It appeared that the Bodines had reached a tentative truce. It was good news for them, but I still had yet to get Scarlett alone to talk to her about that kiss. I had thought of little else, and the longer we went without talking about it, the stupider I felt bringing it up.

I watched her through the deck doors. It was another beautiful spring day. A Monday, and I had no place to be but staring out the door onto the deck where the afternoon sun was shining, the birds were singing, and a beautiful woman was swearing a blue streak at a particularly bad-tempered joist.

She wore those ass-hugging jeans and an old V-neck t-shirt. Her work boots were doll-sized and scarred from years of abuse. She wore her hair back in a high ponytail that made me want to wrap it around my fist. A new temptation.

“That’s my new sister you’re staring at there,” Jonah said wryly.

“Got a problem with it?” I asked.

Jonah smirked. “Don’t know yet. What are your intentions?”

I gave a dry laugh. That was the thing about Scarlett. She inspired instant and unshakable loyalty.

“I don’t know what my intentions are. I can’t get her alone to talk to her long enough to find out.”

“I’m torn by newfound family loyalty and roommate gratitude,” Jonah warned.

Scarlett hammered the wayward joist into submission with a triumphant shout and was working on positioning the new board on top of it when her phone rang. I watched her idly as Jonah prowled the kitchen. “You want eggs?” he asked.

We’d worked out a deal on splitting groceries and utilities. and like magic, food appeared in the fridge. An added bonus? Jonah could cook.

“Sure,” I said.

“You son of a bitch!” We both heard Scarlett growl into her phone. It was different than the litany of curse words she’d laid down on the timber.

Jonah left the eggs on the counter, and I started to open the door.

“If you don’t give me my shit back, I will burn down your life!”

Jonah and I exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, that’s real funny Wade,” Scarlett shouted. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna go find a nice tiny jar that I can store your little baby balls in. And when I find it, you better hide because I’m coming for you and your microscopic balls.”

The unlucky bastard on the other end of the call must have hung up on her because Scarlett held the phone in front of her face and gave a scream of rage. She wound up and hurled the phone off the deck into the yard.

Jonah whistled. “Nice arm.”

She reached for the nail gun and started to wind up again.

In a display of emergency teamwork, Jonah got the door open, and I nipped her around the waist before she was able to launch it into the yard. She fought like a wild animal in my arms. I outweighed her by a good hundred pounds and had a foot on her. It was almost comical… at least until the heel of her boot connected with my knee.

I pressed her against the siding of the house. “Scarlett,” I said calmly. “Breathe.”

She growled, and Jonah backed up a few paces.

“Breathe,” I ordered again.

She sucked in a seething breath.

“If I let you go, are you going to break anything else?”

“Just Wade Zirkel’s face.”

Good enough for me. I released her. “Who’s Wade Zirkel?”

She crossed her arms in front of her, temper snapping off of her like downed wires. “A big mistake I made a few weeks ago. He has some of my stuff and thinks he can hold it hostage until I ‘come to my senses’.”

I knew two things for sure. I hated Wade Zirkel, and I hoped I never, ever made Scarlett Bodine this mad.

“I’m takin’ my lunch,” Scarlett announced and stormed down the deck stairs.

It was two o’clock on a Monday, and she’d already eaten her sandwich with her toes in the water.

I looked at Jonah over my shoulder. “What would Bootleg do?”

* * *

Apparently, Bootleg would text Scarlett’s brothers. At the diner, with a tentative family truce in place, everyone had traded numbers. Today, Jonah called his first family meeting. Bowie was at school but demanded that he be conferenced in.

“Now what did she do?” Gibson demanded, slamming the door of his Dodge Charger in my driveway. Jameson climbed out the passenger side.

“Wade Zirkel,” I said, filling them in on the situation.

“I hate that fucking guy,” Jameson muttered.

“Guess he didn’t learn his lesson last time,” Gibson said. “Get the trash bags.”

“Awh, hell,” Bowie said from the screen of Jonah’s phone. “I’ll meet you guys there. But I can’t get blood on me. I’ve got a parent conference tonight.”

