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Prologue
Near Deception Bay, Oregon
“She’s never going to leave,” Lena muttered, thinking this was a bad idea. Just because they’d heard that the woman and her missing husband hid money in their house was no guarantee that they would find anything.
“Shhh!” Bruce shushed sternly. “Just wait.”
“I have been waiting. For nearly an hour.” Catching an angry glare from her boyfriend, Lena bit her tongue. Darkness had settled in. A thick fog, smelling of brine, was creeping through the crooked and pockmarked streets of the unincorporated town inhabited by what the locals called “The Foothillers.” It wasn’t much of a place in the daylight, only a few steps up from a shantytown in her estimation. With the coming night, the cul-de-sac looked foreboding, nearly malicious, as only half the houses on the street were occupied and those that were had overgrown lawns and staring, dark windows. Not exactly a place one would expect to find a cache of thousands of dollars hidden in the mattress or in a secret cubby in the floor, but the old guy in the bar last night had insisted that the people who lived here only looked poor. And, well, it was true that the vehicle sitting in the drive was a newer model Volvo wagon.
Still . . . Lena was cold to the bone, the gusts chilled by the ocean as they rolled into town on the fog. For stealth purposes, the fog itself was a good thing, she decided. But did it have to be so friggin’ cold? Shivering, she blew on her gloved fingers. Come on, come on, she thought.
According to the geezer in the Sand Bar, the woman, whose husband was often away, left every Tuesday night to have dinner with her sister somewhere south of Tillamook, so Lena and Bruce would have plenty of time to search the place and get away.
“Here we go,” Bruce muttered, pulling down his ski mask. She did the same and watched as a tall, willowy woman came out of the front door carrying an infant seat, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder as she turned to close the door behind her. She hurried down the single concrete step and along a cracked walkway, heading to her vehicle, which she unlocked before strapping the baby carrier into the backseat.
Finally!
Lena just wanted this to be over. Yes, they’d robbed homes and cars before, but tonight was different and more dangerous. She felt it intuitively. Their plan didn’t seem as well thought out, and the crummy one-story house with its peeling paint and sagging porch didn’t give her any confidence that they would score anything, not even a bag of weed or ounce of cocaine, much less a cache of serious money.
“Damn,” Bruce whispered frantically. “Get back!” He yanked her farther into the shrubbery and threw her face down as a car turned onto the dead-end street and slowly drove by. Lena managed to peek up and her heart nearly stopped as she recognized a yellow and black cruiser for the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department.
Oh, Jesus.
Closing her eyes, she lay motionless, facedown in the carpet of pine needles.
Headlights cutting through the fog, big engine purring, the cruiser rolled slowly around the arc of the deserted street.
Lena chanced another look. The woman whom they intended to rob had her driver’s door open. She’d halted in the act of getting in
side as the Crown Vic rolled past her drive.
Neither Lena nor Bruce moved for long moments. They huddled in the salal bushes beneath the low branches of a contorted pine. As the cruiser passed by a second time, they could hear the officer talking on his radio. Suddenly, he gunned his engine and, with a chirp of tires, sped away, blue and red lights strobing the area until the vehicle disappeared around the corner.
Lena’s heart was pounding so loudly she thought everyone in the entire county could hear it. This had to be over and soon. Maybe they should abort. But they were out of cash and Bruce was sure the house would be a big score.
God, she hoped so.
The woman took a last look at the baby in the back, then slid into the driver’s side just as a phone started ringing from inside the house. She glanced up and looked back toward the front door. Muttering something unintelligible, she climbed back out and hurried toward the front stoop, unlocking the door, and rushing inside. Lights snapped on and through the window they watched as she picked up the phone.
Bruce was on his knees, straining to see. “Why the fuck can’t she just leave?”
Lena looked up at him. “This feels wrong. We should just go.”
“And do what?”
“Pick a pocket at the bar, scoop up a purse—”
“Didn’t you hear the old man? He said tens of thousands are hidden inside.”
“How does he know?”
“He’s an uncle or something. I don’t know. But it’s worth a shot, babe.” Bruce placed a gloved hand around her arm. “It could be like winnin’ the fuckin’ lottery. Change our lives.”
She liked the sound of that and stole a glance at the house. Through the front window she could see the woman pacing, holding the receiver to her ear and shouting loudly.
“This could take a while,” Lena said.
“I know, I know.” Bruce, too, was nervous.
“And that cop. What was he doing here? What if he finds our car?”
“He won’t.” Bruce glanced at the house where the woman was so engaged in her conversation, so agitated, that she was gesticulating wildly with her free hand.
Lena doubted she was aware of anything other than ripping the person on the other end a new one. “It’s dangerous,” she muttered.
He rubbed a hand feverishly over his masked forehead. “I got this.” He looked at the window one more time and must’ve mentally calculated how long the mark would be engaged in the conversation. “Stay here.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna get the kid.”
