Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,50

annoyed him that August had that ability to fend off cops, he understood using whatever advantages a man possessed in order to get the job done without getting arrested or shot.

“Anyway,” August went on. “The third day, the mark finally comes up, and he says he can’t believe he’s run into another believer. I said we should sit down and have coffee, which…” He groaned and probably rolled his eyes. “God, I should’ve just shot him then and there. We sat in that coffee shop for three of the longest hours of my life—and I’ve been kidnapped before—talking about what sounded like the plot of a bad Nicolas Cage movie. I was so glad when that job was done.”

“You did kind of set yourself up for that, though.”

August huffed. “Rude.”

Ricardo just chuckled and kept driving.

Heidi didn’t protest when the guys informed her they were moving safehouses. She helped move groceries, a bag of burner phones, a selection of weapons, and some clothes into the stolen car, and within forty-five minutes, they were on the road.

“So do I even want to know where this new safehouse is?” Heidi asked.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d—”

“August,” Ricardo grumbled.

August made an indignant noise. “Fine. It’s about ten miles out of town in the last place anyone would go looking for my ass.”

“I’m pretty sure my safehouse is the last place anyone would go looking for you,” Heidi said.

“Hmm, good point. Anyway, you’ll see when we get there.”

The last place anyone would go looking for August turned out to be a rundown house with DANGER and NO TRESPASSING signs all over its boarded-up windows. The garage was accessed via an alley that ran behind the house and a row of aging but clearly occupied homes.

As they carried things up to the back door, Heidi squinted at an official-looking notice nailed beside the window. “Is this… Is this a meth lab?”

“Officially, yes.” August didn’t sound the least bit concerned as he unlocked the door and strode inside.

“Uh.” Ricardo glanced at Heidi, whose expression echoed his own worries. Cautiously, he followed August into a kitchen that had been gutted of appliances and may have even experienced a fire at some point. The telltale cat piss smell said this definitely was—or at least had been—a meth lab. “August. We’re not staying here.”

“Oh, get a grip. Come on.” August kept going past the kitchen, unlocked another door, and started down a set of stairs.

“Is it too late to bail?” Heidi asked under her breath.

Ricardo seriously considered it, but then sighed. “It is as long as he’s got information I need. Once I get that out of him, we’re gone.”

They exchanged nods and followed August into the basement.

And to Ricardo’s surprise, this level was nothing like the upper floor. The sprawling basement seemed too big for not just the house, but the lot, and in addition to plenty of furniture, there was a corner kitchen with sleek, stainless steel appliances and even a granite countertop. The ventilation was better too, and the place didn’t smell bad at all.

August turned a smug look on both of them. “How about now? Now will you stay?”

“Uh.” Ricardo looked around. “But the meth lab…”

“That’s just to keep people out.” August waved a hand. “As far as the city is concerned, this place is condemned and needs to be decontaminated, and even the tweakers and homeless people don’t want anything to do with a meth lab. So, everyone stays out, and no one in their right mind thinks they’ll find me here.”

“Why does this basement seem so huge, though?” Heidi asked. “The house isn’t even this big.”

“No, it’s not. That was why I bought it. Bought the place next door too, and had an underground walkway built between them so I can slip out if someone shady shows up.” His smug face fell, and he bit his lip. “There is one teeny tiny problem, though.”

Heidi and Ricardo glanced at each other again, then faced him.

Looking a little sheepish—and yet somehow not—August grimaced. “It’s a little short on sleeping accommodations.”

Ricardo groaned. “Define ‘a little short.’”

“Um. Well.” August cleared his throat. “There’s the sofa.” He gestured at it as if Heidi or Ricardo might have missed the piece of furniture beside them. “And there’s a bedroom. There’s… one bedroom.”

“Please tell me it has two twin beds in it,” Ricardo said.

“No. Just one… Well, it’s not really a queen, but we can make do. Right?”

“We?” Ricardo’s eyebrows shot up. “As in”—he gestured at himself and August—“you and me?”

“Well,