With his free hand, he jammed his palm against the man’s chin, heard his teeth click together when his head snapped back. The grip on his right arm loosened and Mickey kicked out, slamming his heel against the guy’s kneecap. With a scream, his attacker went down and Mickey was free. He scrambled backward, trying desperately not to fall. If he could make it to the back door—
“I’m going to kill you! If you go to your grandparents, I’ll kill them! And your dojo sensei and your little buddy down the street. If you go to the cops, I’ll kill them all!”
Mickey made it to the back door and bolted out onto the deck. He’d launched himself over the railing, then scrambled over the chain-link fence, managing to disappear before the killer made it to the door.
Mickey had run until he couldn’t run anymore. He now found himself in a small homeless community that had set up in the woods behind a large superstore. Tents surrounded an open fire that people used to cook whatever food they managed to find. Some had scooters or a motorcycle. No one had a car. All of these things he noticed absently while his mind spun and his heart raced out of control.
Oh God, what do I do? Please help me.
He brushed away the tears that wouldn’t stop. His family was gone. Dead. All of them. With the killer’s words echoing in his ears, he knew he couldn’t call his grandparents or the cops. That guy would know. He might even be watching to see if Mickey showed up. How had he known all that stuff anyway?
He must have been watching. Studying them. And had struck at a time when his family was home. When Mickey was supposed to be there. His overnighter with his friend had been a last-minute decision. If he’d stayed home, he had no doubt he’d have been dead on that sofa as well. And maybe that would be better than living. His heart cramped and more tears flowed, despite his brain ordering him to stop crying. He needed to think. To figure out what to do.
He shuddered and drew in a breath, just now noticing the odors wafting around him. Body odor, unwashed blankets—and food cooking. Flies buzzed around him and he waved a hand at them. No one else seemed to notice them.
A little boy no older than Brian peered at him from behind the woman cooking the food over the open flame. He thought it might be chicken a wasn’t going to get close enough to find out.
He had to go. But where?
The little one must have decided Mickey wasn’t a threat, because he finally left his mother’s side and ventured closer. “Who are you?”
Should he use his real name? He settled for, “I’m Mike.”
“I’m Rocky. Why you cryin’?”
“I’m not.” Not anymore anyway.
Rocky shot him a knowing look. “You ain’t got no home either?”
Mickey dropped his face into his hands. “No,” he murmured. “I don’t have a home.” He didn’t recognize the hoarse voice that came from his throat.
“You hungry? We went to the grocery store today and got some chicken. Today is special ’cuz it’s my birthday. I just wanted some chicken to eat, but you can have some too. I’ll share.”
There was no way Mickey was taking this kid’s food. He swallowed hard and looked around, noticing the attention he was attracting. He stood, dug in his pocket, and found the ten-dollar bill his mom had given him just before he’d left for Evan’s house.
Making sure no one saw him, he slipped it into Rocky’s small hand. “Don’t let anyone see that, okay? Thanks for the invite, but I’ve gotta go. Happy birthday, Rocky.” He shuddered. He didn’t want to think about birthdays and what his would look like in three months. If he managed to live that long.
Rocky’s fist closed over the bill and his eyes went wide. “Thanks,” he said, his voice soft. “But where you goin’?”
“I have no idea.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
After Caden had left, Ava had paced and thought, tapped those thoughts into the notes app on her phone, then paced some more. Now, night had fallen, and she stood in her den, staring out the window at the well-lit parking lot.
Tonight, she didn’t care about the lousy view. She finally drew in a steadying breath and dialed a number she’d known by heart since she was fifteen. She waited for the secure call to go through and pressed the fingers of her right hand to her throbbing temples. When the line clicked, she waited again.
“Ava?”
“Hello, John, how are you?”
“I’m doing well. Surprised to hear from you, but glad of it. I heard you’ve left the Navy.”
“I have.” It didn’t even bother her that he led with that. She almost laughed, he was so predictable.
He paused. “How’s your mother?”
“The same. I . . .” Deep breath. “Unfortunately, I don’t expect her to live much longer.”
“I’m sorry. I never met her, but your father spoke very highly of her. Always had a funny tale about her and her sense of humor.”
“He never talked bad about her alcoholism, did he?”
John paused, as though taken aback by her question. “No. Never.”
“He blamed himself, didn’t he?” It was a realization that had hit her late one night when she had been pacing and remembering.
“He did.”
“I thought so.” And yet it hadn’t been enough to make him change jobs and stay home. “I’d still love to hear those funny stories one day.”
“Happy to share.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “What’s going on?” he asked. “You never call for small talk with me, so what can I do to help?”
A pang of guilt hit her. He was right. She actually went out of her way to avoid talking to him, annoyed with his unceasing push for her to join the organization. “It’s about my father.”
“All right.”
“I can’t tell you everything, but I’ve recently discovered two pictures of him.”
He was silent.
“John, you know how my father was about being in any pictures. The only ones he’d allow me to have are the ones of his and Mom’s wedding, in the safe-deposit box. And he was adamant that they stay there—at least until after his and her deaths.” Which meant she might be able to take them out soon. The thought was depressing. “He was so careful. How would someone manage to get those two?”
“I need to see them.”
“A friend has them. I asked for them, but he can’t give them to me right now.”
“Because something’s happened and there’s an ongoing investigation and he’s ethical.”
Ava stopped. Blinked. “Well. Yes. He only showed them to me due to special circumstances.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Caden Denning. He’s with the FBI.”
“I’ll get them and get back to you after I take a look.” He paused. “So . . . you’re not in the Navy anymore.”
She stifled a sigh. “I think we clarified that at the beginning of the conversation.”
He chuckled and she grimaced. “You know,” he said, “I have the paperwork all ready here at the agency. All you have to do is sign your name.”
“I know, but I need to be here to take care of Mom, and I don’t want to live in Washington—or overseas.”