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Because Michael could totally afford to keep paying the guy seven hundred and fifty dollars an hour to do things like chase down his laptop.
He ran a hand across the back of his head and drew a long breath. “Let me see if I can find the keys to the SUV. Then we can get out of here.”
But he couldn’t find the keys. They might have been burned, or lost, or seized like his work stuff. No way to know.
At this point, Michael didn’t even waste energy being surprised or disappointed. He walked back to the front porch and picked up a piece of plywood and a hammer.
Tyler didn’t say a word. He simply did the same.
dn’t have the pictures he’d taken. He had no way to contact whoever had been sending those text messages—not that he wanted to. Anyone else he could think to call was either a liability—Becca, or maybe Hunter’s mother and grandparents—or a complete jerkoff who wouldn’t help anyway—Bill Chandler, Becca’s father, who was also a Fifth like Hunter, and a former Guide.
He tapped his pen against the paper and thought.
“What did you come up with?”
Michael looked up. Tyler was across the table, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks and loose paper.
“Not much,” Michael said. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. This felt weird, sitting here with a guy he’d spent much of his life hating. “Where’s your girlfriend? I thought Quinn would have practically moved in by now.”
“She lives with Becca, which means Bill has them both under lock and key until this is over.” He paused. “I wouldn’t want her here right now anyway.”
Michael understood that. They lapsed into silence again.
He couldn’t take it. He fought for something to talk about. “How’s schoolwork?”
Tyler opened a bottle of Mountain Dew and gave him a look. “You don’t give a crap.”
“You’re right.” But sitting here made him wonder if this was what his life would have been like if his parents hadn’t died. Tyler was a year or two younger than Michael, but he’d followed a traditional path: graduating high school, going to college, moving out and getting a place of his own. Tyler had beer in his refrigerator and cabinets full of food. Michael would buy a six-pack every now and again, but he’d always kept it hidden in the back of the garage—more so he wouldn’t have to explain it during a surprise social worker inspection than because of any worry his brothers would snatch one. Their own cabinets were always a little barren because four people went through food fast.
But the biggest surprise for Michael had been the quiet. Tyler’s apartment didn’t have four teenage boys banging doors or stomping up stairs or blasting music or roughhousing in the living room. Tyler’s apartment was his.
“Sorry my place isn’t a thrill-a-minute.” Tyler gestured at the television. “Watch TV or something if you’re bored.”
Bored. Was that what this was? Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d been bored. If he wasn’t actively doing something, he was usually sleeping.
“What do you Merricks usually do?” said Tyler.
“They go to school,” said Michael. “I work. You know that.”
Tyler was silent for a moment. He sat back in his chair and balanced a pencil between his fingers. “What are you going to do about the landscaping stuff?”
“I don’t know.” Michael looked back at his list. “I need my laptop so I can call people. I don’t even know what jobs I had lined up this week. I know my regulars, of course, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t pull a trailer on my shoulders.” He tried to guess how many people would drop his service if he canceled this week. He didn’t want to think about it too hard—especially since they were coming into winter.
“If you can drive me to class, you can take my truck during the day,” said Tyler.
Michael almost snapped, but he reminded himself that Tyler wasn’t setting him up to watch him fall. Even so, he didn’t like feeling obligated to someone who once would have used it against him. “Thanks.” He paused. “It’s going to depend on whether I can get access to my stuff.”
“You want to go see?”
“Hunter said he and Adam were stopped at the end of the road.”
“Yeah, but it’s your house. You don’t think you can flash some ID and get access?”
“I don’t know,” said Michael.
“So I’ll ask you again.” Tyler leaned in against the table. “You want to go see?”
No cop car sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, but yellow sawhorses blocked the pavement and declared that the road was closed.
