Page 41 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

With Adena watching me like a hawk, I reach into the top cupboard and clasp an ancient coffee maker. It weighs so much, my arms are straining as I maneuver it onto the countertop. It’s covered in dust and grease, and drinking coffee out of it is as appealing as drinking the swamp water surrounding us.

“That was pointless. It’s unusable,” I say.

Adena purses her lips.

“You don’t know that.”

I scoff.

“Yeah, I do. It’s too grubby and is probably rusty. No one is going to want to drink coffee out of it.”

Adena reaches behind the refrigerator and switches it on. An overloud hum fills the kitchen as she opens the freezer door and grabs an ice cube tray. Her eyes stay on me as she carries it to the faucet.

“So clean it so people can. There are cleaning supplies and gloves under the sink.”

She cannot be serious.

“No thanks. I don’t need coffee anyway.”

She shakes her head and dumps the tray in the sink then bends down to open a cabinet door, revealing gloves and cleaning agents I’ve only seen in commercials.

“But the men out there might. Mick might. And when we bring Brooke back, she might too. So get to it.”

She tosses a pair of slimy old gloves at me, and I cross my arms so the pink rubber gloves fall to the floor.

“I’m not your slave.”

Adena leans her hip against the countertop and heaves a sigh.

“Okay. Let me phrase it another way. We’re a team, you’re alive because of us, and this is how you can show some gratitude.”

My temper flares, and I lift my chin.

“I spent all my crappy childhood cleaning up after people, and I am not going to go back to living that way just because you think I owe you.”

She frowns and points to the gloves on the filthy floor.

“I asked you to help because cleaning this dump is a two-person job, and everyone else has skills that are better utilized elsewhere. If you think Silas or Caleb wouldn’t clean if needed, you have a lot to learn about how Hightower operates.”

She holds my gaze unblinking, and I get the feeling that if I were to try to stare her down, I’d come out the loser. A niggle of remorse starts to work its way up my body, overtaking me, until I snap at the waist and snatch the gloves off the floor. I turn my back on her as I grab the detergent and find the sink plug.

“Fine. I’ll clean it, but I will not be held responsible if anyone does get sick.”

Adena’s mouth quirks, but she doesn’t say a word, just walks out of the room, leaving me with no choice but to slide my fingers into gloves that are likely crawling with germs. Grimacing, I gingerly pull them on and shudder as I try not to think about what kind of a person wore them last.

Mona never cleaned her apartment. She paid someone to do it, and her voice echoes in my mind as I take the water compartment out of the machine.

You were made for better things than scrubbing toilets.

It’s a nice sentiment, and until a few days ago, I never considered that maybe she was wrong. I’d never have thought to question her on anything.

Pushing that idea aside, I fill the sink with hot, soapy water and find a scourer that will work. Adena can think what she likes, but nobody is going to be fool enough to drink anything out of this cruddy thing, even if I do scrub it.

More out of anxiety than anything else—and to keep my mind off of what might happen to me after this ends—I attack the machine as if it were my mortal enemy. I keep working, oblivious to what’s going on in the rest of the house, scrubbing until my fingers are cramping and my neck and shoulders are aching from looking down.

The first indication that something has changed in the house is the slam of a door, more activity in the next room, and the scent of garlic wafting toward me. I stop what I’m doing and turn just as Mick enters the room, followed by Caleb, who’s slick with sweat and downing water while trying to answer Mick’s questions about Brooke.

As Caleb sinks into a chair at the table, Jake appears, laden with pizza boxes. Adena is right behind him, with grocery bags and a roll of paper towels. Her eyes meet mine then shift to the now-clean coffee machine. A faint smile appears on her face before she nods her approval.

Jake tosses the pizza on the table and slumps into a chair.

“One of the neighbors stopped me. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help.”

Caleb bobs his head.

“Nosy old coot. But he does know a lot about the neighborhood. Says our ‘friends’ at the end of the road have been there for a few months—and two vehicles and a BMW arrived after dark a few days ago.”

Jake flips one of the pizza boxes open, and my stomach grumbles as the scent of basil and salami wafts toward me.

“He’s going to show up here sooner or later. Can guarantee it.”

Caleb must be exhausted, but rather than dig into the pizza, he gestures for everyone to take a seat, including me. It’s a little cramped, but I tug off the gloves and sit down as everyone bows their heads.

