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RICK HEFTED THE LITTLE girl over his shoulder while he unlocked the door to the crappy apartment Leslie had rented. He'd given her a hard time about it. Could she have found more of a dump? But she reasoned that nobody who suspected either one of them would frequent that part of town nor live in that kind of building. She was right. Besides, it wasn't home, just headquarters.
He'd considered following the truck after Nate and Marisa left his mother's house, but when he put the car in drive, the kid woke up, freaked out in the trunk. Apparently, she was scared of the dark.
He'd been afraid of the dark when he was little. He could hardly blame her. He headed for the apartment, content in knowing he could find Nate and Marisa again if he needed to.
He dropped the girl on the twin-sized bed in the smaller of the two bedrooms. They'd boarded up the window so the neighbors across the alley couldn't see in. He flipped on the overheads and flooded the dingy room in yellow light.
"Stop screaming," he said.
She looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded. "Where's Aunt Leslie?"
"She's gone, kid. It's just you and me."
She started babbling in Spanish like she did all the flipping time.
"Shut up. You can prattle on all you want, but if I hear you from the other room, I'm coming back in here, and I'll shut you up. ¿Comprende?"
The kid nodded, and Rick slammed the door behind her.
What had he gotten himself into? He had no idea how to take care of a kid. He should just let her go.
And then what? Never get his money? Go to prison? No way.
A soft knock sounded on the girl's door.
"What?" He made his voice harsh, better to keep her in line.
"May I have something to eat?"
Crap. He'd forgotten to feed her. Again. "I'll bring you something. Get back in bed."
After he delivered her a granola bar and one of those squeezable yogurts—both Leslie's idea, because they were healthier than the toaster pastries he'd picked up—he slammed the door on her again and returned to the kitchen.
He still couldn't look at the living room. Eventually, he'd have to get the blood stains off the sofa and wood floors. Eventually, but not right now.
He was bored, missing his real life. He pulled out his real phone and turned it on. A message.
From Jessica. He listened to it quickly, scrolled through his other messages, and powered it back off. He couldn't answer any of the messages right now. He'd told his boss he was going out of the country and would be impossible to reach. He'd told his friends the same thing. So answering calls or texts would only show he wasn't where he said he'd be. No need to make anybody suspicious about anything.
When he'd first manipulated events to meet Jessica—not an easy task considering the woman hardly left her house—he'd thought he might seduce her, get her to spill the beans about her involvement in the money chase. But she hadn't been the slightest bit interested in him. Too young, she'd said through offhanded laughter. Not that he was that much younger than she was. He had to hand it to the old man, getting a looker like her into his bed. He'd still been planning her seduction when he'd agreed to coach her kid's soccer team. Everything changed when he'd met the kid.
Rick could still remember the jolt of recognition when his father's eyes had looked back at him from the little boy's face. All thoughts of seducing Jessica fled, and he'd poured himself into becoming friends with the little guy.
His brother.
He liked the role of big brother. He was a lot better at it than his own brothers were. Andrew and John had never had any feelings for him beyond disdain.
They'd probably be surprised Rick knew the word disdain.
Andrew and John never gave a crap about Rick, not the way Rick cared about Hunter.
Coaching soccer had come easily to him, too. Rick had established himself as integral to the team, and he and Jessica had settled into a friendly acquaintance. Rick had grown close to Hunter and his friends, buying them ice cream, playing basketball with them in the off-season, taking them to the movies sometimes. Always, there was a group. Always, there was at least one mom tagging along to make sure he wasn't some child molester. As if.
Often, he and whatever mom had tagged along hit it off, and more than one of them had landed softly in his bed.
But never Jessica. Once he'd met Hunter, he decided to keep that relationship pure. In the process of getting to know her, he'd become convinced she didn't have Charles's money. That's when he'd moved on to Leslie.
According to Jessica, Hunter missed him and wanted to see him. He hadn't seen his brother in a few weeks, and he missed the kid, too. Next week should work fine. He'd finish the business with Marisa and Nate this weekend, and by next week, he'd have his money secured in an offshore bank account where nobody would ever find it. He'd hang around for a few more weeks, just to make himself look innocent. If anyone ever came sniffing around, he'd act like he had no idea what was going on. If he had the money, he'd just ask the cops why he'd still be there if he was a crook. And what did he need the money for, when his family was loaded?
It was true, too. Mom still was loaded. She'd just cut him off. Told him to make his own way in the world.
Look, Mother. I'm making my own way. Not what you expected, is it?
He swallowed the rage. Focused on the plan.
When the hubbub died down, he'd move away. Southern California had always beckoned him. He'd buy a place on the beach and spend the rest of his life sipping cocktails and meeting blondes. If anyone asked him about the money, he'd remind them about his trust fund. Not that the money in there could ever have afforded him the life he wanted to live. But nobody else knew that.
And maybe he'd coach soccer for fun, give back a little. Though he'd been shocked to discover it, he really enjoyed hanging with the kids. And who'd suspect a volunteer soccer coach of all this?
It wouldn't be long now before he enjoyed the life he'd planned before his father got sent away. The life Rick deserved.
A far cry from the life he was living right now. The stink of dried blood filled his nostrils and turned his stomach. As soon as he knew where his targets were headed, he'd get out of this dump for good.