the morning. Find out who’s behind the leak.”
“The caller said no more cops.”
“We can trust McCann. And I trust him not to tell another soul about your caller.”
She studied him intently, then nodded, the movement so slight it was barely detectable. “I’m going upstairs. I want to be with Tom.”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Wade reached for her as she passed, lightly gripping her elbow.
Kerri hesitated, meeting his look with eyes that had morphed from determined to exhausted. “There’s a blanket in the family room closet.”
“I remember.”
She nodded, then walked out of the kitchen. Wade waited until she’d climbed the steps, waited until he heard Tom’s bedroom door open and then close again before he moved an inch. He plucked the coffeepot from its stand and filled the water reservoir for ten cups.
He had no intention of sleeping on the sofa or anywhere else tonight.
As long as Kerri and Tom were asleep upstairs, he’d be awake downstairs. Standing guard.
WADE STOOD AT the front door and watched Tom head off on his bike to deliver papers. He smiled as the kid bounced his bike over the gravel drive, oblivious to the fact that somewhere out there, someone was furious there’d been a witness to the Pine Ridge fires.
“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Kerri’s tired voice sounded close behind him. He turned to watch her drying a breakfast plate, going through the motion like a robot. An exhausted robot.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He reached for the plate and towel, taking them from her and tipping his chin toward the staircase.
“It’s okay.” She shook her head and frowned. “I slept a little.”
“I’m not buying that one again.” Wade returned his focus to the drive, catching just a glimpse of Tom as he vanished out into the street.
“You didn’t sleep, either.” Kerri stepped next to him, looking past him out into the yard. “Sofa wasn’t touched and if I’m not mistaken, half my can of coffee has gone missing.”
He stole a glimpse at her profile, detecting just the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Must have been Tom.”
“Right.” She looked at him, her features hinting at the warmth he’d missed for the past three years. “Thanks for watching out for us.”
With that, she took the plate and towel away from him and headed back to the kitchen.
Thanks for watching out for us.
Wade thought of Thomas—alone—out on the quiet road, delivering papers along the route he’d no doubt followed countless times before.
A habit.
A routine.
Dread coiled into a tight knot in Wade’s gut, and he reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the keys to his truck.
What if whoever had made the call last night knew more about the Nelsons than just their phone number? What if he knew where they lived? Where Tom went to school? What time he set out every morning on his paper route?
“I’ll be right back,” he called out as he pushed out into the warm August morning and trotted across the stepping stones toward his truck.
His imagination might be in overdrive, but suddenly Wade couldn’t imagine why he’d ever let Tom head out the front door alone in the first place.
HE WAITED FOR the boy to round the corner, emerging from the private lane, headed toward the housing community a half mile down the road.
The description fit. Correct size. Correct approximate age. Correct hair color.
He kept his foot pressed on the van’s brake until the boy was far enough ahead that following at a distance wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention.
The boy’s paper-delivery bag bounced against his back as he careened over the gravel shoulder and onto the asphalt road. He then steered the bike back onto the shoulder, then back onto the asphalt, repeating the move like a game. Bouncing the front tire as he did so, holding his body up off the seat, as if riding a wave.
It was a shame the kid had to be silenced, but an order was an order. The driver shook his head. He had no choice. Keeping the kid quiet was the only way they could carry out the rest of the plan.
The pieces had begun to fall into place, and they couldn’t afford to be derailed now—by a witness—even if that witness was just a kid. The game had changed once the local inspector had died.
Careless.
He’d been careless. The construction site had been clear when he’d set the devices. He hadn’t even spotted the inspector’s truck when he’d fled the scene, only hearing about the victim later on, from news reports.
Silencing the kid would redeem his mistake and keep the organization intact.
He pressed down on the accelerator, closing the gap between the van and the bike. The plan was a simple one.
A hit-and-run.
A fatal accident wouldn’t be a first for this isolated stretch of road, but it would be the last for the witness.
Just a few more yards and the threat of exposure would be eliminated.
Permanently.
Chapter Four
Wade pulled to the end of the drive, quickly glanced to make sure the road was clear, then turned in the direction Tom had taken. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and squinted down the road, frowning when he realized a plain white van obscured his view.
A plain white van.
Suspicion rolled through him, and as much as he tried to tell himself his imagination was working overtime, he couldn’t convince himself otherwise.
The phone call to Kerri had been real, just as any perceived threat to Tom had to be considered real.
The van’s brake lights illuminated briefly, the vehicle slowing just enough for Wade to make out Tom’s figure not far in front of the truck. The kid was so busy bouncing his bike on and off the edge of the road he was no doubt oblivious to the fact there was a van close behind him.
The van accelerated suddenly. Wade’s heart stopped cold in his chest. What in the hell was the driver doing?
And then he realized.
The driver was aiming for Tom.
Wade hit his horn, keeping one palm pressed to the steering wheel to keep the sound blaring as he floored the truck, urging it forward. As he closed the distance between him and the van, he searched for any sign of a license plate, but saw none.
None.
A plain white van without a license plate on a deserted stretch of road steering straight for the sole witness to a violent crime.
He needed no imagination to put those pieces together.
Wade pounded the horn now, a quick series of loud blares, hoping he’d jolt Tom from his play and alert him to the danger closing in from behind.
Just as Wade’s truck closed to within inches of the van’s bumper, the vehicle swerved sharply toward the shoulder, its right wheels dipping into the sandy soil. The brake lights never illuminated; if anything, the van sped up.
Tom.
My God.
Fear seized Wade’s heart and twisted.
Just as quickly as the van had swerved off the road, it swerved back on and sped away. Wade braked, frantically searching for any sign of Tom or his bike.
Then