I shrugged. “I guess I’ll take my chances.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Because that’s the risk you’d rather take.”
I didn’t say anything. Just held his eyes as he stalked out from behind the bag and left the gym.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After he left, I started running around the court. My feet hit the boards, the dull thudding sounding like a drum in my brain, saying the same thing: Over. Over. Over.
I’d be fine.
More importantly, Janie would be fine. It was getting more dangerous to stay than to leave, no matter what the police thought. If they even had anything to connect me to the doctors’ offices. So we’d get on that bus. We’d start our plan—
I couldn’t go along with the job. It was too risky.
A thousand dollars. I told myself I wasn’t thinking about it.
My fists flew at the heavy bag.
The bell tones buzzed through the rest of the day as I waited for the time to pass so I could go home when my father would be gone. Janie and I would pack. I’d have to tell her to leave her happy endings behind—we’d need to carry whatever we were taking with us. We could get a library card when we got there. Then I’d go say good-bye to Clay. Warn him to watch his back.
I thought of Cyndra. Kept punching.
Over. Over. Over.
I wanted to find her and say good-bye.
Could I trust her if I did? Not to say anything to Michael? I knew better, despite the stubborn hope that I was wrong.
In the locker room, the hot water pelted over me. After I got dressed I headed home. The sky was darkening, the early fall sunset fading in the sky before the football team finished practice.
On the walk home, everything looked different. Darker, leached of color somehow. Like the slate-gray sky had sucked everything dry.
I closed the army jacket, fighting a shiver at the bite in the air.
It was too early for him to be home, but when I opened the door there he stood—leaning against the wall.
Janie sat in the center of the swayback sofa. Tear tracks streaked her face. My heart hammered.
“There he is. The big man.” My father flowed forward. “Here.” He held out a fifty. Waved it. “Go on, take it. Your friend gave it to me for you. Nice kid. Too young to be going to strip clubs, but hey—what do I care, right? And we had an interesting talk.”
My heart stopped.
Michael hadn’t meant what he’d said. He was pissed, sure, but he wouldn’t do this.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t feel betrayed.
My father looked over his massive shoulders theatrically, first one, then the other.
“Now. Where do you keep big money like this? When you have a secret stash. When you’ve been working a little angle all your own. Where do you keep it? Inside a book? Taped to the back of a drawer?”
Janie sobbed.
The coffee can sat beside her on the sofa.
“Hmm?” My father’s ice-blue eyes burned into me. He followed my glance. Pointed at the can. “There? Inside the coffee can? Stuffed down the air vent, right, Janie?”
He patted the lump in his pocket. “Nice little bank. Smart, too. I don’t think I ever would have found it if I hadn’t known it was waiting to be found. Even then, Janie had to show me.”
Janie sobbed and looked away from me. There was a red mark across her cheekbone.
“Know what else your friend Dwight said?” My father laid heavy hands on my shoulders, thumbs stretching across the back of my neck.
Dwight. My biceps knotted with rigid pressure. Seething blood coursed into my heart as bands of rage constricted my chest.
Dwight was back in his rightful place. Maybe he’d never been anywhere else.
“He said there’s an opportunity for you to get more. Isn’t that cute? An opportunity.” The stress on the word sounded amused. “But Dwight says you don’t want to go. Now is that any way to behave toward opportunity? No! Of course not. So you’re going. Come on home with those nice, nice profits for me. Clean and easy.
“But it does make me wonder,” he continued. “Why haven’t I put you on the rolls before? If you have opportunity with that little puke, why not with me? Like tonight. You’re doing that for me.”
His hand slid along my shoulder and tightened, catching a nerve and making my eyes water. My stomach clenched.
“You’re going tonight, understand?” His hand closed so hard I gasped and had to take a side step to ease the pressure.
He let go of my shoulder and grabbed my arm, twisting it. “You understand?”
“Yes.”
He shoved me away.
“Good.” He turned and walked into the kitchen. “Someone will pick you up here late tonight. So don’t go anywhere. And don’t get any ideas, because Jane will be waiting with me for you to come back.”
Janie jumped off the sofa and ran upstairs, slamming our bedroom door behind her.
I picked up my bag. Climbed the steps with weighted feet.
Janie grabbed my hand when I walked into the room.
“I’m sorry!” She swiped at her eyes. “He made me. He came in, barged in—then he, he—”
I lay down on the bed and draped a rigid arm across my eyes.
“I know,” I told her.
It didn’t feel as bad as you’d think. Losing everything. It’s not like I had much beyond some stupid plan. I tried to tell myself it had never been real.
Dwight. Had Michael sent him, or had Dwight come on his own, seeking revenge? The end result was the same.
My vision blurred. I closed my eyes. Bile rose in my throat.
The fat wad of cash in his pocket.
Food, bills, medicine. Freedom.
The Plan.
I lunged for the trash can. Retched until it made my ribs sore, water leaking out from under my eyelids.
Janie rubbed my back. “Take a deep breath. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure out something.”
I wiped my sleeve across my mouth and put the can down.
“Shut up.” I knocked her hands away. “Don’t touch me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT