Brian had risked his livelihood—everything—in order to pull off the burglary. He was already dreading Monday and the playacting he would have to do. And now Rusty was asking him to take yet another risk.

They’d gotten away clean. Then that broody boy with the blue eyes had gotten himself arrested, and Rusty was convinced that he would betray them. Rusty wanted Brian to help him hide the money.

Brian wanted to throw up.

How had he gotten himself into this mess? After tonight, and for the rest of his life, he would be a criminal. Him. Dull, drab, blah Brian Foster. Nobody would believe it of him. His mother wouldn’t believe it of him. He didn’t believe it of himself.

Maybe this was a bizarre and elaborate nightmare from which he would soon wake up.

But Rusty had also said that they needed to set up Joe Maxwell as their fall guy.

Brian didn’t know Mr. Maxwell well. When he’d been fired from Welch’s, Brian had had the misfortune of having to give him his severance check. Taking his anger out on Brian, Joe had given him a tongue-lashing that had been heavy on expletives.

But a few days later, Mr. Maxwell had called to apologize for his outburst. “I’m sorry I created that scene. It wasn’t your fault I got canned.”

Coworkers had enlightened Brian to Mr. Maxwell’s lamentable history, being left a widower, losing his business. Given the circumstances, Brian had thought the apology was most decent of the man.

While Brian was thinking back on that phone call, and the moral fiber Joe Maxwell had exhibited by making it, Rusty had been enumerating all the traits that made the older man the perfect scapegoat.

Rusty called him a loser who had nothing going for him. The more Rusty talked, Brian gradually came to realize that Rusty was also characterizing Ledge Burnet, who’d already served a stint in juvenile detention. He was bound for jail for the second time, and he hadn’t even graduated high school yet. With even more clarity, Brian realized that he could fill in his own name each time Rusty made a disparaging comment about the down-and-out Mr. Maxwell.

That’s when it dawned on him that they all three would make ideal patsies for Rusty Dyle, whose immunity was practically guaranteed because his father was not only a high-ranking public official, he was also the most corrupt.

Rusty ended his speech by saying, “So let’s meet there, okay?”

Brian was dumbstruck by a disturbing realization: He was the last person anybody with half a brain would choose as an accomplice to shoplift a pack of chewing gum, much less to pull a grand heist like this.

Beyond gaining entrance into the store and opening the safe, what purpose did he serve? His mother would say, “That of chump, stupid.”

Rusty shouted in his ear. “Brian!”

He’d been dumbstruck by the revelation and had to swallow several times before acknowledging Rusty.

“What the hell? I thought we’d gotten disconnected.”

“No, I’m here,” Brian said huskily.

“What do you think?”

He swallowed again. “I think it’s really unfair to Mr. Maxwell. He—”

“Okay, okay, never mind about that now. We’ll cross that bridge only if and when we need to. Top priority now is to hide this money. Remember where we knocked back that first six-pack of Coors? I’ll meet you there in half an hour. Lots of places along that channel to stash it. See you there.” Then he was gone.

Brian used three of his allotted thirty minutes just sitting there, staring at his phone.

Finally he moved, but only his thumb, to scroll through his call log. It didn’t amount to more than a dozen calls, mostly to the pizza place that delivered. But among the calls was the one Joe Maxwell had placed to him a few weeks earlier.

He took a deep breath and tapped on it.

Mr. Maxwell must have seen that it was Brian calling, because he answered in a hushed, but surprised, voice. “Foster?”

“Yes, it’s me. We need to talk, Mr. Maxwell. Like right now.”

Chapter 18

Ledge carried Arden’s empty plate to the sink and returned the sandwich makings to the fridge. “Want anything else?”

“No thank you. Were you convicted of the drug charge?”

He went back to the table and sat down. “The subject was your dad.”

“It was. I told you all I know. I want to hear what happened after your arrest.”

“The case never went to trial. My lawyer negotiated a plea deal for me. Misdemeanor possession instead of a felony charge. He argued that the deputies had stopped me without probable cause. Which was true.

“It galled me to admit to doing something I hadn’t done, but they had the evidence, so I took the deal. I was resigned to spending at least a few months in county. But when it came time for sentencing, the judge called me, my attorney, and my uncle into his chambers. He offered me an alternative.”

“The army?”

“Good guess. The judge was a Vietnam veteran, very pro military, a hawk. He told my uncle that boot camp and a tough drill sergeant would have me whipped into shape in no time. It was quite a recruitment spiel, and Uncle Henry recognized the advantages. But he bargained for the charges to be dismissed.”

She sat back in her chair and shook her head with dismay. “You must have been so relieved.”

“Relieved, yeah, but I wasn’t let off the hook. Both my uncle and the judge put the fear of God in me. They warned me that if I didn’t apply myself, there would be hell to pay.”

Laughing quietly, she said, “I can’t believe it.”

“At the time, it was hard for me to take in, too. Everything happened fast. I was a couple of months shy of graduating high school, but passed all the exams and got my diploma. Next day, I was sent to basic training.”

“Applied yourself and returned twelve years later a hero.”

He shook his head and, speaking low, said, “Don’t mistake me for a hero.”

“People say you are.”

“Those who say that don’t know.”

Frowning with concentration, she said, “Well, I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.”

He wanted to ask her in what way he was unique, but was afraid of how she would answer. He broke her thoughtful stare to glance down at his watch. “It’s late.” He stood up. “I’ll lead you home.”