Page 16 of Be Courageous

Brian’s vague smile made him realize the man hadn’t understood the question. “Go back to sleep, Tommy,” he crooned in a gentle voice.

Grayson glanced at the hand fisting the liquor bottle. That was it! The letters on Brian’s knuckles spelled TOMMY. He’d tattooed the name there as a constant reminder. Encouraged by the man’s gentler tone, Grayson dared to ask, “Who was Tommy?”

Brian blinked in confusion, banishing the glassiness from his eyes. He visibly shook himself, muttered a string of oaths, then took a swig from his bottle.

More than half the bottle was still left, relieving Grayson. When Brian didn’t answer him, he dropped his head back down on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to sleep again, though the rope chafed his wrists and he longed to straighten his bent legs.

“Tommy was my son. My world. And it’s your dad’s fault that he’s dead.”

The words brought Grayson’s eyes back open. Brian hadn’t moved, but he was fingering the shotgun’s barrel, which was propped on the arms of his chair, across his lap like a tray.

Grayson came up on his elbow. “What do you mean? My father never would’ve hurt a kid.”

“Hah. Shows how much you know.”

Anger stole a portion of Grayson’s fear. “My father was a good man! Don’t you talk bad about him.”

Brian’s face whipped in his direction. Slamming his bottle onto the table next to him, he picked up the rifle and stood, weaving. Grayson flinched against the cushions as Brian tucked the barrel under his arm and pointed the rifle at him. His ragged breaths sounded over the crackling woodstove.

Grayson turned hot, then cold. “Please, don’t…”

Brian stepped in his direction.

This is it. I’m going to die now.

But then Brian brushed past the couch and went into the kitchen, where he thumped around, muttering to himself.

The adrenaline in Grayson’s veins subsided slowly. A ray of hope shot through his bleak doom. Maybe Brian wasn’t going to kill him. Maybe he would get to go home soon.

Oh, please let me go home, God.

The ranch wasn’t so bad. He could fish in the creek whenever he felt like it. He had a forest right there for having paintball wars with Cameron. And he could get a hug from his mother whenever he needed one.

I won’t ever complain again. I promise.

The slamming of a cupboard broke into his silent pleas. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to sleep as Brian came back into the room, still holding the shotgun. A peek through his lashes showed his captor back in his chair. This time the rifle was propped against his seat instead of over his lap. As he snatched his bottle back up, Grayson relaxed, but not completely.

For some reason, Brian blamed Dad for Tommy’s death. He had to be wrong about the way Tommy died. Dad would never kill a kid. But if Brian’s plan was to avenge Tommy’s death, the only way to do that was to kill Grayson.

Grayson gulped as the hope he was clinging to vanished.Am I ever going home?

CHAPTER5

Fitz set his morning coffee next to his keyboard, then sank into his office chair to begin his Friday. The first thing he did every morning was log on to the Trilogy platform used by the Bureau and monitor the cases being run by his special agents. He skimmed the latest updates.

Well, well. That businessman with ties to the mob had realized he was under investigation and wanted to turn informant on his fellow mobsters. Fitz’s lips curled with disdain. So much for honor among thieves.

At precisely eight thirty, his phone rang, as it did every weekday when Peter Gray, the senior agent in charge in the Norfolk field office, touched base to hand down new orders.

“Good morning, sir.” As much as possible, he smoothed the grating sound made by his injured vocal cords.

“Is it, though?”

No day was a good day for Peter. Fitz’s biggest fear was ending up just as cynical as his SAC.

“I’m putting you in charge of a kidnapping case. Kid by the name of Grayson Saunders has vanished from his home in Suffolk…”

The humming in Fitz’s ears kept him from hearing what Peter said next.Faith’s Grayson Saunders?Who else would it be?

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