The tingling sensation on the back of Jonas’ neck never failed to warn him of a threat. As he and the kid crossed Duval and headed down a quiet street in Old Town, his Spidey senses were on high alert. Except for the pair of tourists who road past them on bicycles, they appeared to be alone. The kid still held his fingers in a death grip while he sang softly to himself. He carried an overstuffed backpack flung over his shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from jumping over the cracks between the sidewalks every few feet.
Jonas glanced over his shoulder. Nobody. He scanned the overgrown tropical bushes and shrubs that lined the opposite side of the street. Nothing.
Had he been alone, Jonas would’ve blended into the overgrowth himself and disappeared. The small, sticky human on his left made that exit route impossible. They had three more blocks to go - one up and two over – but leading whoever followed them to Anders’ door wasn’t a smart idea.
“Why is the sun hot?”
“Huh?” Jonas glanced down at the kid. He was walking along beside him, watching his feet.
“Why is it hot?” The kid tilted his head to look up at him and squinted. “Why did you draw on your neck?”
“Draw—?” Jonas frowned. “They’re called tattoos.”
“Why do you have tattoos on your neck?” The kid pointed with his free hand.
Jonas frowned and ignored the question as the growl of mopeds erupted behind him. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. No sign of them yet, but they were coming in fast. He stepped up his pace, practically dragging the kid behind him.
Spotting a narrow alley halfway down the block, Jonas bent to scoop up the kid and made a dash for it. Not wanting to scare him, Jonas walked at a brisk pace between a pair of 8-foot-tall fences.
The kid stared at his face. “Why do you have a scar?” He pointed to the pale white slash above Jonas’ lip.
“I was cut by a knife.” Jonas’ boots kicked up loose sand as he searched for the first break in the fences.
“How did you get cut?”
“In a fight.”
Two navy blue eyes widened in shock. “Mama says fighting is bad.”
“Fighting is bad, but sometimes a guy has to defend himself.” Reaching the first yard without a fence, Jonas hung a right and doubled back toward Duval.
“I want a tattoo.”
“You’ll have to wait until your older. Kids can’t have tattoos.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“’cause why?”
When they reached the street, Jonas crossed into another yard. Behind the next house, he hung a left.
An old man stopped weed-whacking to stare at them. “Can I help you folks?”
“He lost his dog. We thought it went this way. Have you seen it?”
“Nope.” The old man took off his ballcap and used his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Duke.” Archie answered. “He’s brown.”
A smile tugged the corner of Jonas’ mouth.
“I’ll keep an eye out for him.” The old man put his hat back on.
“Thanks.”
As they continued on, the kid sighed dramatically.
Jonas was almost afraid to ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Mommy says I can’t have a dog because she’s too busy.”
“That’s too bad. Dogs are cool.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“No, I don’t. Why can’t I have a tattoo?”
“Because your Mom wouldn’t like it.”
“Does she like your tattoos?”
Jonas’ stomach tightened. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t know and didn’t care.
“Mommy has a scar on her belly.”
“She does?” Still didn’t care. He sighed. “Since when? How did she get the scar?”
“You ask too many questions.” A teasing twinkle gleamed in the kid’s eyes.
Jonas narrow his own. “You’re a little smart ass.”
The kid broke into a peel of giggles, and Jonas chuckled too.
The feeling they were being followed faded along with the growl of the mopeds, so he cautiously headed for Molly and Anders’ house again.
Jonas set the kid on his feet when they reached the sidewalk.
“Where are we going now?”
“To Miss Molly’s house.”
“Yes!” The kid punched the air and hopped a foot off the ground. “I’m going to play with Monte. He’s my best friend.”
“Cool.”
“Do you have a best friend?”
More questions. Jonas sighed. The kid was relentless. He made the Russian police look like amateurs.
“Do you?” the kid pressed.
“No. I don’t have any friends.”
The kid was quiet for the first time since they started their walk, and Jonas silently rejoiced. “Come on, let’s cross here.”
He was halfway across the wide street when he noticed the kid wasn’t beside him. He had stopped on the grass, his overstuffed backpack on the ground by his feet. His face was tense with worry.
Jonas was almost afraid to ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Mommy makes me hold her hand when we cross the street.”
“Mommy isn’t here.”
A car honked as it rolled past Jonas missing him by inches. He stepped out of the way toward the kid who stared at him skeptically.
“What?” Jonas snapped.
“You should probably hold Mommy’s hand too.”
The kid was a total wise ass.
Just like me.
Jonas frowned and shook off the disturbing thought as he retraced his steps. He grabbed the backpack and flung the strap over his should before he took the kid’s hand. He didn’t drop it when they reached the other side of the road, because he figured Archie would complain about that too. Jonas made a quick scan of the street to make sure no one was creeping up on them, but his instincts told him, whoever had been following them earlier, had backed off.
Two houses away from their destination, Archie stopped walking and tugged on Jonas’ hand. “How come you don’t have any friends?”
Jonas shrugged. “I don’t like people and people don’t like me.”
“I like you.”
An invisible fist sucker punched him in the gut. Caught off guard, he lost breath and his mind went blank. When his brain started functioning again, his temper flared. Why should he care what an annoying the three-foot-tall interrogator thought of him?
“Mommy likes you too.”
Damn it. That pissed him off more.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Why stop now?” Was the kid joking?
“Would you be my friend?”
Jonas muttered a curse beneath his breath. “Let’s go.”
The kid stayed put.
Jonas was almost to the next house when he stopped and turned around. “I said let’s—” The disappointed expression on Archie’s face thrust him back in time and suddenly Jonas was a kid again, pining after his teenaged brothers who were too busy to hang out with him. He scowled. “Fine. I’ll be your friend. Keep moving.”
Archie’s little face lit with a smile that rivaled his mother’s and then he ran and tackled Jonas’ waist in a hug that pushed him back a step. A feeling of lightness spread through his body and his hard heart turned to mush. Damn it.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he growled. “Get moving.”
The kid grinned up at him and then sprinted ahead.
Following at his own pace, Jonas reached the beginning of the yard just as the kid high-fived the man sitting on the front stoop.
“Bye, Jonas!” Archie waved and disappeared inside the house.
As Anders stretched his jean clad legs out in front of him, the heels of his cowboy boots clunked against the wooden stair. He might be a country singer by profession and couldn’t fight worth a damn, but he could still make Jonas feel a wariness he couldn’t explain.
Jonas came up the walk and stopped about ten feet away.
Anders scratched his chin. “I was wondering where you were heading with my godson. I lost you on Petronia. What I want to know is how you manage to do that ninja shit with a 4-year-old in tow?”
“That was you.”
“I was on my way home when I spotted you with Archie. I couldn’t reckon what you were doing with him, and I wouldn’t trust you with my guitar, let alone an innocent little boy.”
Jonas’ brain boiled like gumbo bubbling inside a pressure cooker, but on the outside, his tone was deceptively calm. “The kid’s fine. His mother asked me to drop him off.”
“I love April like a daughter, but sometimes she doesn’t have a lick of sense.”
Jonas chucked the backpack at him.
Anders caught it between his hands like a football, proving his former college quarterback reflexes were still on point after all these years.
Jonas started for the street.
“Hey.”
He stopped on the sidewalk and met his brother’s steely blue gaze across the distance. “What?”
“I love April like a daughter.”
“You mentioned that.”
“You lay a finger on her, and I promise you’ll regret it.”
For the second time in the same day, a fist rammed into Jonas’ stomach. “Go to hell,” he hissed and walked away.