Page 32 of Too Old for Love

“You don’t have to be a bitch to me. We’re both going to hang if he said something to those damn women.”

“What if it was the drug that killed him?” said Abigail. “It will come back to us eventually.”

They had started with one tablet, crushed beneath a spoon in the club’s cramped employee bathroom. One had become two when the first dose failed to produce the reaction their investor wanted. They’d photographed everything so that the investors could see what they’d done.

When Colt refused to take the pills, Jordan happily stepped forward. The women already knew he didn’t need them but the photos would be excellent evidence of the drugs usefulness. Old men would be clawing to have a dick that looked like his, although that would be impossible.

Samantha caught Abigail’s wrist. Their bracelets tapped together.

“Keep your voice down.”

Abigail pulled free.

“That’s your answer to everything. Keep quiet. Smile. Act normal. Well, normal left the building a long time ago, Samantha. We’ve crossed every damn line there is. And who were those women? The manager said they paid ten-grand in cash to have him tonight.”

“I have no clue who they were and you already asked that. It doesn’t matter,” Samantha said. “And neither does Jordan or Colt. They’re dead. Both of them. And let’s not forget that you were a very integral part of that.” She watched Abigail’s face, the evil smile crossing her lips.

“It’s not my fault he got talkative one night and told me what his evil stepmother did to him. All I had to do was pull out the toys and he started crying like a fucking baby.”

“Yes, he cried like a baby but he didn’t tell us anything about Everest.”

Abigail did not say anything. She stared at Samantha, nibbling on her lower lip.

“We need to find her. That paper wasn’t in her home, which means she has it. She may not understand it but she’s not stupid. She’ll take it to the police or someone who does understand it.”

“We don’t know that!” she said slamming her hand on the table. The eyes of the other bar patrons turned, staring at the two women who were terribly overdressed for this dive bar.

“I thought you had it. Are you sure you didn’t misplace it,” Abigail said.

“You handed it to me after we poured the drinks.” Samantha leaned closer. “What happened to it after that?”

“Nothing happened.” Abigail’s eyes shifted. “I mean, I went back to the dressing room for one minute, maybe two, just to tell Jordan I wanted him in the office early for some extra work.”

“And you left it where?” sneered Samantha.

“In my bag.” Abigail’s voice cracked. “When I came back, the zipper was open.”

Their third party had called the arrangement an investment, never a partnership. The money had arrived in neat transfers, always followed by instructions. Now Samantha wondered whether the instructions had been leading here all along.

“We pack tonight,” Abigail said. “Two bags. Cash only. We drive until the plates mean nothing to anyone.”

“And what about our husbands? Don’t you think they’ll report us missing eventually?” asked Samantha.

“We tell them we have to go on a business trip. Make it two, maybe three weeks. They won’t suspect a thing.”

Samantha nodded toward the dark window.

“And if that car across the street has been there since we arrived, we won’t make it to the highway.”

Abigail turned her head a fraction.

“Black SUV?”

“Don’t look.” Samantha covered Abigail’s hand. Their wedding bands clicked together again. “Just listen to me.”

“I am listening.” Abigail’s fingers trembled beneath hers. “I’m listening to you tell me we’re trapped.”

“I’m telling you we choose where to be afraid.” Samantha glanced toward the bar mirror. A man in a gray t-shirt had entered without removing his ballcap. He scanned the booths, took a stool, and did not order.