Oh, right. Here we go with the giving thanks thing again. I glance at Mick—he shoots me a quick smile, then closes his eyes and bows his head over the table I really should’ve wiped down. I drop my head and look at the cloudy green pattern and a chip in the Formica as Caleb begins his prayer.

“Thank you for this food, Father. Keep watch over Luke and Silas. Blind the enemies from seeing them, and confuse their plans so we may do your bidding. Thank you for the army of soldiers who stand ready to take up arms and fight at your command.”

My brow wrinkles, and I fidget in my seat as everyone else says “amen.”

I sneak a look upward and aim my question at Caleb.

“What army? Are there more Hightower people coming in?”

Caleb opens his mouth to speak, but Jake answers before anyone else can.

“He’s talking about angels.”

My eyes pop.

“Oh, come on. You can’t believe in that too.”

But given everyone’s body language and hesitancy to reply, it’s apparent they do.

“Now’s not the time for a Bible lesson. We need to eat,”

Caleb says.

Adena takes a piece of pizza and nods.

“And you need a shower. Lucky for you, I cleaned it.”

A smile grows on my lips as Caleb chuckles and tries to swallow a piece of pizza.

“I owe you.”

Adena covers a smile.

“And I’ll absolutely hold you to that.”

Despite the easy camaraderie between them, Mick isn’t eating, and he isn’t looking at me either. He’s playing with the pizza in his hand and hasn’t said a single word since Caleb’s strange prayer. I pick up my own piece of pizza and take a bite, ignoring the rubbery smell lingering on my fingers, and slowly reach out my foot to nudge him.

While the other three Hightower members dive into the pizza and make small talk, Mick meets my eye. This might be business as usual for everyone else, and they might have complete faith in their God, but Mick’s starting to unravel. He’s radiating tension. His shoulders are bunched, his jaw is clenched, and he’s trying to soothe himself by spinning his watch on his wrist.

The desire to comfort him is so strong, I have to tear my eyes away from him.

I don’t belong here. With him. Sitting at this table, surrounded by people who have wild ideas about God and even wilder ideas about me. I force down a piece of pizza, every bite going down in hard lumps as I struggle to swallow.

Caleb finishes first and pushes back from the table.

“Sorry, kids. I need a shower, then I’ll check in with Luke. Adena, can you check in with Delilah and pull up the blueprints when you’re done?”

Adena nods and finishes her pizza, reaching for a paper towel to wipe her hands.

“I’ll go make sure they’re up on Silas’s laptop, then I’m going to get ready to take the twins out.”

He gives her a thumbs-up then looks longingly at the coffee machine.

“Kudos to whoever cleaned that beast. Someone want to put a pot on?”

As Mick volunteers, my face twists into a grimace. Caleb doesn’t seem too concerned about the potential risk. He just breezes out of the room, taking his radio with him.

With Jake playing third wheel, I leave Mick alone and watch Jake instead, wondering how he ended up here—and why Hightower draws such a strange mix of misfits.

Jake catches me looking at him and cocks his head.

“What? I have sauce on my face?”

I wave my hand in the air.

“Just wondering how you got here.”

He swallows and reaches for his water bottle.

“Long story. Maybe I’ll tell you if you stick around.”

If I wasn’t so distracted by Mick, maybe I’d put more time into figuring Jake out, but he’s the least of my concerns.

As the coffee machine gurgles to life behind me, Caleb returns, freshly showered but with a grim expression that makes my stomach tighten.

“We have a visual on Brooke,” he says.

From where he stands at the counter, Mick fires questions at him.

“Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Which room is she in?”

Caleb answers them in order, his voice clipped.

“We can’t confirm that. Luke only got a passing glimpse. She’s either asleep or unconscious on a bed in the back bedroom, closest to the exit.”

Mick blows out a breath.

“That’s good, right? Easier to get her out.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming,”

Jake says.

I’d have to agree. If Brooke’s not moving, she’s either badly hurt, drugged, or dead. No one wants to say it out loud to Mick, and I’m not about to be the one to point out that drugging victims seems to be their MO. It keeps people pliable, less likely to fight back—and from what I saw, Mick’s sister wasn’t going down easy.

Jake’s prediction is unfortunately correct. Caleb’s shoulders tense, his jaw works, and he zeros in on Mick.

“There are large quantities of nitrocellulose inside.”

When he receives nothing but blank looks, he’s forced to elaborate, and his words land like poisoned arrows.

“It’s the same compound used to blow Verity’s apartment.”