Gibson eyed me up and pointed. “Bring a change of clothes for Bow,” he said.

“What exactly are we doing?” I asked.

“Bootleg justice,” Jameson and Gibson said together.

The ride to Wade Zirkel’s apartment was relatively quiet. Jonah and I sat in the back, the roll of trash bags and a clean shirt and pants between us. I still wasn’t sure if the bags were for Scarlett’s possessions or Wade Zirkel’s body.

It occurred to me that this was probably something I shouldn’t be doing while laying low. But I didn’t like that some asshole thought he could treat Scarlett like this. And I really didn’t like the idea of him being anything to her.

Gibson pulled up to the curb in front of a duplex and revved the engine twice. A warning. I saw the blinds twitch on the first floor.

Bowie’s SUV pulled up behind us, and he got out in khakis and a button-down. He took his tie off and threw it through his open window.

“I can’t believe she gave this asshole the time of day again,” Jameson muttered.

“This is the last time,” Gibson promised. “Get the trash bags.”

I grabbed them out of the backseat and was relieved when I noted none of them were carrying weapons. “So what’s the plan?” I asked casually.

“We’re going to scare the shit out of this douchebag and get our sister’s stuff back,” Gibson said.

I nodded thoughtfully. “Uh-huh. Sure. And how are we going to do that?”

“Just follow our lead,” Bowie sighed, rolling up his sleeves.

Jonah and I exchanged a look, each of us wondering exactly what was going down and how much legal trouble we’d be in.

We climbed up onto the skinny concrete porch, and Gibson ignored the bell in favor of a heavy fist to the door.

The blinds twitched again.

“Might as well open the door, Wade,” Bowie called out.

We all heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding open. Wade Zirkel peered through the inch of door that he cracked open. He had a ball cap on and a polo shirt that was plastered over “I go to the gym seven days a week” muscles. He was the kind of fake-tanned, bleach-toothed, former quarterback who was still riding high on his high school fame. I hated him even more.

“Well, hey there, Bodines. What do I owe the pleas—”

Jameson shouldered his way through the door, shoving Wade back a few paces.

“You can’t just come in! That’s breaking and entering,” Wade squealed.

“Actually it’s only trespassing,” I pointed out.

“We’re not here for pleasantries,” Bowie announced. “We’re here for Scarlett’s stuff.”

“I can call the cops,” Wade announced, puffing out his impressive chest. The handsome bastard looked like a cross between Paul Walker and Vin Diesel from the car movies.

“Do you really want to do that?” I asked him. “The fines for trespassing are a lot lighter than harassment and larceny. Did you know you can face up to six months in prison for petty theft?” I asked him.

Wade blinked, his tan face going a shade of red.

“That’s right, Wade. We brought ourselves a lawyer,” Bowie said. “Now, are you gonna let us take Scarlett’s stuff, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

Wade bobbed his head under his red Zirkel Auto Sales hat. “Help yourselves,” he said meekly.

“Do we know what stuff she has here?” Bowie asked me in a whisper. I shrugged.

Gibson stalked up to Wade and stared the man down. He was a big guy, but the second Gibson Bodine invaded his personal space, he shrank into himself, shoulders stooping, gaze gluing to the floor.

“I want a sandwich,” Gibson announced.

Wade gulped audibly. “Okay.”

“Make me a sandwich, Zirkel.”

“S-s-sure. Roast beef or t-t-t-una?”

If Wade made it through this encounter without pissing his pants, I’d consider it a miracle.

“Come on,” Bowie said, leading the way down the hall and up the stairs. “Gibs will babysit him.” He handed out trash bags.

“You all take the bedroom. I’ll start in the bathroom.”

I had no idea what we were looking for. I found a pink hoodie on the floor of the closet and threw it in the bag along with a pair of leggings that I doubted belonged to Zirkel. I really hated the idea of Scarlett being here with this guy. He was an overgrown asshole with a pretty face who obviously didn’t know how to treat women.

Jonah tossed me a Bodine Home Services t-shirt and a pair of socks with hearts all over them.

Feeling irritable, I grabbed the stack of scratch-off lottery tickets off of the nightstand and added them to the bag.

