shells in the box on the closet shelf he didn’t leave exactly as he had found them. He removed all their pellets and powder, then replaced them in their box and made sure nothing looked as if it had been disturbed.
It was a precaution that saved his life.
But now what was he going to do? It was just past dusk, and the darkening, tree-lined street was deserted and quiet, but for the ongoing scream of crickets. A car’s headlights passed a block down at the intersection, but that was the only movement. Luther was sure no one had seen him leave the house, or heard the disturbance inside.
His heart was hammering and he was perspiring. Sweat stung his eyes, making it difficult to see. He dabbed at his eyes with his shirtsleeve, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, tasting Cara. Cara!
Should he go back and do what he could to protect her?
No, that might only make things worse. After dealing with the shotgun, Luther had searched the rest of the house to make sure there were no more guns. Milford wasn’t armed and wouldn’t shoot her. And whatever else he might do, with a knife or his bare hands…well, it would already have been done.
A dog began barking far away, as if to remind Luther of a wider world beyond the dark street. He noticed the smell of recently mowed grass.
The best thing he could do was get farther away from the house and neighborhood and stay away. He’d phone later, though, and make sure Cara was all right. He wouldn’t give up on her. He wouldn’t!
But what would he do now?
Where would he go?
What would happen to him?
It wasn’t the first time in his young life he’d asked himself those same questions he couldn’t answer.
Each time, the terror and loneliness were worse.
What will happen to me?
Luther awoke, slumped low on the seat of Tom Wilde’s rusty pickup truck, and knuckled sleep from his eyes. The morning light flooding through the cracked windshield was blinding.
He squinted at his watch. Past ten o’clock. Unable to think of where else to go last night, he’d finally walked to Wilde’s closed painting and decorating company and found a place to sleep in the cab of the old truck parked on the back corner of the lot. In the morning he’d go to work and try to figure out what he might do on a more long- term basis. As long as he had a job, he’d have some money and some options-if the state didn’t send a caseworker to find him.
He thought there was a good chance Milford wouldn’t bother notifying the state for a while. He’d probably prefer that Luther find his way to another part of the country. Then he could cook up some phony story as to why Luther had left, rather than admit his wife had slept with their foster child. That admission would stop the money they were receiving from the agency in exchange for their temporary care of kids adrift like Luther.
Luther looked at himself in the dirty rearview mirror and smoothed back his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and there was a look to them he hadn’t seen since Kansas City. Eyes of the lost and desperate.
The afraid.
He tucked his hair back behind his ears, then opened the rusty old door and climbed down out of the truck. Tom Wilde had driven the van home yesterday, but now it was parked at the curb; Wilde would be inside the building, probably wondering where his apprentice Luther was this fine, bright morning.
There was a sharp pain in the small of Luther’s back, and one of his legs was stiff. He’d only been able to get comfortable enough to sleep in short stretches on the hard, cracked vinyl of the pickup’s seat.
He clenched his fists, put them behind his neck, and leaned back at the waist. Something popped in his spine, and his back felt better. He felt awake and strong enough to work today, to lug five-gallon buckets of paint and scamper up ladders. Or he was sure he’d be able to work as soon as he limbered up.
As he limped stiffly to the front of the building and its entrance, he tried not to think about what happened last night. But that was impossible.
He’d have to tell Tom Wilde, because Wilde would eventually find out about it. And before leaving for their painting job, Luther wanted to phone Cara, even if it meant he’d be talking to Milford. He wanted to make sure Cara was all right, that Milford hadn’t hurt her.
If Milford had done something to her…
Luther decided not to think about that.
When he pushed open the door and stepped into the storeroom and office, there was Wilde sitting on the high stool at his workbench. He wasn’t dressed for work. Instead of his paint-spattered coveralls, he was wearing faded jeans and a dark blue pullover sweater that would be way too hot in another hour. His shoulders were rounded, his head bowed as if it were too heavy for his neck to support.
“Tom?”
“Morning, Luther.” But he hadn’t yet looked at Luther.
When Wilde did raise his head to look, the light showed bruises on his face, and an eye that was rapidly turning dark.
“What happened?” Luther asked.
“Milford was here.”
“This morning?”
“Early. He was waiting for me to show up.”
“What’d he say?”
“That you were finished working here, and I didn’t have any choice in the matter. He used his fists on me to make sure I understood. That was his excuse, anyway.”
“What’d he have against you?”
“I was handy. He’d rather have been beating on you. What happened, Luther? What the hell’d you do?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No. He was too busy pounding on me.”
Luther decided to let Milford keep his embarrassing secret. And there was no reason to spread the story that Cara had slept with Luther. That would be the worst thing for Cara. So if Milford wanted to protect his reputation and wound up protecting Cara’s, too, that was okay with Luther.
“We had an argument, was all. He lost his temper. Who’d have thought a worm like Milford would have a temper like that? I called him some things, said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”
“You must have,” Wilde said. “I can tell you there won’t be any making up. Not with a man like Milford. I warned you he’s more dangerous than he seems.” He lowered his eyes again, staring at the floor, then looked up and met Luther’s gaze. “It’s not just that Milford’s capable of hurting people real bad; he’s also got a lot of weight in this town. The folks that know him are scared to cross him, and he can make my work and my life impossible if I side with you. I’ve gotta do what he says, Luther. I have to let you go. I don’t want to, but I have to.”
“I understand,” Luther said. “You been good to me, Tom, and I don’t wanna cause you any more harm.”
“Milford was looking for you, Luther. He won’t give up till he finds you. Where’d you spend the night?”
“Here. In the cab of the pickup.”
“Jesus! You were here when Milford was!”
“I guess. I musta slept through it.”
“Lucky for you.” Wilde dug in his jeans pocket and came up with a wad of bills. “Here’s what I owe you, plus a little extra. It’s all I can do for you, Luther.”
Luther accepted the money and thanked Wilde.
“Where you going now?” Wilde asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t hang around here.”
“No, I guess you can’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Tom. None of it’s your fault.” Luther moved toward the door. “See you.”
“You be careful.” Wilde got down off the stool and came over and shook Luther’s hand, then gave him a powerful, awkward hug. “You watch out. Maybe take a bus outta here, but keep watching out the corner of your eye till you clear the town limits.”
“I might do that, Tom. Thank you. You been good to me.”
Luther eased out the door and walked away, not looking back. The sun was hot on his back, as if urging him on.
