Page 23 of Web of Lies
“Neither. I don't like extra work or theatrics. But I'm making an exception in this case.”
“Why?”
I tilt my head to the side and blink at him. “Because.”
He grins. “Well, that's interesting. Do you have a plan already? You seem like the type who has everything planned out before the meeting starts.”
I lick my lips to keep from smiling. “I do.”
“Good.” He keeps my gaze over his cup. “I hope it's a good one.”
“Here's the address.” I pull up the picture of the house with the address typed across the front and turn it to face him. He takes out his own phone and takes a picture of my screen. “Be there at 5am. Monday. The husband won't be there. They don't own a dog. No kids. We'll take the wife right out the front door, then –”
“The front door? Aren't there neighbors?”
“Yes. The husband said the front door would be the best and quickest option. He said the neighbors wouldn't be an issue.”
He puts his cup down in front of him and looks at me. “How? If I saw my neighbor being dragged out the front door, I'd call the cops. Or worse, I might consider getting involved.”
“Most of the neighbors are old, I looked into it myself. And they won't see us dragging her out. The husband assured me that if we're there that early, no one will be awake and outside to see anything.”
Shaun shakes his head. “If you say so. You have a place to take her, I'm sure.”
“I do.”
“Great. See you then.” Shaun downs the rest of his hot chocolate like it isn't still hot and leaves without bothering to push his chair under the table or take his cup to the counter.
I'll just have to keep reminding myself that Rutgers wouldn't have sent him if he wasn't a good option. He didn't ask any big questions, didn't ask about details, didn't seem to want any additional information at all; and I can't decide if that's a good thing or if it adds more stress to the job. I'd have plenty of questions. Idohave plenty of questions.
What kind of husband wants his wife to be kidnapped and essentially tortured? And without any kind of financial gain? He's paying us to do it, so he's losing money. Maybe she did cheat on him and he doesn't want to admit it and he wants to get back at her. But if that was the case, wouldn't he want the guy to answer for it too? Maybe he's got another plan for that. Or maybe he's just the piece of shit he seems to be and he just wants to abuse his probably brow-beaten wife even more than he already is. My bet is that he's just another bastard who enjoys being an asshole, but we'll see.
Chapter Nine
Shaun
Present
We ride in complete silence for almost half an hour before I can't take it anymore. I don't like how this feels. I'm not a nice guy. I don't do nice things. I don't lose any sleep over it, either. But something about how this job feels is digging under my skin like a fiberglass splinter.
“She's skinny.”
Wyatt's eyes flick over to me then quickly back to the road. “Lots of women are skinny.”
I stay quiet for a few minutes and watch the houses get farther apart as we get closer to the outskirts of the city. Yeah, lots of women are skinny. But there's healthy skinny, like fitness skinny, and then there's what this wife is. She's borderline skeletal. And we're supposed to make hermoremiserable? I've never known anybody who was that kind of skinny and wasn't already miserable about something. “Why?”
Wyatt glances at me again. “Why what?”
“Why hire us to take her?”
“I told you. It's just a job.”
I turn in my seat to face him. “No. You told me what the job was. You didn't say shit about why the husband hired us to do it. People that skinny are already miserable. She's emaciated. I'd almost rather take her to a hospital than where we're taking her.”
“It doesn't matter.” He sighs and nods at the windshield. “It's just a job. We were hired and we're going to get paid.”
Yeah. Whatever. His eyes are too set and I didn't miss the way his lips flattened when he said it. “You don't like it, either. It's weird.”
“Rich people who pay for this kind of thing are weird.” He doesn't say anything for a long time, long enough for the houses to turn into trees, and it gives me time to think about all the reasons why this job might bother him. I'm about to voice one of them when he continues, startling me. “We're not getting paid to give a shit. We're getting paid tonotgive a shit. It doesn't matter if she's already miserable and it doesn't matter if she's too thin.”
