64

“So what happens to us?” Shaine asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re leaving me here, right? I’ll never see you again?”

“That’s the plan. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s just that . . .” She shifted in the front seat, turning an eye to the two-story suburban home they sat parked in front of. “I owe you that money. I’ll need some way to get it back to you.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t owe me anything. I’m still a little pissed about the tattoo,” he smiled, “but you don’t owe me a dime. Forget it.”

Shaine looked doubtfully at her new home.

“Shall we do this?” asked Lars.

“I guess so.”

The two walked to the front door, smoothing clothes, trying to look presentable and not so on-the-lam.

Lars waited until she nodded the okay to him, then he rang the bell.

* * *

Lars didn’t like the guy right off the bat. From the moment Troy answered the door, it took way too long for him to recognize her. Granted she said it had been a few years, but . . . it gave Lars a sour taste.

“Shaine! Oh my . . . oh my God. What are you doing here?”

Lars read more than recognition. He heard panic. No, he didn’t like uncle Troy one bit so far.

“And who are you?” Troy asked the middle-aged stranger on his doorstep.

“Why don’t you invite us in and we’ll all get to know each other. We can tell you a heck of a story while we’re at it.”

Troy stood his ground, blocking the doorway. “I don’t understand. Where is your dad, sweetie?”

Lars tensed when he called her that.

“Umm . . .” Shaine hadn’t had to spill the news to anyone yet. She couldn’t find the words. Lars stepped in to save her, like she had for him at the gas station.

“He’s dead. Can we not talk about this out on the porch? You got bugs out here. I’m getting bit.”

Troy balked, in the middle of an internal argument. His feet shuffled back and forth in an indecision mambo, finally clearing a path for Shaine and Lars to enter.

The two fugitives examined the well-appointed home. Art on the walls, hardwood floors, big TV. No kids. That much you could tell at a glance. Lots of glass and ceramic down low on coffee tables and shelves.

Troy spoke quietly. “How did he . . . What happened?”

Lars rested a hand on Shaine’s shoulder. “Why don’t you use the restroom? It’s been a long drive.” Shaine got the hint and excused herself.

“Uh, down the hall on the right,” said Troy, unsure why he was letting these people into his home, his bathroom.

“Look, Troy, before we get to that, my name is Lars. I brought Shaine here because she has nowhere else to go. I need to know, can you take care of her?”

“What?” With her gone, Troy was emboldened. “Who the hell are you and what the fuck is going on?”

“Her dad is dead. She’s got no one. I can’t take care of her because the men who killed her father are after me now, and if they find her with me, she’s dead too. That’s about as much as you need to know. Now, will you take her in?”

Troy had tuned Lars out mid-sentence. He held a hand over his mouth. “Was it Nikki?”

Lars cocked an eyebrow.

“Did they find him?” Troy knew. “They found him, didn’t they? After all this time.” He gave a shake of his head as if he was impressed.

“What do you know about it?”

“Probably more than you.”

Lars doubted that. He raised an eyebrow at Troy, trying to figure out what the jerk-off wasn’t telling him. He couldn’t be a family friend. Nikki would have mentioned him. In all the years, Lars had been the only man in the know. Besides, if Troy worked for the family and he knew Mitch, he could have killed him anytime.

Maybe Mitch told him. In all that time Lars figured he had to crack and tell at least one person. Lars bet Troy didn’t even believe it until right at that moment. Probably left town thinking his friend was a nutcase.

Just because you’re paranoid . . .

“Look,” Lars said. “If you know about it then you know she’s in danger. So will you take her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No shit, pal. This damn thing wrote the book on complicated. Any way you cut it though, her being in your life is less complicated than her being in my life.”

“Troy?” a voice, a woman’s, called from upstairs. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one!” he answered quickly. Then to Lars, “You’ve got to go.”

“What? No.”

“Call me tomorrow. Seriously . . . you’ve go to go now.”

The woman descended the stairs. Lars stood firm.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t . . . Sorry. I’m Ella.”

“Lars.” He took her extended hand, waiting for Troy to explain who he was.

“Are you from the office?”

“Not exactly.”

“Lars was just heading out, honey.” Troy put a hand on Lars’s back but found a stone statue not willing to budge. “You head back upstairs and I’ll be right up.”

Down the hall the toilet flushed. Ella cocked her head at Troy.

“Lars brought . . . They’re both going now. I’ll be up—”

“Mom?”

Shaine stood in the shadow of the hallway, staring at her mother. Ella stared back waiting for someone to shout “April fool” or “You’re on Candid Camera” or “Wake up!” No one said a thing.