One False Move

CHAPTER 11

2:30 p.m.

Melanie shoved the overstuffed laundry basket into the closet. She'd get to it tomorrow when things returned to normal. Though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew, she just knew that after today, things would never be normal again. It was only a feeling, the kind of feeling that gnaws at your gut. Something about this job of Jared's didn't feel right. Maybe she was simply disappointed that Jared and Charlie had been pla

She loaded her own backpack with a change of clothes and some other necessities. She stopped at the mirror, tucking a strand of hair up under the baseball cap. It had been an effort to contain her thick, shoulder-length hair, first making a ponytail and then stacking it on top of her head. If she had had more warning she would have had it cut. More warning-how much trouble would that have been? There it was again, her anger. Wow! When had she decided it was anger instead of disappointment?

Melanie turned away from the mirror and added a couple of granola bars to the backpack. Jared promised they'd be home before nightfall, and he would say the backpack wasn't necessary. He was probably right. Maybe, like Charlie, she needed her own security blanket this time.

She heard a car pull in to the driveway and glanced at her wristwatch. Right on time. But when she looked out the window, she didn't recognize the dark blue sedan. She did, however, recognize the car's emblem. Another fucking Saturn. What was it with that boy and Saturns?

She opened the front door, holding it for Charlie while she stood on the porch sca

Charlie's usual T-shirt and baggy jeans had been replaced by dark coveralls, the zip-up kind with long sleeves. The coveralls looked out of place in the ninety-degree heat. What looked odder was his bright white high-top Nikes peeking out from under the pant cuffs. That boy took better care of his shoes than his hygiene, which didn't matter much today. He'd be a sweaty mess within a few hours of wearing those coveralls. He had a red bandana tied around his neck, the knot loose and hanging into the collar of the coveralls. Melanie wanted to laugh. Jesus! They weren't seriously thinking of pulling the kerchiefs around their faces like some Wild West bank robbers, were they?

Already she could see lines of sweat ru

He walked up the sidewalk with his usual easy stroll, whistling. It wasn't until he was on the porch that she recognized the tune from "Green Acres," the old TV show. The boy could be a walking commercial for "Nick at Nite" programming.

She waited until he was inside the house, the door closed behind them before she said, "That's your idea of a getaway car?"

"What? It's a 2004. Has less than five thousand miles on it. And the windows are tinted. Ain't nobody go

She had to admit it looked brand new. Probably taken from another dealers' lot, although it didn't have dealer plates. She didn't need to ask. She knew he had already taken care of them, switching the stolen car's license plates with a pair he would have taken from the airport's long-term parking or from one of the apartment complexes in West Omaha. Someplace where the switch wouldn't be noticed for a few days, maybe even weeks. How many people would recognize their license plates were different? The boy was good. Fast. Efficient. But predictable. She tried to drill into his thick skull that it was the common, small mistakes that usually tripped up the best of the best. A speeding ticket, an unpaid tax bill or one too many stolen Saturns.

"Where's Jared?" she asked. "I thought you were picking him up."

"He had an errand. We'll pick him up on our way. You're supposed to be wearing your coveralls." Charlie had his hands on his hips, assessing her blue jeans and T-shirt.

"It's too fucking hot for coveralls. Besides, I'm go

He didn't look convinced. She pulled the baseball cap down over her forehead and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. "This is all the disguise I'm agreeing to."

"Okay," he said, giving in too easily. "Do we have anything good to eat that I can take with me?" And he headed to the kitchen, not waiting for an answer. He opened the fridge, pulling out the makings for a sandwich.

"Jesus, Charlie! We're on our way to rob a bank and you're packing a picnic?"

"Just a sandwich." He swiped gobs of Miracle Whip on the bread and began building a pile of deli meat and cheese, layering one after another. "Unless you got some chips, too?" He looked up at her and gri