On the other hand, if TJ was right… The last thing Clay would want would be for Grade to be off the hook.
So,shit.
Grade gave himself a second to panic and then tried to pull his brain back into line.
It didn’t matter what the truth was right this minute. There was nothing he could do about it. Until he could, the best plan would be to act like nothing was wrong.
“OK,” Grade said. “You don’t say that in—”
He shut his mouth hard enough to make his teeth click as he heard footsteps crunch on the ground behind him. Clay put a hand on his shoulder.
“What are you two talking about?” he asked.
“Noth—”
TJ pushed himself up the van back onto his feet. He took a step forward and stuck his chin out toward Clay.
“I told him,” he spat out, his face contorted with defiance. “I told him you killed Buchanan and blamed it on me. Now you gotta kill usboth.”
He said that with all the confidence of a poker player who’d just decided to raise on an idiot end hand. Grade let his head drop and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “I hate this town.”
Chapter Eight
TJ got toride in back on the drive to town.
“Can you at least untie me?” he whined. His knee jammed into the back of Clay’s seat as he shifted position. “My arms are killing me. I got rights, you know.”
Clay took his eyes off the road for a second to check the rearview mirror.
The light was wrong. It was desert light—harsh white light that cast dense shadows that looked solid enough to pick up—and it looked out of place on TJ’s rawboned face and two-day-old outfit.
If Clay thought about it, he could map the “right” image under that noonday glare. He reached into the side of the door for the bottle of pills instead.
“I’m going to drown you in a toilet, TJ,” Clay said as he pulled the white canister out and used his thumb nail to pop the lid off. “You think I’m worried anyone is going to find out I didn’t Mirandize you? Or care if they did, since I ain’t a cop.”
TJ scowled and squirmed in place.
“I’m just sayin’,” he muttered under his breath. His lower lip was stuck out like a toddler. “No need to be a dick about it.”
Clay shook his head and glanced quickly into the bottle. One pill left. He’d have to get a refill. He usually picked it up after his standing appointment with the VA therapist, but with the deal Ezra had brokered with Fisher’s crew, things had been too hectic. Still, Clay should have made time. Now, instead of picking it up from the dropout barista at the coffee shop next door to his therapist’s office, he’d have to buy some from one of the over-toned moms at the spa up in the Lodge.
Could he get them closer to home? Sure, but he didn’t need Ezra up his ass about it. For a career criminal, the man was risk-averse, but it wasn’t like Clay was mainlining crack or bath salts.
And the pills worked. More or less. Most of the time.
Clay tossed the last one back. It was dusty and bitter, astringent as it stuck to the back of his tongue, and it scratched his throat as he swallowed. He could see Grade’s disapproval out of the corner of his eye, but since Grade thought Clay was a murderer, he could stuff that.
“If that goes down the wrong way, you could get pneumonia,” Grade said. He glanced up from his sister’s phone, halfway through unbricking his own, and frowned at Clay. “Or worse.”
“Looking for a silver lining?” Clay asked. He turned his head and opened his mouth, tongue curled up and then out, to demonstrate there was nothing left. “Sorry to disappoint.”
They looked at each other for a second, and then Grade’s eyes widened. “Watch the road!” He lunged over the console and grabbed the steering wheel to yank it to the side. The car veered toward the verge, hit a stone, and a big black Lexus skimmed past on the other side.
TJ made a guttural sound as he was bounced about.
“Damn,” Clay said. He pushed Grade back over to his side of the car and straightened the wheel. Behind them, he saw the black car turn and stop, parked sideways in the middle of the road. On the road ahead, an identical Lexus swung in front of them and stopped abruptly. Clay kept his foot on the gas for a second as he weighed the odds, and then he snarled to himself and hit the brakes. “I guess Ezra misjudged how tight Buchanan was with his boss.”
