“I need a day to walk my people through it,” Jesse said.
“You got tomorrow,” Crow said, “even if the money shows up tomorrow.”
“Wednesday morning, ten-thirty,” Jesse said. “Rain or shine.”
“Rain might not be a bad thing,” Crow said. “If it blurred things a little.”
“Sixty percent chance of rain,” Jesse said, “for Wednesday.”
“Like they know,” Crow said.
“They sound like they know,” Jesse said.
Crow snorted.
“Either way,” Crow said. “What are the odds of pulling this off?”
“Terrible odds,” Jesse said.
Crow grinned.
“Worst case,” Crow said, “we got his money, and we’re no worse off than we were before.”
“Except some people might be dead,” Jesse said. “Including you.”
“What’s the fun in winning,” Crow said, “you got no chance to lose?”
68.
The easy late-summer rain had emptied the beach. Jesse sat with Jenn on the bench in the small pavilion watching the raindrops pock the surface of the ocean.
“Can we walk on the beach?” Jenn said.
“Umbrella?” Jesse said.
“No. I’d like to walk in the rain and get wet.”
“And your hair?” Jesse said.
“I’ll fix it when we get home,” Jenn said.
The phrase pinched in Jesse’s solar plexus. Home.
They stood and began to walk down the empty beach. The rain was steady but not hard. There was no wind.
“So the gang from Marshport,” Jenn said. “They think Crow has been set up by Amber and is expecting to meet her on the causeway, where instead they will shoot him dead.”
“Correct,” Jesse said.
“God, I wish I could use some of this,” Jenn said.
“Maybe someday,” Jesse said.
“And Amber’s father thinks Crow will deliver his daughter to him in the middle of the causeway,” Jenn said.
“Correct.”
“And you hope to provoke conflict between the two groups and arrest them all.”
“Exactly,” Jesse said.
“Is any of this plan
