“Nah. You’d be too worried about Clara getting in it. Move your ass. We’ve got places to go.” He motioned to a box of cookies. “I’m taking these. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

Winters took two stairs at a time to his weapons stash, unlocked the safe, and selected a handgun and rifle. As he headed back down, his mom cleared her throat. Twice.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of the house.”

He grumbled. “I’m not.”

“That’s precisely my reasoning. You need to see different walls. You’re a mess.”

“Thanks, Mom. Exactly what I needed to hear.”

He slammed the new door behind him hard and heard it shake. He was definitely the leading candidate for worst son of the year. Also, biggest asshole of the year. What other awards would he rack up? Prick, dick, jerk? He could go on and on.

Winters got in, and Cash switched radio stations, stopping on the Eagles singing Desperado directly to his sorry ass. He didn’t want to be in this truck, going God knows where. Even the radio mocked him. Cash burned past the speed limit, looking excited.

“Want to tell me where we’re headed?” Winters stared at the unfamiliar road.

“You needed to get out of the house, so what’s it to you? We’ll be there in a minute. Man, your panties are in a twist.”

“Get off my back, Cash.”

Several songs later, they turned onto an unfamiliar two-lane road that curved and angled. Cash drove the odd turns like he did so every day.

“We almost there?”

“Yup.”

“And there is?”

“My secret getaway. Where all your problems will be forgotten.”

They slid into a small dirt parking strip and splashed through mud. A nondescript sign read GUNS. The words dangled under a rusted, larger-than-life bison replica complete with a snarling face and a charging hoof pulled high. A few pickup trucks lined the lot in front of a one-level, brick building with bars on the windows.

“Your secret escape is a gun range? I could’ve shown you a half-dozen thirty minutes closer.”

“Patience, buddy.”

Cash jumped out and shut his door. Winters pressed his head against the headrest. What the hell? Pounding out a few rounds might help. He followed Cash with far less enthusiasm than his buddy. A security camera traced their path to the door. Cash rang a doorbell and, seconds later, a buzz preempted the door popping open.

They entered a small room. It was dimly lit and glass cases lined the walls. Handguns and throwing knives hung on the dark-paneled wall. An empty desk sat in the corner next to a shady hallway. It was dingy and hadn’t shown any of the promise Cash raved over. Winters trailed a finger over the smooth countertop, peering down at a compact Beretta 9mm.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite of all my favorites. Hi ya, Cash. You come down here to play with your toys or mine?”