Page 18 of Dad Bods and Blizzards

“The keys are gone.” Tubs comes back from the kitchen.

That rules out someone hot-wiring and stealing the truck. If only she’d waited. We plan on giving her keys, even had a nightingale keychain made for her. The frivolousness of our plan hits with full force.

“No note. No explanation.” Woody returns from checking the bedrooms and bathroom.

He stops beside me at the office door and reaches for the handle—locked. Woody retrieves the key tool from the top of the doorframe, hands shaking as he inserts it into the handle.

The door swings open. Everything is in place.

Woody runs his fingers through his hair. “Why would she leave?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” I return to the living room, to the couch, and pick up the blanket she’d wrapped herself in. I hold it to my face. Her fruity rose perfume lingers amongst her musky natural scent. “If her father got wind of who we are…”

“That could explain the emergency meeting about bumping the raid up,” Woody says.

“That would have been an important detail to mention.” If our team intentionally withheld that information, they’ve learned that we got too close. They may consider us compromised.

They’re not entirely wrong, but we don’t buy into their stance that Naomi is involved, and we’re not about to risk her getting taken in with her father. Supposedly, it’s simple—we’ve amassed a solid case, and the higher-ups are ready to move in.

“Unless they found out we bought her in the auction.” Tubs has the same concern as me. He has his phone out, dials, and puts it on speaker. While it rings, he continues, “We have to find Naomi.”

Dennis answers, sounding even more stressed than when he told us he needed more time to get the money to pay for the weapons shipment. After the first missed deadline, we asked what collateral he could put up. We never thought he’d offer Naomi.

I tease the point to see where Dennis’ head is. “About that deal you offered us with your daughter…”

“What about it?” Too much tension.

“Does it stand?”

“Uh… sure… yeah…” He’s bluffing.

I press for more. “Great, we’re on our way.”

“You gotta give me a second. She’s out with friends.” His tone is unconvincing.

Woody pops off, “We’ll give you one thousand two hundred seconds.”

Tubs hangs up. Neither he nor I are going to do the math; that’s Woody’s genius, but I’m guessing that’s how many seconds it will take us to drive to her house. With unspoken synchronicity, we’re in the truck again.

I say, “Shecannotbe at her house when the raid goes down.”

Twelve

Naomi

The white-knuckle drive home hasn’t gifted me with any easy way to explain to my father why he shouldn’t lock me in my room again. I can’t tell him I need to get my secret stash of money and that I’m staying with a friend for a few days.

I’ll just try to be sneaky. Grab my stuff and go. I’ll get a pry bar from the garage if Dad hasn’t unlocked my room.

I need a new mentor.Scooby-Doocharacters never had to go up against their deranged parents.

The truck’s headlights cut through the swirling flakes, but the road is lost beneath the fresh powder. At least the truck handles better than my Mazda.

Under different circumstances, I would’ve tried out lowering the plow blade. No room for error right now.

Slowing the truck well in advance of the familiar iron and steel columns that mark the turn onto our property, I prepare to navigate the downhill turn.

The truck’s tires lose traction. My stomach drops as the truck slides diagonally, oblivious to how far I’ve cranked the steering wheel. I pump the brakes and pray for the truck to stop. Nothing catches.

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