Page 11

CHAPTER 11

“I wonder where all the other kids are,” Kristopher voiced his curiosity as they exited the car and headed for the stairs. “One would expect the park would be full, with everyone trying out their new boards and shoes two days after Christmas. Or even if they just come hang out.”

“Maybe their parents are making them stay inside because of Mercy,” Suzanne suggested. “News like that probably has them barricading their doors, refusing to let their kids go anywhere without them.”

“And having your parents glued to your side would be the very worst thing for a fifteen-year-old,” Kristopher recalled.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, keeping her gaze on the boy. “I went into foster care for the first time when I was eight years old.”

Her statement stopped him, and he put his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him. “You grew up in foster care?”

“More or less,” she said. “Lots of moving around but I’ll tell you about that over lunch, okay?”

“Sure,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay, Kristopher with a K.” Her tone teased him, but her eyes said otherwise. “Here’s the short version. My grandparents on both sides tried to take care of me, but they all had serious health problems, so I wound up in foster care. I was moved so often I kept half of my clothing in my suitcase.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Tell me to shut up if I get too personal. After all, we did just meet a few hours ago.”

“So, we did.” The teasing lilt returned to her voice.

They reached the steps, and Kristopher instinctively offered her his arm and a protective wave ran over him as she touched him.

“No ice,” she commented as they descended. “That’s good, ‘cause I don’t think these boots were made for climbing down slippery stairs.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Kristopher promised. “Ice or no ice.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

At the bottom, they stood in silence for several moments, watching the boy, and Kristopher was unexpectedly pleased that she was still holding on to his arm and even more at the warmth coursing through him. The only sound was the soft whir of speeding wheels, the pop of the board lifting off the surface and the thunk as it hit the pavement again. His movements were smooth, graceful and confident, his focus solely on his actions. He launched himself again and landed a good twenty feet away from them. He pivoted on the board and stopped but kept it rocking back and forth with his feet, his balance perfect. Oversized sunglasses covered his eyes, but he was smiling, obviously pleased with himself and his skill.

“Your move,” Kristopher told her. “After all, this was your idea.”

Her gaze slanted up at him. “Does your boss have enough money to bail us out of jail if Grant Miller arrests us for doing what he told us not to do?”

“Oil tycoons and billionaires from around the world come to him for loans,” Kristopher said solemnly.

“Really,” Suzanne asked incredulously.

“No. I was just joking,” he replied. “Do you want me to go with you?”

She shook her head. “This kid may not have heard about what happened yet. And if it turns out not to be T.J., then we’ll excuse ourselves and go to your safehouse. No harm, no foul, right?”

Her answer surprised him, but then he knew next to nothing about this woman. “Are you a sports fan?”

“Season ticket holder for the Lady Vols, but we can talk about that over lunch too. Wait here.”

She headed for the skater and the familiar pricking at the base of his spine started, warning Kristopher not to stand down, but stand ready and he touched the service revolver in his jacket’s inner pocket and waited.