Sixty

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. Michael turned away from the laptop, expecting to find Lark. Instead, it was Alex standing in the doorway, Sabrina’s dog by his side. “Vse v poryadke?” Is everything alright?

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the boy nodded before entering the room, shuffling across the floor to curl up on the floor next to his chair, leaning his temple against Michael’s knee. He felt it again: connection, recognition.

The back door banged open seconds before Ben called out, “You here?”

He looked down at the boy. “Yeah, in the dining room,” he said without standing. Ben appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, his eyes zeroing in on the boy.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Ben said.

“You know me,” he said, shooting his partner a wry smile, “I’m Mr. Personality. Where’s Sabrina?” he said, looking at the laptop’s display. It was 10:15 a.m. Ben’s time estimate of when his father would arrive was just that—an estimate. He had no real way of knowing where his father was or when he’d show up. They had to assume that Shaw could waltz through that door at any moment.

“I dropped her at home. What’d you find out?”

“Alone?” He looked past his partner, out the window at the fence that separated Sabrina’s yard from Miss Ettie’s.

Ben rolled his eyes. “We’re less than thirty seconds away, Nervous Nelly—she’ll be fine. You want to tell me what you found?”

“For starters, the reason your father targeted Leon Maddox,” he said, launching into the full explanation.

Ben listened, his face growing grimmer by the second. “I knew it. Everything goes back to money with him. Did you tell Maddox about my dad’s involvement?”

He nodded. “Not sure if it was a good idea, but he needed to know who he was dealing with.”

Something he said jerked Ben’s spine a bit straighter. “Speaking of … I need you to do something,” he said, his gaze dropping to the kid on the floor. “And don’t ask questions.”

Michael’s gaze followed his partner’s. “Okay … ”

“Look at the back of his neck, just above the hairline. See anything weird?”

Michael placed a gentle hand on Alex’s head. The boy went stiff, but he didn’t move. “Eto normal’no. Ya vam ne povredit.” It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.

He feathered the hair along the boy’s hairline, looking close. “What am I supposed to see?”

Ben let out a relieved breath. “The Cyrillic letter F tattooed on his scalp.”

Oh shit. Michael looked up from the boy’s head. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“If you think it’s the personal stamp of ownership, used by a certain Russian mob boss to mark his immediate family … then yes, it means what you think it means.”

He looked even closer. “There’s nothing.”

“Good.” He took a step away from the doorway. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?”

“Yeah, hold on,” he said. “Smotri,” he said, and the boy looked up at him. “Vy khotite igrat’ v videoigru?” You want to play a video game?

The boy nodded, and Michael motioned for him to stand before searching the laptop for the zombie-killing game his partner was currently addicted to. When the kid was settled, he cocked his head toward the kitchen and Ben followed.

“Sergey Filatov?” he said, looking around to make sure they were alone. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, it’s fucking happening, partner—it’s happening. I just can’t figure out the how and the why.” Ben passed a hand over his face, the look on it telling him that there was something else. Something he wasn’t saying.

“What’s with the look? Tell me—”

There was a knock at the front door, a firm pounding that advertised exactly who it was. Ben looked at his watch. “No way. It’s too soon,” he said, charging through the doorway into the foyer. The sharp expletive that followed told Michael everything he needed to know.

Time had just run out.