Miranda’s father leaves to get into position and Oshiro’s men plan vantage points and tactics while I sit and worry, watching the clock, waiting until it’s time for me to leave. “I want to talk to my mom,” I tell Oshiro.
He finishes giving orders to a state trooper and dismisses him. There’s been a parade of uniforms in and out of the small house, but now it’s just the two of us facing off over the dining room table. “Why?”
“I need to know my sister’s okay.” It’s the truth but not all of it.
“She’s safe. Still in the hospital.”
“With my mom?” I want Mom as far away from everything happening today as possible, but I also need to tell her…It’s overwhelming, the things I need to tell her. My stomach clenches and I realize facing her might be worse than facing King and my uncle.
“We brought your mother here. She’s at the police station, being interviewed by the locals. A diversionary tactic in case King has any men on the Smithfield force.”
As much as I don’t like Oshiro using my mom, at least I know she’s safe. “Can you bring her here?”
He raises an eyebrow, reminding me he can do any damn thing he pleases. “Why?”
“I need to talk to her.” I gulp but there’s nothing to swallow. Still, I square my shoulders and face him dead-on. “I don’t want her to hear about my uncle from anyone else.”
Something shifts in his face; there’s maybe even a faint glimmer of humanity. Maybe. It’s replaced by stone so fast I’m not sure. But he nods and ten minutes later one of his men is escorting my mother inside the house.
I watch from behind the kitchen door. I can’t face her—not with that look on her face. It’s more than fear; she’s terrified. Of me.
Oshiro is a gracious host, welcoming Mom with much better manners than he showed me or Mr. Ryder. He sits her down at the table in the breakfast nook where we’ll have some privacy, gets her coffee, then gestures for me to join her. He seems to understand my hesitation. “Want me to hang around, kid?”
Mom has said nothing since she got here. She just sits there, staring at the coffee Oshiro poured for her like she can’t figure out if it’s poisoned or not. Then for the first time, she raises her face and makes eye contact with me. Her face is a total blank. Even when Dad left, even the one time Janey got really sick and was in the ICU, I’ve never seen her like this. Utterly drained. Defeated.
And the worst is yet to come. This is going to be so much harder than I ever dreamed.
I glance at Oshiro, who’s still standing beside me. I shake my head. He gives me one of those twisted things that pass for a smile and to my surprise claps a hand on my shoulder like I’m one of his men. “Okay, then. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
He crosses through to the dining room where he can keep an eye on us without listening. I shift in my chair, trying to figure out how to start. “Janey’s okay?” Talking about Janey is always safe ground.
Mom nods. “No more fever. They think it’s probably just a virus. If her cultures are negative tomorrow, they’ll let her come home.” She gives a little jerk of panic, realizing we have no home for Janey to return to. A tiny noise escapes from her, and it breaks my heart.
Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to avoid exactly this moment. Great job, there, Jesse.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I start, not sure how much the Feds have told her. “He’s not dead.”
She dips her face, talking into her coffee cup. “I know. The agent who drove me here told me. Said the dental records didn’t match Richey’s. But where is he? How did that man end up in our garage, dead? Why do they think you would ever kill your uncle?”
Suddenly it all pours out of me. I don’t have the time or energy to be delicate, and honestly I’m so damn mad that this is the first time she’s ever asked any real questions that I almost don’t care how much the truth hurts. Almost.
I know how devastated she was when Dad left, understand the pressures of working two jobs and still not being able to keep a roof over our heads, not to mention how overwhelming it is to have a sick kid like Janey to take care of. But damn it, couldn’t she have found a spare second, an ounce of energy to pay attention to me, to ask what was really going on in my life?
I worked hard to hide it, I know, but I was just a kid, not like I’m that great of an actor. Not if she really cared.
She’s in tears now. They’re dripping into the coffee that she refuses to let go of but isn’t drinking. “No,” she protests, not for the first time. “Richey saved us.”
Finally I realize. It has nothing to do with how hard I worked to hide the truth…she never had a chance to see it. My uncle must have made tons of money from King, but he made sure we were always scraping by so she couldn’t quit either of her jobs. Anytime she needed help, he was there, playing the hero, rearranging his shifts at work or taking me with him to the fire station so she could get Janey to a doctor’s appointment or take care of her when she was sick.
