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were going to see from this job, she’d stow the whining.
    “It’s the little Mexican one, she’s the worst,” Chastity said, walking behind him. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could tell she was shaking her head. “I can hear her up there, whining and talking away in her Spanish.”
    “Maybe, if you went up there—”
    “I’m not going up there,” she screeched. It reminded him of the owl he’d once found in the barn. It had taken him weeks to get rid of the thing.
    They got to the patio doors at the same time, but Chastity stopped and just looked at the closed doors, her arms crossed. He knew she was waiting for him to pull the door open for her. Sometimes, George wondered how she got along when he wasn’t around.
    He pulled the door aside and followed her into the dining room, which took up the back corner of the house. Sunlight slanted into the windows that lined the back wall of the kitchen and dining room, windows that looked out into the backyard.
    To his right was the kitchen; every flat surface was covered with dishes or empty pizza boxes or other takeout trash. She didn’t like to cook, and he couldn’t make much except Mac and cheese.
    She smiled and walked over to him with that bounce in her step that drew men’s eyes wherever she went. “What about the plan?” she asked. The boss had been by earlier to talk to George.
    “He gave me a cell phone,” George said, patting his pocket proudly. “And he wrote down when I’m supposed to call and what I’m supposed to say. Then I’m to ‘take the phone and break it and throw it in the river,’” he said slowly, repeating what he’d been told. He wanted to make sure he got the words right.
    Chastity nodded.
    “Good,” she said. “We need to get this show going.”
    George looked up at the ceiling. He could hear someone crying upstairs.
    “I’d better go up and check on them,” he said.
    Chastity nodded and went back out, carrying her cigarettes and lighter. George walked through the kitchen and then down the hall, passing other rooms—a large dining room, bathroom, the living room/parlor—and into the big foyer by the front door. He turned and started up the staircase.
    The girls were in different rooms. There was no real need to keep them quiet, out here so far from town. But the boss had said not to put them together, so George had got them set up in two of the four upstairs bedrooms, on opposite sides of the hallway. As he climbed the stairs, he could hear them both crying.
    George didn’t like it, but he wasn’t in charge. The boss was, and George did what he was told. There was a big payday coming, maybe even enough money for him and Chastity to finally head west. George wanted to see the ocean, the mountains, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Mostly, he just wanted to get into a car—even that old Corolla—and start driving. All he wanted was for him and Chastity to see the ocean, walk in the surf, get away from Ohio.
    The boss had him and Chastity under his thumb, but this job was supposed to put things even. Once the pay came in, the boss had said that George and Chastity were free to leave. The boss was working with someone else, a guy George had never met, and this other guy was calling the shots on the schedule and the ransom. Between the mystery guy and George’s boss, they had a whole plan all worked out.
    George and Chastity were watching the girls. That was their job, their part of the plan. But Chastity wouldn’t have anything to do with the girls, except complain about them. Sometimes, she made the meals, but she wouldn’t deliver them or talk to the girls. She sometimes helped let the girls out of their restraints to use the bathroom, but only at night and only after turning out all the lights. George thought Chastity didn’t want the girls to be able to identify her.
    So it fell to George to care for the girls, keep them fed, and relatively happy, until the situation was over. Then Chastity and him, they’d be