CHAPTER NINE

"Why are we leaving?" pouted Cara as she watched Craig tossing items into his designer luggage. He'd paid a fortune for it, just for their trip. "I thought we were going out to the lake house and then leave for the islands in a few days."

"Fuck the lake house! Didn't you hear me? Thurston skipped town with the money. All I have is what's in our accounts, and those guys that came earlier today are going to rake me over the coals. You should be fucking grateful that Mark had nothing!"

"It wasn't that he had nothing. He was just smart about where he put it. I couldn't touch it," she frowned.

"Pack faster," he snapped.

"Stop yelling at me! This isn't my fault. You promised that if I left Mark, we would have smooth sailing to do whatever we wanted."

"Well, guess what?" he snarled, gripping her upper arm. "We won't. You're going to have to go back to work until I get my business off the ground in whatever city we land in."

"I don't want to go back to work. You promised!" she said, stomping her foot.

Craig came at her so fast she didn't have time to evade the backhand she saw coming. He hit her so hard she stumbled backwards, tripping over the suitcase on the floor. Stumbling backwards, he just watched as she screamed, staring at him. When her head hit the corner of the nightstand, he watched as the blood amassed on the floor beneath her.

"I guess that solves one problem," he frowned. His phone rang, and he recognized the number. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Leave whatever you're doing and get to me. I'll text you the address," said Thurston.

"I've got a clean-up on aisle five," he frowned. "Cara won't be coming with me."

"She was a pain in the ass anyway. Just leave the bitch and get to me. We can make this work somewhere else. They love this shit in Asia. I've got a couple of fake passports and enough money for plane tickets. Plus, we can live like kings on almost nothing."

"I'm on my way."

Grabbing his Louis Vuitton duffel bag and rolling bag, he looked back at Cara. She was a good lay, always willing to suck and swallow when he wanted her to, but she was a whiney bitch. Thurston was right. They could do better.

Hearing a car door slam, he peeked out the window, seeing the two massive men who'd come earlier.

"Shit," he muttered. Racing downstairs, he left through the garage at the back of the house and took off down the alley. If he could get to Thurston, they'd be home-free.

"You think they're still here?" asked Jean.

His brother pounded on the door several times, then looked through the glass of the front door. When no one answered, he gripped the doorknob and twisted as hard as he could, breaking the lock.

"I guess not," smirked Miller.

"You know this is breaking and entering," smiled Jean.

"Yep."

"Okay, cool. Just wanted to be sure we were on the same page. I'll take the office, see if there's anything that belongs to Nelly."

"I'll look in the closets and drawers downstairs first."

For the next hour, they gathered as much as they could in a box. Some they would use for their investigation, and some they would take to Nelly. Standing at the dining room table, Miller had a number of papers spread out, staring at them when Jean walked up.

"Ready to hit the upstairs?" The floors creaked beneath his weight and Miller smiled.

"Man, I love these old houses with the original floors. That creaking is like comfort to me. The big house creaks no matter where you move, and that just feels like home for me."

"I know what you mean…" Jean stopped mid-sentence, looking at the two crimson drops on the papers. Both men looked up as another drop fell. Drawing their weapons, they slowly crept up the creaky stairs, shaking their heads. If someone was still here, they would know they were coming.

Standing at the entrance of the master bedroom, they both knew that the woman was dead. Jean straddled the body, leaning forward to feel for a pulse to be certain. He turned to his brother and shook his head.

"Call the police. We've got to come up with something good of how we got in here." Miller looked around the rooms, then at Jean.

"Cameras. He's got cameras everywhere. Code? Get the feed on these cameras ASAP and then shut ‘em down."

"I'm here, sir," said Hayes. " Mr. Code thought I should work on other things for a while. The other stuff was making me kind of sick."

"I know, buddy. If you can help us with this, that would be great," said Jean compassionately.

" Yes, sir. Doing it now."

By the time the police arrived, the feeds from the cameras were downloaded, and the entire cache and history were cleared. Everyone would believe that they were dummy cameras.

With blood on the corner of the nightstand, it would appear an accident. At least, that's what the detective was trying to make everyone believe. Until Jean spoke up.

"That's great," he frowned, "but how do you explain the mark across her cheek? I'm not a professional, mind you, but it looks like she was hit and then fell."

The detective stared at the two men, then looked down at the body again.

"Right. Of course. I mean, I saw that, I just didn't get to writing it all down yet. I mean, it could have happened a few days ago, or maybe she accidentally did it earlier in the day." Jean frowned at the man, giving him the look that said, ‘you're a fucking idiot.'

"Right, I had that in my notes. I just didn't mention it yet." He walked off, scribbling something on his tablet as the coroner hauled the body away. Miller slapped his brother on the back.

"Let's go. We've got movies to watch."