He kept her hopes alive that my dad might still be out there somewhere, encouraging her to spend what little money and free time she had on searching for him. And when Dad wasn’t anywhere to be found, he coaxed her into the depths of despair with hints that Dad had left because of her.
She was powerless against him, her own brother, someone she’d trust with her life. The man she’d trusted with my life.
Both of us victims.
Anger spins me out of my chair. Oshiro steps to the doorway, but I wave him off. Silence fills the space, sucking out the oxygen, leaving my chest tight.
I wait, fists at my side, bouncing on my toes. I know her next words will change everything. Will she believe my truth? Or cling to denial?
Mom chokes back her tears and finally relinquishes her hold on her coffee mug. She knuckles her eyes and wipes her face on her sleeve. She’s still wearing her coat, hugs it around her as if she’s freezing.
Finally she stands and faces me. Looks me straight in the eye. I brace myself—can feel Oshiro also tensing behind me.
“Jesse,” she says my name like it’s too heavy to hold on to. “Jesse. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” She’s blubbering now. I can barely make out her words as she rushes to take me in her arms. I tense, almost pull away, still furious. She only grips me tighter, despite the fact that I’m a foot taller than her and her arms barely fit around me anymore. “I’ll make this right. I’m sorry. I never, I can’t—”
I smother her words as I finally release my anger and hug her back. We hold each other, swaying as if we might both fall if one of us relaxes our grip, and I wipe my tears on her shoulder. Oshiro clears his throat and I know my time is running out. “Mom, I have to go now.”
She clutches my arm, pulls me to her with strength I didn’t realize she had. She wraps her arms around me tight. “I love you, Jesse. Please believe that.”
I break away from her embrace and stand. I clear my throat, sucking in all the tears before Oshiro can see them. Then realize I really don’t give a shit what he sees.
“No, Jesse. Please, don’t go. I couldn’t bear it, if anything happened…” she cries and I worry that this is too much, that she’ll finally break.
But I can’t carry that burden anymore. I can’t protect her and still save Miranda. I lay my hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “Good-bye, Mom.”
• • •
King—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as Howard Kerstater—tore the tape off Miranda’s wrists and forced her inside the arena’s rear entrance, away from the crowd. He kept a gun jammed into her back, hidden from view inside his coat pocket. They took a private elevator that he had the key code for up to the top level where the corporate skyboxes were situated.
The elevator was okay, but as soon as they exited, they were on the top level of the twenty-foot-wide concourse, curved windows revealing the sky as they arched overhead to form the arena’s dome, the interior wall also with glass windows between the entrances to the skyboxes. Miranda hugged the interior wall, looking down over the huge expanse of the arena’s seating area. On the main floor, far below the Jumbotron suspended from the center of the dome, exhibitors were already swarmed by eager car enthusiasts. Shiny new cars on rotating platforms gleamed in the harsh lights. They were so far away they looked like Matchbox toys.
Panic sped up Miranda’s breathing and she fought to get it under control. Only one threat here that she needed to focus on: King. She forced herself to memorize the key codes as he entered them, tried to pay attention to any detail that might help her escape.
They didn’t see anyone until he opened the door to the broadcast booth that housed the Jumbotron controls. There they found a man, young, he looked like a college kid, hunched over a large console filled with levers, buttons, and dials. He spun in his seat when he heard them.
Before Miranda could say anything, King shot him in the chest. The sound echoed like thunder as she stood, stunned, the acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with blood filling her nostrils. The man looked down in surprise, back up at King, his mouth opening, then he slumped off the stool and fell to the ground.
Dead, Miranda realized, her hand over her mouth, although she didn’t think she could scream if she tried. Her throat was clamped tight. King had killed the stranger without blinking—had he done the same to her mom? Was she dead already?
“Just to let you know how serious I am,” King said. He motioned Miranda to a chair, then kicked the body aside and took the man’s seat at the controls. “Don’t get any ideas about the cavalry coming. This booth is soundproof.”
Miranda realized he spoke the truth when she spotted the microphone and cameras lining the desk along the glass wall at the front of the booth. Of course, they broadcast sports events from here.
A laptop was connected to the AV console. King used it to pull up the security camera feeds. “Now I can see everything.”
If she stretched her foot out, she could have touched the man’s body. She didn’t stretch her foot out.
King watched as Jesse appeared on the laptop’s screen. “Here’s our boy, right on time.”