Page 25 of Savage Row
“He told us what he thinks. He thinks we have to protect ourselves.”
Greg pulls onto our street. “Okay then, we’ll think about that too. Listen, I’m not taking any options off the table here. But can we at least get through tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Right,” I snap. My mind is somewhere else entirely.
“If Jack Mooney wanted to do us harm, he could have just as easily done it today. I don’t think he’s going to come beating down our door.”
“Let’s hope not.”
He leans over and pats my thigh. But he doesn’t look at me when he does it.
“Greg?”
“Yeah?”
“When were you going to tell me about the money?”
His attention is on the rearview mirror. “The what?”
“The money you took from our bank account.”
“I told you. The other night.” He turns into our drive and parks. Then he turns to me. “Remember?”
His face is riddled with concern. I don’t detect guilt in his expression, not even a hint. “I sat next to you on the bed. You’d dozed off, and I’d asked if you were asleep. You assured me you weren’t.”
“It was everything, Greg. You took all of it. I think I’d remember that.”
He shrugs. “I’m expecting a transfer from the investors on Monday. There’s no reason to worry, love. It’ll be back in the account by Tuesday.” Sliding the key from the ignition, he gets out and walks over to the passenger side and opens my door. “I told you I’d ask my parents. You didn’t seem interested in that—not that you ever are.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t get it…they’d be so eager to help.”
“Of course they would. Nothing is free though, is it?”
“I wouldn’t know. You never let me ask.”
“I just wish you’d told me before you withdrew it.”
There’s a twitch in his jaw. “I did tell you.”
Chapter Seventeen
I’m up early. Well before the sun, in order to make sure this is handled before anybody else in the house’s feet touch the floor. I dressed in my runner’s gear last night to ensure I would be all set to go, and to lessen the chance that I might back out. It would be easy to do on account of the fact that I haven’t slept at all. I tossed and turned in the dark, listening for every noise, every bump in the night. Every car engine that turned onto our street, I felt deep in my bones. To make matters worse, the squirrels are back. Two years ago we found a nest in the attic and had exterminators out. It was not an easy process. The extraction and removal ended up costing us a small fortune. Not to mention the damage they caused. The company was supposed to have sealed everything up, but even in the daytime I often hear groups of them bounding across our roof. I write out a note and place it on the refrigerator, a reminder for Greg to call the exterminator on Monday.
I chug two cups of coffee and search for my jacket and keys. Greg is still using the spare set, and mine aren’t on the hook, which means he’s taken possession of those too. Eventually, right when I decided I’m destined to either be late or skip the whole thing altogether, I locate them in the downstairs bathroom.
Bummer. Today will be the first time I’ve seen Dana, or anyone from work, since the barbecue. I am antsy, and a little nervous. I’m not sure what to expect. They’re aware I heard what was said about me behind my back. It’s not going to be the same, no matter which way you swing it. But it’s not like I can avoid the situation forever. I still have to work with them.
We’re meeting to take part in the annual neighborhood Turkey Trot, same as we have every Thanksgiving morning for the past five years. That part was not the lie. I told Greg we were meeting up before the race for coffee and, for some, mimosas.
It’s what I did not tell him that is the problem. I am not meeting Dana and the other agents from the office. I am meeting a part of my past that probably should not be dragged into the future. It’s a mistake, I tell myself as I head out the door.
After I’ve set the alarm and double-checked twice that I’ve locked up behind me, I jog to the entrance of the race, where I realize two things. One, I am terribly out of shape, and two, I really should have stretched. A few hundred yards in, a cramp in my side doubles me over. By the time I’ve hobbled to the park, the sun is nearly up. Not that you’d know it. It’s overcast, with a record-breaking low. As I search the playground, it starts to drizzle. The park is teeming with people, which is both a comfort and a concern. If Mooney were following me, not only would it be difficult for him to get me alone, it would be impossible for him to try anything without dozens of witnesses.
I scan the crowd, searching faces, noting attire. He told me via text what to look for. He told me what he’d be wearing.
How will I know how to find you, I’d asked.