Page 99 of Brazen Criminals

Her head tilts as she gazes at me. “Do you think you could tap into the police frequency? Then you could feed our edited version of the conversation to them, and they’ll be more likely to believe it, right?”

“Holy mother-fucking shitballs.” Walker storms out of the room.

I understand exactly what he’s feeling. Where did this Clara come from? Now that she’s taken a flying leap to our side of the law, how the fuck do we keep her from crash-landing when she gets here?

We’ve all been at this since we were in high school, Jansen, since he was just a kid. We’ve had years to stumble and clean up after ourselves on small things that would never put us in jail. But this is the fucking deep end, and Clara is diving in headfirst.

I sigh. “I think I can make that work, but Clara, this is really dangerous. If you can’t give me enough to work with, it’s going to sound like dyslexic robots, not a confession. And that also means that you’re bringing him here, with you. Alone. And the cops have to see it happen. I’m just…I don’t know, Clara.”

Jansen looks both sick to his stomach and thrilled by this plan. Not a surprising reaction. He loves any risk, the bigger the better. But it’s Clara taking the risk, and that shit is hard.

“I can help with the sound,” he says, pulling out his hair tie. “I mixed my sister’s demo. The rest,” he shrugs, “it’s not much, but if you think about it, RJ, having him here is probably the safest. He doesn’t have to know we’re here, too. We’ll be able to jump in if we need to, we can keep her safe. And as a backup, there are cops just down the street.”

God, I don’t want to do this. But no matter how I look at it, this is the best way to fix this giant fucking morass we’re kicking around in.

“Give me until tomorrow to figure out what I need to make this work,” I say.

She nods. “Tomorrow then.” She disappears through the kitchen door.

Moments later, the shower clicks on.

Walker slips back in—of course he listened from the hallway. The guy hates having as many emotions as he does, and when they get big, he runs.

But he wouldn’t run from this. He knows we need him.

“What can I do?” he asks, running his hands back and forth on his head.

I nod toward the back of the house. “Help her keep it together. She’s going to break, but it has to be after we’re done.”

He nods. “Fuck. This is so not what I expected to be doing tonight.”

Jansen laughs. “Me neither, but I’m here for it.” He finger-combs his hair before hopping up from the couch. “Come on,” he says to Walker. “Let’s go distract our girl.”

They both head to the back of the house as I gather up my stuff and trudge upstairs, planning on a quick rinse myself.

Our girl. Huh.

Chapter 49

Trips

Thereshouldbeafucking limit on the number of drunks allowed in a cage at once. The reek from the toilet corner maxes out at about three drunks. Disgusting.

I’ve been locked in here for hours. No one has come to talk to me. Of course, they’re going to run out the seventy-two hours, looking for something to pin on me. The asshole progenitor better hurry and bail me out. I hate this feeling, like I’m a fucking butterfly tacked to the wall.

Clara must have called my dad by now. He’d better not have been too much of an ass during the trade negotiations.

I don’t know what else I have to trade after my last deal. I promised to go to all the pre-wedding festivities for Mr. Representative Trevor. A minimum of six days over the next few months, pretending I can stand to be in the same room as my weaselly family, faking my joy for my brother and his politically connected fiancée. I did it so Clara could get her restraining order, and I’d do it again, but I’m banking up too many favors too fast.

God, it’s just such bullshit. Lives destroyed under the cover of a legitimate business are a-okay, but you just try to snatch up some pennies without that patina of respectability? Then you’re a disgrace to the family. Only, I refuse to buy a $10,000 suit to hide my bloody heart. I’ve known for years that the Westerhouse family is no place for an honest criminal. It’s only safe for the sneaky fucks.

And it’s not like I plan on being a bookie forever.

No, I have a plan. I’m going to take the conceited assholes like my father and bleed them dry. Find their vices, offer them up on a gold-plated platter. Then I’ll siphon off every sin-filled dollar, launder it, hide it from their ex-wives, skimming a sizeable cut off every god-damn penny at every fucking turn.

It’s all the jackasses care about anyway—money, money, money. And I’m going to have my dirty mitts on every fucking dime.

Some joker in a Gophers hoodie heaves into the toilet in the corner again. The other dude in here is passed out, slumped on the floor next to the toilet. I think he’s getting sprayed. Repulsive.

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