Page 104 of Average Joe

He stopped. Turned. Scratched his head. The wheels in that old noggin were grinding with creaks and groans. “Alice gave me a key a while back.”

Alice never would’ve allowed Larry entry.

“That’s bullshit. Try again.”

He lifted weathered fingers, revealing a house key. “I knocked, and you didn’t answer. Let myself in.”

So many things wrong with that confession. “What are you doing here?”

“Harper has a job for you.”

Liar. I played along. “Not interested.”

“Wrong answer.” He shoved the key back into his front pocket.

“That a threat?”

His rounded spine straightened. “A warning.”

“Let’s talk about why you’re really here.” I pulled a chair from the kitchen table and gestured for Larry to sit. “My rides are in the garage, so you couldn’t know I was home, meaning you let yourself in because you thought it’d be safe to search for something. What’re you looking for?”

“What’s rightfully mine,” he had the balls to say.

“Alice’s inheritance was never Bill’s to fuck with, and you sure as hell have no claim to whatever cash or treasure you think might be hiding around this property.”

“My brother died for that money.”

And Larry would never forgive me.

“Your brother died because he nearly beat to death a woman I loved.”

“You’re only alive because you’re Andrew’s son!” Spit dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away with a shaky hand.

I hated that he was right. The truth ate at me like cancer. I’d served a short sentence in the correction center upstate, but I’d been released into another type of prison, working for my father. Andrew Kaine had judges and cops in his pocket. His lawyers were the most expensive in the country, and rightfully so. They never lost a case. Getting me out early was child’s play.

In return, all I had to do was give my father six years of my time.

And I had no doubt Larry would’ve commissioned my death, family or not, while I was incarcerated, but Dad was one of a few men Larry feared, and killing Andrew’s firstborn would’ve been unforgivable.

“You belong in prison, nephew.”

No doubt, Larry knew about the jewelry, but maybe he wasn’t searching for money. Maybe Larry had an ulterior motive. He couldn’t kill me. However, he sure as hell could find a million and one ways to send me away again. Maybe by setting me up through Johan Harper. Or maybe by planting shit in my home, which fit his MO.

My anger was no longer containable. I charged, grabbed Larry by the collar, and dragged him away from the door. He stumbled but stayed on his feet while I made my way through the living room into the dining room and shoved him into a kitchen chair.

“What did you plant?”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Didn’t concern me much. Heard them all the time in our neighborhood.

The old coot had the nerve to laugh. “What’s the matter, kid. Worried?”

His laugh grated my nerves. “They say once you’re incarcerated, your chances of going back are what? Fifty? Seventy? Eighty percent?”

Well, hell. I was right. He’d broken in to set me up.

Fisting his collar, I raised his face to mine. “Did you plant something in my fucking house?”

The sirens grew louder, closer. My heart rate spiked, my temper boiling over. The dogs continued to bark outside, pawing at the door.

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