Chapter thirty-three

For two full minutes, Chuck and Lisa had a hateful stare down. The room was quiet, punctuated only by Jenny’s sobs.

“Car’s out back,” Mike casually said, navigating a handcuffed Tripp around the splayed suitcases toward the office.

Molly carefully zipped up the large suitcase, stood it upright, and pulled out its handle.

“Don’t touch it anymore.” Mike’s voice got everyone’s attention. “Fingerprints and all.”

“A little too late for that, Mike,” Sam called over Jenny’s shoulder, her wet face buried into his chest. “I suspect you’ll find plenty of prints, but I wouldn’t worry about Molly’s.”

Sam resumed his drawn-out shhhing to Jenny, more to soothe himself than her. Jenny’s tears matched his feelings, plus the let-down of adrenaline after the rush. The answers had come. Well, at least some of the answers, he thought. The rest will come. It’s just a matter of cleaning house.

Sam watched Chuck roughly shove Lisa toward the office door, then pick up his radio to call the guys from evidence. When they finished here, Sam knew the gallery would never look the same.

When Sam felt Jenny’s sobbing slow, he gingerly pushed her away from him so he could see her puffy red eyes. Sam knew crying was cathartic. A release like this was important to her healing; he just needed to be sure she was all right.

His arm around her shoulders, Sam steered Jenny toward the front door. Molly followed a few paces behind. “We’ll follow you back to the station,” he called out to Mike and Chuck, who were working their way out the back door of the office.

“Don’t go too far, Sam. We’ll need you to answer a few questions about this mess.” Mike’s voice was barely audible from outside the back door.

Sam hoped Jenny or Molly would feel up to driving the Jeep to Raleigh for a change of scenery, even though all the action here was over. He watched Jenny’s face to surmise whether she could drive yet. He opened the front door slowly, looking back to see whether Molly was coming. Jenny’s gasp brought his attention to the door, where he froze. Blocking the doorway was a leering Andy Keller, backed by two scuzzy men. Sam recognized one of them—Toothless, from his visit to Johnson’s Fishery.

The one with the toothless grin ducked past Andy, pushed Jenny aside, and tackled Sam, all within three lightning-quick steps.

Sam struggled underneath Toothless’ weight, searching for a place to put a foot or a finger. Toothless was fast, and he pulled several wrestling moves in rapid succession, making Sam feel like he was being tossed in a laundromat dryer. His face squashed on the polished wood floor, Sam felt wet warmth ooze from his mouth and nose. Red. In front of his face. From his own face. That made him mad.

Sam managed to cock his head around in time to see Andy’s other sidekick, Scuzzy Number Two, grab Molly and Jenny up by the arms as if they were rag dolls.

And to see Andy—leering at him.

Toothless began beating Sam. First his kidneys. Then his head. And then the lights went out for Sam.