Midnight (Crossroads #2)

Chapter 1

The grocery bags full of Brenda Kingston’s purchases were in the floorboard of her car.

Her elbow was resting on a box of crackers and two liters of pop.

Her knees were the cradle between which Pete Brandt was rocking—chasing a brain-busting climax.

Between the muffled scream in his ear and the fingernails digging into his backside, he had her right where he wanted her.

And when she finally climaxed, he let go with a shudder and a groan and went with her.

“Baby, baby, you’re the best,” Pete groaned, then pulled out and sat up, shifted the groceries to allow for his feet, and left Brenda to right herself.

Brenda threw back her head and laughed, both from the blood rush and the high. Pete was a blond hunk of danger. Always good for a quickie, and free rushes from the pills they popped together.

But Pete was suddenly all business. He glanced at his watch. “It’s go time, baby. Do you have your two-way?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

“Remember, all you have to do is go to the airport parking lot, then radio where you are. Don’t use your phone to call me.

We’ll radio you when we enter the airport, and when you see the van, just back out of your parking spot.

We’ll pull into the empty space. You pop the trunk.

I’ll transfer the money to your car, and we’ll meet up at my place.

My crew will converge after midnight to split the take. ”

“What about me?” Brenda asked.

He winked. “We’ll go to Mexico and spend the hell out of it.”

She hesitated. She didn’t care about leaving Jacob, but she’d never thought she and Pete would get past sex in the back seat of the car, and the thought of abandoning her sons made her sick.

“I don’t know, Pete. I can’t go off and leave my boys. I’ll do the airport run for you, but I can’t go to Mexico. I can’t leave my boys.”

Pete shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll just spend it on my own.”

She nodded. “Thanks for understanding. What if it all goes south?”

“It won’t. Just chill out and do what I said.”

When the old white service van with Pete’s crew arrived, he jumped in with them and they took off downtown, while Brenda headed for the airport. She found a parking place, radioed her location, then settled down to wait.

The day was cool, so she rolled down the window and began eyeing the people coming and going, a little nervous about the occasional security car making sweeps through the lot.

A shuttle bus came through, unloading returning travelers and their luggage, while others were just arriving and waving down a bus to take them to the terminal.

An hour passed, and she was getting antsy.

The sky was clouding up and it looked like rain.

She rolled the windows up and turned on the radio to a local station, and sat there praying she’d get the nod to just go home.

The longer she sat, the more convinced she was that this was a big mistake.

The sky was clouding up. It looked like rain was imminent, so she rolled up the windows.

Moments later, the two-way radio crackled. It was Pete.

“We’re coming in hot. Start your car so I can see the brake lights.”

Her heart began to pound as she started the engine. Even though the car was in Park, she pushed down on the brake to activate the brake lights.

She saw the white van approaching in her rearview mirror, and then saw Pete flash his lights to indicate he’d located her. As soon as he turned down the parking aisle, she backed out and pulled forward just enough for them to swing into the empty space, then popped the trunk and sat there, waiting.

There was a sharp thud in the trunk, a slam of the trunk lid, and then Pete was at the window.

“We had trouble. Ollie is shot. The money’s in your trunk. Take it home and hide it. I’ve got to drive Ollie’s car to get him to the hospital. The other guys are already leaving.”

Brenda gasped. “No! No! I can’t go home with that!”

“Give me the two-way,” he said, and when she handed him the radio, he grabbed her by her arm and squeezed it to the point of pain. “Do what I said! I don’t have time to argue!” Then he slapped his hand on the top of her car and took off running.

She floored her car and never looked back. Having to stop and pay to get out of the parking lot was a nightmare. She just knew the police would come flying into the airport and arrest them all, but they didn’t.

She left Amarillo with a knot in her gut, and didn’t breathe easy until she saw the city limit sign at Crossroads. She’d made it home, but with a trunk full of stolen money.

As usual, she drove around to the back of the bar and went into the house, carrying groceries as she went, then peeked into the bar to see what was happening.

