DJ knew that Kowalski had been in and out of his place. Since Kowalski was his direct boss, it was his right. In a way it was Kowalski’s house, since he’d footed the start-up costs.

“He’s my cousin, ma’am. Family.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.” He waited for her to climb down from the step stool, then jolted when her words sank in. “Hold on a moment. What do you mean, when you ‘checked’?”

“I looked in your windows, silly boy. How else was I to check? I don’t have a key.”

And she never would. DJ managed a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s a relief to know I have good neighbors.”

“Who should have a key,” the old woman pushed.

“I’ll try to remember.” Over my dead body. Because if she did have a key, she’d snoop, she’d report, and his dead body would be all that was left of him when Kowalski found out.

He rounded the house, unlocking the front door with one of only two keys to exist.

“She’s a peach,” Kowalski said sarcastically from his seat in front of the television. Middle-aged, white, and nondescript, he’d been the gang’s local front man for quite some time. His appearance was wholly unremarkable, and he had a masterful ability to blend in to any crowd. “I don’t know how you’ve managed not to kill her.”

Schooling his expression against the surprise of finding Kowalski here—and why hadn’t Mrs. Ellis warned him about that?—DJ closed the door and twisted the dead bolts. “It’s a constant trial,” he said dryly. “Where’s your car?”

“Not your concern,” Kowalski said mildly.

DJ wanted to swear. Kowalski was exactly like Pastor—both wore a mask to hide any annoyance they might feel. The trouble was that the annoyance could become explosive rage in the blink of an eye without warning.

Kowalski was more dangerous than Pastor, though. Pastor didn’t have any other muscle now that Ephraim was dead. The old man had no one to take DJ out. Kowalski, however, carried a gun wherever he went. DJ thought the man even slept with it. And DJ knew full well that Kowalski would have no qualms about snuffing him out like a candle. There were plenty of other guys out there who’d jump at the opportunity to make the kind of cash Kowalski offered.

Like DJ’s predecessor, who now lived at the bottom of a lake outside Oroville. Dumping him there had been DJ’s first test of loyalty. The threat of joining the dead man was always present.

So DJ bit his tongue, stowing his irritation at seeing Kowalski sprawled on his sofa. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said instead. “I don’t have any food to offer you.”

Kowalski tipped the foot he rested on the coffee table, motioning to a pizza box. “I saved you a slice.”

Sitting in the chair adjacent to the sofa, DJ dumped his backpack and the guitar case on the floor and pulled the box to him. “Thanks, but I’ll need more than a slice. I’m starving.”