Page 121 of Thick as Thieves

As he tramped through the rooms, he gathered up pieces of clothing that were strewn everywhere, and, regardless of which body part the article covered or its state of cleanliness, he crammed it into the duffel. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of boots, castoffs that the twins had given him when he made parole.

The waistband of his jeans was too loose to hold his pistol, so he poked it into one of the front pockets. He pried up a plank in the closet floor that gave him access to the crawl space where he kept mason jars full of cash. They were the last items to go into the duffel before he zipped it.

He was almost to the front door when his cell phone began playing the riff to “Bat Out of Hell.”

He dropped the duffel at his feet and pulled the phone from his other jeans pocket. There was no caller ID, but he had a fair idea of who it was, and it weakened his knees. “Jesus.”

If he didn’t answer, Dyle would know something was up. So he swiped his sweating forehead with his forearm, then clicked on. Acting like he was put out over being disturbed, he said, “Who’s this?”

“How’d it go, Dwayne?”

He forced his voice to sound laid-back. “Oh, hey. It went good.”

“You found them all right?”

“Right where you said.”

“Were they hurt?”

“Don’t know. The dogs attacked, but during the fray, the girl managed to get back into his pickup. She leaned on the horn. Sounded like a damn freight train was coming. So I called the dogs off and got away from there before anybody could see me.

“Cain’t say if either of them was hurt or not, but they got the bejesus scared out of them. Scaring them shitless would be good enough. That’s what you said.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Dwayne, but I remember what I said. You got away clean?”

“Yes, sir. No problemo.”

“You haven’t talked to anybody about this?”

“No, no. Not a word.”

“Because this can’t come back on me.”

“I didn’t tell nobody. Not even my brothers.”

“Okay then, we’re square, Dwayne. Nice work. Have a good night.”

The DA hung up before Dwayne could wish him the same. He took a deep breath of relief and swiped his forehead again. His worry had been for nothing.

Phone in hand, he was tempted to call the twins and alert them to his abrupt departure, but he figured he ought to land somewhere first, where neither Dyle nor Burnet could find him, then notify his family of his sudden relocation and the reason for it. They would understand.

He picked up the duffel, killed the floodlights as he went through the front door, but didn’t even bother to shut it. He would never be back. Whatever was left inside or out of the house, the next inhabitant was welcome to.

It had started to rain. He trotted across the yard but didn’t forget to retrieve his shotgun. Burnet hadn’t taken all his ammo. There was a box of shells in his pickup.

When he reached it, he looked wistfully toward the dog pens, where the animals were still acting agitated and bloodthirsty. Big money earners, those dogs. Trained to be killers. He hated like hell having to leave all that talent behind.

“Fuckin’ Burnet,” he muttered.

He opened the driver’s door and tossed the duffel into the passenger seat, then climbed in. He was reaching for the ignition when a silky voice spoke from the back seat.

“If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a cowardly liar.”

They had to run through the rain to reach the porch. Ledge unlocked the front door and ushered Arden in, reaching around her to turn off the alarm.

“I’ve been promoted,” she said. “Last time, I came through the back door.”

“Last time, you weren’t invited. You came in on your own.”