It was full of customers, and Jacob was tending bar.

So she went back into the house, locking the door between the business and their home, then made a mad dash outside.

She didn’t know what the money was in, but she had to get it out of the trunk.

When she popped the lid and saw a strongbox, she groaned.

What if she couldn’t lift it? Fear lent her strength as she grabbed it by the handles, pulled it toward her, then lifted it out and took off up the steps, staggering as she went.

She got to the kitchen, opened the door that led down to the full basement, and then went down the steps backward, dragging the box with her, bouncing down one step at a time.

“Help me, Jesus,” she muttered, and began dragging it all the way to the back of the basement. She threw a drop cloth over it and shoved a bunch of empty boxes and crates in front of it, then ran back out, shut the trunk, and locked her car.

Her legs were trembling by the time she got back inside the house, but she didn’t have time to waste. She put up all the groceries, then ran to the bathroom to wash up, and puked her guts out instead.

When she finally pulled herself together and realized it was almost time for school to be out, she frantically splashed some water on her face, grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry for the boys, and a cold pop from the fridge for herself, and headed back to the car.

She was shaking from the inside out as she drove to the school and got in the pickup line, then took the lid off her bottle of pop and took a big drink.

The Coke brought tears to her eyes and burned her throat all the way down.

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t focus, and leaned back against the headrest, choking back the urge to scream.

What have I done? What have I done?

A short while later, the bell rang, and the students began filing out, staying with their classes as the teachers on bus duty began sorting out the kids who were picked up from the ones who were walkers.

Her eyes welled as she saw Asher, her oldest, looking for her nine-year-old, Dylan, and Gunner, her baby. He lived the role of big brother as if he’d been born to lead.

She watched as he found them and began gently herding them to her car. She’d carried them within her body, and brought them into the world with great pain, but they were the spitting image of Jacob. Black-haired, blue-eyed, and already growing so tall for their ages.

All of a sudden, Gunner, her youngest, stumbled and fell, then let out a wail. She was about to get out and go to his rescue when she saw Asher pick him up, dust him off, and carry him the rest of the way.

By the time they were loaded up, the bag of chips she’d brought for them to snack on had cured the crocodile tears on Gunner’s cheeks, and Asher was doling them out one at a time.

She took one last drink of her pop and gave it to Asher. “Share with your brothers,” she said, and headed home in a daze. For that moment, it felt like every other day of her life, except it wasn’t.

The evening went by in a flash. It was Gunner’s seventh birthday.

She had cake and ice cream for them, and a present for Gunner.

Jacob left the bar long enough to watch his youngest son open his presents and eat birthday cake with the family, before he went back to the bar.

She oversaw homework while doing the dishes, and with an eye on the clock, gave them a couple of hours to watch TV or play games before bedtime.

The noise from the bar was a constant in their lives, but they were used to it.

Finally, she reached the moment of tucking the last of her sons into bed and kissing them good night.

Even Asher expected the pat on his shoulder and his mother’s fingers combing the hair from his forehead as she kissed him good night.

But on this night, Brenda didn’t go to bed.

As soon as she knew the boys were sound asleep, and Jacob was knee-deep in customers and serving drinks at the bar, she headed down into the basement on the run.

She grabbed a shovel from the rack of tools hanging on the wall, then hurried to the southeast corner of the back wall, moved everything away except the strongbox, and started digging.

It wasn’t easy, but she didn’t have time to waste.

When she hit rock, she got down on her knees with a small pickax and chunked at the dirt around it until it came loose and then dug some more.

When it was wide enough and deep enough, she got down on her knees and pushed the box into the hole, then frantically began covering it up, one scoop at a time from the pile of displaced dirt.

She was almost done when she heard footsteps in the house above her, and then Asher calling her name.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” she mumbled, and threw the last shovel full of dirt in, tamped it all down with the back of the shovel, then began stacking boxes and crates on top of it, finishing it off with a wooden crate of empty canning jars.