"Yeah, yeah, I know." Bo swung up into the front seat. "No crewdogs for your little girl."
"No players."
"A player? Who me?" Winking, he cranked the Jeep. "Catch ya' later, dude. I'm off to romance my lady friend."
Bo revved the engine, shifting into reverse and roaring out of the driveway into the night.
Romance. Chuckling, J.T. shook his head. He and Rena had pretty much skimmed over that part, jumping from shared hamburgers to a shared kid, family, apartment, day-to-day get moving with life.
More lights along the rows of houses switched off, reminding him of his explanation to Rena about his work/life switch, his inability to blend the two worlds.>At least that's what she hoped he meant.
They had a single edge. Haugen didn't know J.T. was awake and untied—an edge that wouldn't last long once Haugen regrouped.
She prayed Chris wouldn't ask about his father and remind the man. "Hon, I'm okay. Everything will be fine as long as we stay calm. And now that Bo's here, maybe he can help Mr. Haugen with the information he needs. Is your flight bag in the kitchen or the Jeep?"
"Whoa. Hold on a minute" Haugen interrupted with an easygoing smile, as if doing nothing more than asking friends to wait up for him on the golf course. "Nobody goes anywhere unless I say so. And I say we go to the kitchen and figure out what the hell's going on."
He jerked her forward—without sparing so much as a backward glance at J.T.—and ushered them all into the kitchen.
"I had a good thing going, pal," Haugen tsked at Chris, "until you opened your mouth." Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder.
J.T.
She had to keep this guy talking. Narcissists loved to talk about themselves, right? "What do you mean, a good thing?"
"The drug running, of course. Well, until your kid got weirded out by moving a little money for us. Geez, we would have paid him well. The two military dudes were more than happy to figure out a way to pay their maxed credit cards."
"Why not leave the country? Why take a chance breaking into our house, holding us this way? It sounds like you're smarter than that." Keep talking. Cover noises.
"Because I can't just run off, even if there was somewhere to hide from my boss. I'm accountable to people, people who expect something from me on this end—which I will have once I have the flight schedule. The feds are getting a little too snoopy after those surveillance flights. Once I have the schedule in hand, we can reroute our guys' paths and times accordingly for a final big payoff. Then the family will relocate me."
Like a kaleidoscope, his words and images jumped in her mind—drugs, family, threats, emblems…
Her gaze dropped back to his belt buckle. Finally she remembered why it had seemed so familiar painted on the brick. "Ohmigod."
The red circle, black triangle inside.
Revulsion shuddered through her. She knew exactly where she'd spotted those markings before, symbols that were well-kept secrets known only to those on the inside. This insignia represented one of the most powerful Mob families.
A perverted coat of arms she'd seen as a child while peeking through the banister rails at her father's "business" guests.
Voices fading with footsteps, J.T. shook his hands free of the loosely wrapped cord. He crouched low, peering through the thin gap between the hinges of the open door.
Haugen stood in the kitchen archway with Rena at his side. He jammed his gun deeper in her side.
J.T.'s hands fisted. He channeled the rage, training never more important than now.
Instincts. Breathe. Assess.
Rena asked Haugen some question that left the man furrowing his forehead in concentration. Good job, babe.
Sliding into the hall, J.T. kept his observation peripheral now. No looking at the bastard and setting off the internal radar that might cause him to check his six o'clock.
Haugen chuckled. "So you recognize my belt buckle, Mrs. Price. Not many would. Maybe it was a little egotistical of me to place it on my calling card through your window, but I figured your son would make the connection with Miranda's necklace."
J.T. processed the periphery view. Rena and Haugen in the doorway. Chris by the table. Bo, to Rena's right, by the refrigerator. Moving infinitesimally. Trying to work a rescue solo? Or had he seen J.T.? And what about Chris?
Come on, somebody. Get back to distracting Haugen. J.T. wound his way through the hall, grateful for the clutter and oversize plants that provided a helluva lot more cover than desert. This was his turf, damn it.