25. Cash
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cash
“This is fucking bullshit,” I growl.
“Don’t crumple it.” Haven rubs my arm, as if I’m the one who needs soothing right now.
“Won’t.” I stalk to her kitchen table and lay it flat so I can take a picture of it. A quick comparison confirms that it’s the same handwriting as the first note.
I scrub my hand over my beard as I swipe back and forth, wishing we had some other clue beyond her uncle’s pompous assertion that it’s not Jeb Martin’s handwriting.
Her uncle.
Fuck.
I asked the wrong question when we confronted him.
“Let’s go. I want to drop you at the ranch and then I need to run an errand.”
“In the middle of the night? Where are you going?”
I think about lying to her. Just for a second. It would be easy to shrug her question off, to deflect or misdirect. Or just outright tell her a fake plan.
But Haven deserves to know what I’m thinking at the same moment that I’m thinking it. “I need to go back to New Harvest.”
“Nobody’s there at midnight.” Her eyes go wide. “You want to break into my uncle’s church?”
“I left something there. We’re just retrieving it. Middle of the night is the perfect time to get what we need without anyone interfering.”
“You didn’t leave anything there.”
“Says who?”
She stares at me. Then she gestures at her dress. “I can’t start my criminal career dressed like this.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“Oh, well if you’re cursing…”
“Cash, I’m not letting you do whatever your insane plan is without me. In fact, if you want something retrieved, it should be me who does it.”
“You aren’t going in there alone.”
“Then we’re in agreement. You’ll come with me.
” Before I can argue, she darts to her bedroom.
I follow, leaning against the doorway to watch as she changes into black leggings and an oversized black hoodie.
She also packs a bag with what she wants to take back to the ranch, and before we leave her apartment again, she hands me a knit black toque.
“You can’t wear your cowboy hat to do whatever we’re about to do. ”
“Smart.” I curve my hand around the back of her neck and hold her still. “I’m not going to put you at risk. I promise you. We’re just gonna go and take pictures of the register book at the front of the church.”
Her eyes flare in shock.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it when we were there. We walked right past a book that has exactly what we need—samples from everyone who might hate you for something you never did.”
I’m furious with her uncle all over again.
Fred Bingham has everybody’s fucking handwriting in a book.
He knew that we came to see him weeks ago.
He’s known all along that he could help me figure out whose handwriting was on that first note, and he didn’t care.
He doesn’t fucking care about his niece, and he’s to blame for this note tonight, one way or another.
So I don’t fucking care about him.
Haven, though…
I care about her so fucking much.
Which means doing this smart.
I kiss her hard on the mouth, then pat her ass. “Let’s go. You can tell me what you remember about the security system at the church on the way there.”
We park on an access road that runs behind the church, in the dark shadows of a cluster of trees.
The moon is cooperating by hiding behind clouds that have rolled in, so it’s pretty dark as we carefully approach the property limits.
Every door has video cameras, which is standard. What I grilled Haven on was window access. Which rooms have video cameras inside the church, and which windows she remembers being open, maybe to let in a summer breeze.
My clever girl immediately figured out the best plan of action.
“You sure your uncle’s office won’t have videos in it?”
“Completely certain. He would consider it a violation of a solemn space where he helps people commune with God. And he often keeps the current register on his desk, but even if the most recent one isn’t there, one of the complete ones might be good enough.”
“That’s the plan, then. I’m going to throw some shit, try to trigger any motion sensor lights, see if I can map a dead zone through which we can access his window.”
“And what if we can’t get it open?”
I’m not worried about that. I give her a grim nod. “We’ll get it open.”
It takes thirty minutes of pacing and tossing rocks and sticks, but I find a route for us to get right up against his office window without triggering a light.
I pull her against my chest for a tight hug as I give her the final instructions. “I’ll go first. Watch my steps, and follow exactly the same path. Keep your head down and your hood over your face.”
“Got it.” She pushes up on her toes and kisses me. “Good luck.”
I pull the toque down over my eyebrows and stare at my feet as I jog lightly through the dead zone, holding my breath the whole way.
No lights turn on.
Good.
Flattening myself against the side of the building, I watch Haven dart across.
“Thattagirl,” I say as she collides with my chest. “You’re a badass.”
“Tell me that after we get inside. Or better yet, once we’re gone.”
I scan the quiet parking lot and the road beyond, then pull on a pair of gloves and turn my attention to the window.
There’s a screen over the bottom pane. If I remove that, it’ll be a clear sign of tampering.
But it only goes up halfway, and it looks like the top pane has a track, which means it can slide down.
The handle to pull it down will be on the inside, and it might be locked, but that can be jimmied.
“I’m going to lift you up. Plant your hands on the window, picture yourself as Spiderman, and see if you can guide it down through sheer force of will.”
“You’re kidding,” she whispers. “That’s your plan?”
“Yeah. Up you go.” Before she can argue, I grab her by her hips and hoist her into the air.
She flattens her latex-glove covered hands against the window and pulls them down, the gloves squeaking against the glass. She moves, the window doesn’t.
“Spiderman,” I repeat. “Think…tension.”
“You’re crazy!” But she takes a deep breath and tries again. This time, the window shifts a little.
“Wait, that worked!” She sounds excited. Excited is good. But it only moves a tiny bit more before stopping. “Argh, never mind. It’s locked.”
“No, that’s good.” I set her down and kiss her forehead. “You shifted it enough to show me where the locking mechanism is.” I examine where the two window panes connect. “Wedge your fingers here and pull.”
“Pull…where?”
“Just pull. You’re creating a tiny bit of space so I can…” I tap my fist along the top pane, watching for where there’s the least bounce. Then I push, and the latch holding the two panes together audibly gives way. “There.”
“What was that?”
“A faulty window lock. Who knows how long that hasn’t been working?” I shrug and lift her up again. “Pull that window down and climb in.”
She scrambles over my shoulder and wedges herself through the window. Standing on the ledge on the inside, she gives me a panicked look. “How are you going to get in here?”
“Don’t worry about me, Lucky. Out of my way.” The church is built with substantial concrete blocks around the windows, which make for a decent ladder. I go up the side, then swing my leg over and follow her inside.
I turn on the flashlight on my phone. “Where would it be if it were in here?”
She wraps her hand around my wrist to guide the light. “His desk—”
A car pulls into the parking lot, a well-tuned engine purring smoothly. It doesn’t sound like Jeb’s shitty truck. Probably Fred’s Cadillac. Headlights sweep across the window, briefly illuminating the ceiling before cutting out.
We both freeze as I shove my phone back in my pocket.
“New plan,” I mutter. “Hide or run?”
“Is that my uncle?”
I move silently to the window and nod.
Haven scans the room, darts across to a shelf, and shoves something under her hoodie. “Run.”