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TUESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 10:05 P.M.
JACE DIDN’T WANT to know what Corey was doing with the two blindfolded strangers. It couldn’t be anything good. He’d killed Dewey in cold blood, like it was nothing.
And then he’d laughed.
Corey also hadn’t blindfolded Jace on the way back from the Cardozos’ house. When he and Rick were first brought here, they’d been asleep. Drugged. But this time Corey hadn’t tried to hide their location. Because he doesn’t ever plan to let me leave.
I need to get out of here. But the only door was locked.
The bedroom window was in full view of Corey’s quarters, so Jace could be seen if he tried to crawl through it. The living room window faced the back of the property, but it was too small. He’d already tried. He’d need another few inches of space to wiggle out.
He’d searched the other rooms for a way out, but no dice. He had found something in his search, though—a lot of glass bottles that looked like the ones used in Breaking Bad. The stovetop was charred black, the countertops bubbled up in places.
Which would explain the smell. Aaron had been making meth here. Jace hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it was true. Aaron had not only killed that doctor, but he was a drug dealer, too.
But he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to get out of here before Corey shot him in the head and fed him to the gators. Think, Jace. Think.
Then he had an idea. If he could pull the window out of the frame, he could get the added space he needed to wiggle through.
Aaron, please have something I can use. On his hands and knees, Jace searched Aaron’s bedroom closet, feeling for anything sharp and strong.
Then froze when his fingers touched cool metal. Slowly he pulled the object free and stared. It was an AR-15. And it was loaded.
Corey had taken Jace to the shooting range when he was younger. He still remembered the basics. He didn’t want to use a gun, but he would if it meant getting away.
He set the rifle aside, his heart now beating a mile a minute. Stay calm. Stay focused. He wasn’t going to be able to shoot his way out. Corey, Ed, and Bobby all had guns.
What was this camp, anyway? Was Corey a drug dealer, too? Was Dewey?
Stop. Pay attention. Search for tools.
He touched another metal... something. A box. It was little rusty because it was wet out here in the bayou, but it was just a box, about four inches tall and a foot wide. He lifted the lid and gaped.
Money. Stacks of money. There had to be hundreds—no, thousands—of dollars.
Oh my God. Aaron was a drug dealer. Aaron, why?
Then he remembered the night he had seen Dianne at her kitchen table, crying about the medical bills. Liam had just been diagnosed and they didn’t have good enough insurance to pay for his experimental treatment. Aaron had left his job at the fancy financial firm in New Orleans to start his own business, but he’d left his good insurance behind, too.
Aaron must have sold drugs to pay for Liam’s bills. But that didn’t make it right.
Nor would the money help Jace get away. Focus. You have to get away.
There was nothing else in the hiding space, so he put the money box and the rifle on the bed, then sat beside them.
He looked up, feeling defeated, then blinked.
Oh. There was a toolbox on the top shelf of the closet. Okay, then.
The toolbox had a hammer, a screwdriver, and a chisel that he could use. He’d taken out windows before while helping Corey demo a house they’d been hired to renovate.
It was easier than he thought. He lifted the windows from their tracks and laid them on the floor. Then he took the hammer and pried the metal frame from the window.
It felt like it had taken hours, but it was probably less than thirty minutes before he had a completely open window. Now, to get out of here.
He took the rifle, grabbed one of Aaron’s dark jackets that he’d seen hanging in the closet, then considered the money box. He’d need some money, but... It was drug money.
Don’t think about that right now. Just take some.
