Page 61 of Deep Waters
“For all I know, you murdered my cousin for whatever’s in that safe. You trying to take over his business?”
“Jordan dying fucked things up for me, so no. Just let me get the safe and get out of here. You can pretend this never happened.”
“Do you even know what’s in the safe?”
“Just show me where it is,” he growled. “Enough questions.”
That was a no. But it was becoming clear that he and Jordan had been running something on their boat. Guns? Drugs? Jordan wasn’t keeping exotic animals or illegal food imports in a safe. Did the quote-unquote bad people murder Jordan? Or was Brandon executinghis own version of a hostile takeover? Waiting months to retrieve whatever was in the safe didn’t smack of careful planning.
Jia and Jordan’s garage was attached to the house with three entry points. The roll-up doors, the door off the mud room, and a side door. Keeping Brandon out of the house seemed like a good idea, given it had negligible weapons and a large portable safe sitting on the living room coffee table. That left me with the roll-up doors or the side door. I tried the side first. Locked.
Brandon’s soft growl of frustration made me shiver. If I wasn’t careful, he’d decide he didn’t need me at all, that it would be faster to search on his own.
“I forgot that we locked this one. I’ve got the code for the keypad on the roll-ups.”
Hiding the code from him seemed more-or-less pointless, but I did it anyway. The garage doors rose on a mechanical groan, letting the early evening seep into the cramped interior. Quickly, I surveyed the piles, looking for something,anythingthat would make a weapon. Considering and discarding most options as I scanned.
The blow torch that had given me the idea to bring him to the garage would take too long to light. As much as I loved the mental picture of roasting his balls for scaring me, it wasn’t a practical weapon. The screwdrivers were too lightweight to do much damage, but that depended on my aim. A Phillips head to the jugular would take him out, but it would also make me a murderer. Or a man slaughterer. Or a self-defense-er. I shook my head, my thoughts running in ten directions at once.
Focus. I needed something heavy or sharp.
I picked my way along the first aisle. Even Brandon seemed cowed by the overwhelming towers of junk.
Jordan’s old bowling trophy wouldn’t be a bad choice. Ditto the hammer on the back bench. I wanted to threaten Brandon. Make him back off. But not do so much damage that they carted him off in a body bag. He deserved a few bruises for his trouble. Maybe a broken bone. But I’d leave any more severe punishment to the authorities. If Zach didn’t get hold of him first.
He and the kids should be home any minute for dinner. Brandon really hadn’t thought this through. He’d expected me to be cowed into doing his bidding quickly with them gone. Too bad for him I was taking my sweet time. Brandon didn’t deserve whatever was in that safe. He could deny any part in Jordan’s death, but he was involved, or he wouldn’t be here.
“This is trash. Where is the damn safe?”
“Jordan was good at camouflage. It’s back there.”
Brandon snorted. “Jordan was a fucking pack rat. Camouflage, my ass.”
Reminding Brandon that it had worked seemed unwise. By my count, he’d already searched the house twice and found nothing. For all we knew, there might have been other attempts we’d missed. He’d gotten sloppier as he got more desperate.
The distant crunch of gravel reached my ears, and I bit my lip. Either the cavalry had arrived, or additional hostages.
I picked up my pace, leading Brandon deeper into the garage.
Chapter 27 – Zach
The house looked quiet. But the garage door was open, and Gran’s truck was missing. Something about both of those details made me uneasy. Or maybe it was the plume of dark smoke coming from the back of the house.
“Kids, stay here. Lock the doors behind me.” I glanced at Tae. “Dial 911 if I’m not back in five minutes.” The dark garage yawned. “On second thought, just call them now. Let them know we think someone is inside the house. I’m going to check it out. Stay on the phone with dispatch until help comes.”
Part of me felt guilty for leaving the kids in the car, unprotected. But Rae was somewhere inside. Possibly with a murderer. Jordan’s death was supposed to be an unfortunate accident. Maybe it was more. There was no way I was taking a chance with the woman I loved and doing anything but playing it cautious. I skirted the open garage, careful not to silhouette myself. I’d be an easy target for anyone inside. Plus, there was no need to announce my presence. Or maybe there was.
I’d been playing the role of the clueless but charming coffee shop owner enough that possibly even our housebreaker believed it.
“Hey, Rae! You in there? I told you I’d dig through Jordan’s crap and find the yard games for the kids when I got home. Why don’t you come on out, and I’ll work on that now? I don’t want to be an ass, but I think dinner might be burning.”
Rae’s laughter emanated from the back of the garage. The sound cut like a serrated blade, obliterating my sense of peace. Unnatural. Stilted. Like she was forcing the humor to cover fear.
“No worries. I’ve almost got it. I’ll be right out.”
If things were really all right, she’d care that dinner was burning. I crept closer, skipping the aisles closest to the main house and diving to hide against one of the towers of bins and boxes closer to the workbench.
My heart thumped, pounding hard in my ears. Overwhelming my ability to decipher the sounds in the garage. A footstep. A box in the next tower shifted slightly, sending a screwdriver clattering to the floor. I strained, listening for more clues.
