”
“Like you’re leaving.” An accusation. “Again.” A beat, and then, “Without me.”
“Just for a few days.”
“How many is ‘a few’?”