Page 108 of Bitter Arrangement

“Give it another minute.”

“Six out,” Eric chimes in.

“I say go,” William says. “Take the chance.”

I ignore them and wait. The numbers keep turning. “Five,” Eric says. “He’s driving like a fucking maniac.”

I close my eyes. I picture Riley smiling, her hips under my fingers, her mouth on mine. I can see a fork ahead of me. A life with her on one side and a smoking crater and our corpses on the other. The choice isn’t really a choice—it’s a slow-motion travesty.

“Three minutes,” Eric says.

I open my eyes again, and the bomber beeps.

I stare, mouth hanging open. Four numbers flash on the screen.8517.

Then the lock bangs open.

“I’m in,” I say and yank open the safe door.

It’s chaos in my earpiece. Everyone’s yelling at once, but I tune them out and concentrate. “WE’RE CLOSE,” Eric’s shouting as I rifle through the safe. Papers, a gun, passports, money. I take the watch from my bag and shove it in the back, tucked under a stack of fresh twenty-dollar bills. “He’s on the block!”

“Get out!” Riley screams.

I slam the lock shut, shove my gear back into my bag, and fumble with the facing screws. I manage to get the keypad back in place, cursing the whole time.

“He’s parking!” Eric yells in my ear. “Go, Alexan! Run!”

I lift the safe up, growling as I strain, and get it back onto the shelf. I shove it into position, carefully putting the pictures back where they belong, and drop the fake books down into their slot?—

When I hear the front door open.

“He’s here,” I whisper, snatching up my bag, and slip into the hall. “Daron?—”

“I’m letting him have the system. It’ll look like a power surge took it out.” He’s talking quietly now.

I hear Navarro downstairs. He’s cursing in Spanish as he jabs at the security console near the front door. I peer at the steps and realize he’s on the phone talking to someone.

“Don’t turn it back on yet,” I hiss softly, backing away. “The cameras.”

“Understood,” Daron says.

“I have an out.” Riley’s voice now, calm and clear. “Alexan, head to the master bedroom.”

“What? Why?”

“Do it! Just move!”

I follow my wife’s orders and sneak to the other end of the house. “If this is what the rest of our marriage is going to be like, I’m kind of into it.”

“Don’t joke right now,” she snaps. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m in his room. It’s actually kind of nice.” Big bed on a raised platform in the middle, dark wooden bureau, several high-end watches lined up on the nightstand. And a big stack of vintage Playboys on the other. “Oh, no, he’s a sex pervert.”

“Focus. Get in the bathroom.”

“Not sure I want to go into a sex pervert’s private bathroom.”

“Are you seriously deciding to be funny right now of all times?”

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