“Find stuff?” Bowie asked, sticking his head out of the bathroom.

Jonah picked up a scrap of material off the shag carpeting. “What’s this?” It was black-and white-striped and stretchy.

“That’s Misty Lynn’s ‘get lucky’ tube top,” Bowie said, glowering at the shirt. He snatched it out of Jonah’s hand.

I briefly wondered what kind of alternate universe I’d landed in. Here, your neighbors knew what outfit you wore to get lucky. In Annapolis and D.C., you kept your secrets on lock down because, sooner or later, someone would use them against you.

“And we hate Misty Lynn?” Jonah guessed.

“She cheated on Gibson when Mom died,” Bowie said shortly. “And apparently Mr. Zirkel had no problem mixin’ it up with her and Scarlett.”

There was a tic beneath Bowie’s eye. “Take the shower curtain,” he growled at us before marching downstairs.

Jonah and I looked at each other and shrugged. I headed into the shoebox of a bathroom and yanked the shower curtain off its hooks.

“Why do y’all have Misty Lynn Prosser’s shirt on your bedroom floor on top of Scarlett’s stuff?” Bowie’s raised voice carried up the stairs.

“We should probably get down there,” Jonah suggested.

I wasn’t sure if he was worried about missing out on the action or being there to prevent any murders.

Wade was sputtering his excuses in the kitchen. And Gibson was glaring at the man like he’d like to beat him to death with his own arms.

“Did you cheat on our sister with Misty Lynn?” Bowie demanded.

“N-n-no. I swear! We were already broken up when—”

Gibson grabbed Wade by his shirtfront. “Just what kind of a dumbass are you? You trade in my sister on that Venus fly trap?”

The sandwich knife Wade had used to build Gibson a roast beef club with what looked like the last of his bread was safely lost in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I decided I didn’t want to be a witness to whatever happened next, so I headed into the living room, the shower curtain rustling in the bag against my leg.

I watched Jameson pop the batteries out of the TV remote and drop them into his bag. The remote, he tossed over his shoulder behind the couch. He took all of the throw pillows on the couch and stuffed them in the trash bag.

I looked around at the shabby room. More shag carpeting. Some framed movie posters hung in cheap plastic frames. A collection of expensive sneakers had a home on a shoe rack just inside the door. There was a single couch and a seventy-five-inch big screen TV mounted to the wall.

The whole place felt sad.

I tried to imagine Scarlett here curled up to watch one of the movies in the collection that Jameson was going through. Every third Blu-ray he’d open and dump the disc into his bag. He picked up another one and grunted.

He held up The Godfather in my direction.

“Keeper,” I agreed.

Jameson tucked it, case and all, into his bag.

I opened the coat closet and found a Bodine Home Services fleece and a purple parka. I stuffed them both into my bag.

“I swear that toaster oven ain’t Scarlett’s,” Wade said, trailing in on Gibson’s heels. Jonah and Bowie followed him.

Gibson spun on his heel, and Wade stopped in his tracks and Bowie and Jonah stepped in behind him. “But she’s welcome to it,” he gulped.

“You’re damn right she’s welcome to it,” Gibson snarled. “And anything else she wants because you’re a douchebag who never grew up. And if you ever go near Scarlett again, you’ll be missing more than some appliances. You get me?”

Wade, eyes wide enough to pop out of his sockets, nodded frantically. “I get you. I sure do. And I’m right sorry. I’ll tell her that if y’all—”

“I think it’s best if you never speak to her again,” Bowie said amicably. “Also, stay away from Misty Lynn for fuck’s sake. She’s bad news. And your dick’ll fall off.”

“I will,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbing.

We filed out, one by one. Jonah paused in Wade’s face in front of me. “Don’t fuck with Scarlett again,” he said, his voice low.

“She’s too good for you,” I said, piling on. “Don’t you forget that.”

We convened around Gibson’s Charger with our trash bags.

“Scarlett’s gonna be pissed,” Jameson said with a ghost of a smile.

Gibson looked at the leather-wrapped watch on his wrist. “I don’t know about you boys, but I sure could go for a nice, cold drink.”