Lyle ground his teeth as he wandered into the garage for another check on Madame Pomerol and her husband. Jack and Charlie had raced off to the city almost two hours ago, leaving him in charge of the … what? Prisoners? Hostages? Human garbage?
Whatever they were they were back in their car—the husband on the rear floor, Madame Pomerol on the back seat, both face down. Lyle had taken the tattered remnants of the clothes they’d cut off them earlier and tossed them over their naked bodies. But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d found an old blanket to cover them. He didn’t want to have to see their puckered, hairy asses every time he checked on them.
His fury frightened him.
Mainly because the windows and doors had started opening themselves again. Taking a shot at him, trying to run him down, he could handle that. Where he came from, you understood that. But sneaking into his house, changing it, wiring it to do strange things …
His house, goddammit! The first home he’d ever truly been able to call his own, and these pathetic lowlifes had invaded it, defiled it, made parts of it theirs instead of his.
It made him crazy, made him look long and hard at the carving knives in the kitchen, made him open their car trunk and stare at the nickel-plated pistol they’d fired at him.
But as much as he could think of murder, he knew he couldn’t do it. No killer in his heart.
Yet God, how he’d love to scare the shit out of these two. Grab them by their scrawny necks and drag them through the rooms, holding their own piece to their heads, threatening to start busting caps on them if they didn’t tell him what they’d done to his house, then stand over them and make them undo it, jab and poke them with the barrel when they didn’t move as fast as he wanted.
But Jack had said the Fosters mustn’t know where they were, mustn’t connect their abduction to Lyle and Charlie Kenton. Lyle had never been one to take orders blindly, but this Jack guy … Lyle had to make an exception for him. You pay a man that kind of bread, you’d better listen to him. Besides, the man got things done.
The phone rang. Lyle checked the caller ID and picked up when he recognized Charlie’s cell number.
“We through, bro,” Charlie said. “We done our business and we headin’ home.”
“What’d you do?”
“Tell you when I get there, but lemme tell you, dawg, it fine! This Jack is righteous! Now, we took care of our end, you take care of yours. See ya.”
Lyle hung up and took a deep breath. My end …
Jack had laid it out before leaving with Charlie. Sounded easy then, but seemed risky now.
He took a deep breath and headed for the garage.