Chapter 12

The Camaro roared forward with us inside. I whirled in my seat and saw the truck's headlights fade into the distance.

I whirled back to the painter and said, "You stole this? That's what you're saying?"

He was still watching the road. "Did I say that?"'

"No."

"Well, there you go."

I stared at him. "That's no kind of answer."

He gave me a sideways glance. "Relax. I didn't steal it."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "You didn't?"

He returned his attention to the road. "Not exactly."

Not exactly? What on Earth did that mean? "So whose car is it?" I said. "Do you even know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Well?" I demanded.

"Well what?"

"Whose car is it?"

"My brother's."

"Oh." Actually, that made a weird kind of sense. "So you borrowed it?"

He was silent for a long moment before saying, "I dunno."

"How can you not know? You either borrowed it, or you didn't."

As an answer, he only shrugged.

I made a sound of frustration. "But you are planning to return it, right?"

He gave it some thought. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" I glanced around. "Is there anything else I should know?" I gave a nervous laugh. "I mean, you don't have a bunch of guns in the trunk or anything, do you?"

At this, he hesitated.

Oh, no. I felt myself swallow. "Do you?"

He gave me a sideways glance, but said nothing.

I groaned. "Oh, my God. You do, don't you?"

After a painfully long moment, he said, "I wouldn't call it a bunch."

I sank back in my seat. Just shoot me now. No. Wait. Not literally. He did, after all, have guns readily available. I turned back to him and said, "How many would you call it?"

He gave it some thought. "A few."

"A few?" I croaked. "As in more than one? How many is a few?"

"Hard to say. I didn't count."

Hoping for the best, I said, "But they're not yours? I mean, they probably belong to the car's owner." I paused. "They do, right?"

I held my breath and waited for his response. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

He gave me another sideways glance. "No."

I cringed. Damn it.

He said, "They belong to my other brother."

I was staring again. "How many brothers do you have?"

His voice hardened. "Too many."

I shoved a nervous hand through my hair. Desperately, I tried to look on the bright side. The whole stolen-car-with-guns-in-the-trunk thing had completely taken my mind off the missing seatbelt.

I closed my eyes and tried to envision a glass half full. It was a total waste. I didn’t even see the glass. Instead, I saw the painter getting dragged off to jail, with me calling out after him, "Thanks for the ride, Painter Guy!"

Right on the heels of this thought came another. What if I was arrested with him?

The guy's voice, sounding vaguely amused, broke through my thoughts. "Don't worry. They're legal. Collector's items mostly."

Obviously, he meant the guns. I asked, "But why do you have them?"

He shrugged. "Because I took them."

"Why?"

"Because he had it coming." The painter gave me a sideways glance. "It's complicated."

Oh, I had no doubt of that. I glanced around. Maybe I should've gone for the ditch. Or Chester.

Heaven help me.

As if reading my mind, the painter said, "You don't need to worry. It's fine."

I gave a bark of laughter. "You mean except for the fact that we're surrounded by stolen goods?"

He hesitated. "Yeah. Except for that."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, that's a relief."

"Trust me," he said. "It's not a big deal."

"Maybe not to you."

Oh sure, he could look calm and collected. As for me, I was a mess.

I had no idea what was going on. But I did know we were both too pretty for prison. Yes, I realized that I wasn't quite as pretty as he was, but I was definitely a whole lot wimpier.

From the driver's seat, he said, "Relax. I'll have you home in five minutes."

But I couldn't relax. My mind was still churning. I'd need a girlfriend. A tough girlfriend. But I didn't want to be anyone's prison bitch. For one thing, I liked guys.

I was still panicking when his words finally sunk in. Home – he was planning to take me to my house.

Oh, crap. I hadn't mentioned it, but I'd been planning to have him drop me off not at my house, but instead, five miles further, at T.J.'s., where everyone was waiting.

But there was no way on Earth I could ask him that now. The added distance aside, T.J.'s was located in the center of town, right next to the city's only police station.

I tried to think. What now? Assuming I made it home safely – thus, avoiding a life of shower-shanking and muff-licking, how was I supposed to get to the party?

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t blow it off. People were waiting. And they'd been waiting far too long already.

Feeling incredibly overwhelmed, I sank down in my seat.

I was the worst birthday girl, ever.

As we sped through the darkness, I kept reminding myself that things could always get worse, which oddly enough they did, just a few minutes later, when we pulled into the long driveway that led to my house.

As it turned out, I was being robbed.

By my least-favorite relatives.

Again.