Page 12 of Everlasting Promises

When I return, Seb’s studying the photo album I was looking through earlier. Happiness shines from his eyes as he studies the photographs.

“She was such a great chick,” he comments as he turns the page, then chuckles. She really was. The world definitely lost a little of its sparkle when she left this earth. “Remember that time her mom’s car broke down, and we had to get out and push it? She drove it into the ditch, and the damn thing tipped onto its side.” He chuckles as he shakes his head.

A laugh bursts from deep within. “I forgot about that. She was so pissed.”

“So was her mom, if I remember correctly.” He nods as he flips to the next page, and I take another bite of my pizza. “So many good times.” He grows quiet, and his expression turns somber. “I still miss her.”

My heart squeezes while my stomach tightens. “Yeah, me too. Me too.”

6

BEN

“Car three-Adam-twenty-five,theft in progress at 576 South Street, at the gas station. Offenders are three youths. No other description at this time. Manager called it in.” Katie’s voice comes across my radio.

I’m about five minutes from the location, so I flick my blinker and turn left.

“Ten-four, car three-Adam-twenty-five en route,” I respond.

It’s not an emergency, so I don’t bother with lights or sirens. Stopped at a set of traffic lights, I glance out my window and watch a guy about my age walking his German shepherd while pushing a stroller. My thoughts immediately go to Rex. I hope he’s been staying off his feet. I’m sure everyone at the station will make sure he’s resting, but he tends to get excited when he’s around our colleagues.

Pulling into a parking spot near the entrance of the gas station, I climb out of my vehicle. Inside, I see an older gentleman holding a youth by the collar of his shirt, causingmy hackles to rise. He shouldn’t have his hands on a kid; he wouldn’t do that to an adult.

The doors slide open as I approach, and I get my first decent look at the boy. He looks to be about ten or eleven, and I don’t sense the usual teenage attitude coming from him. He appears more ashamed than anything else. I glance around, noting he’s the only youth present.

Where are the others?Katie said there were three.

The rotund man, who I assume is the manager, drags the boy forward as he storms toward me, all bluster. “About time you got here. Two of the scoundrels escaped.” He flings his arm out toward the door, highlighting their escape route. “I want to press charges.”

I hold up my hand and glance down at the boy. “I’m Sergeant Taylor. Please release the boy.”

“He’ll run if I let him go,” he snaps.

I step closer and speak to the boy. “You’ll stay where you are if he releases you, right?”

He drops his gaze to the floor, and his freckled cheeks turn pink. “Yes, sir.”

I lift my eyes to the manager and raise my eyebrows. “Release him, please.” He’s just a kid, for fuck’s sake, and I’ve seen enough troublemakers to know he’s a good kid who’s made an error in judgment.

The manager finally releases him, and the kid steps closer to me. “I want him arrested.”

Calm down, old man.“What’s your name, sir?”

“Mr. MacDonnell. Are you going to arrest him now?” he asks with raised brows.

I pride myself on being a patient man, but this guy and his demands are already pissing me off. “Can you please tell me what happened?” I make a production of dragging out my notepad and pen while my blood simmers.

“That one”—the manager points at the boy with a stubby, shaky finger—“and two other troublemakers were walking around my store and stuffing their pockets with candy. They stole sodas and drank them right in front of me, like they were taunting me!” He narrows his eyes at the kid as I write a few notes.

I look down at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Evan Sullivan, sir.”

“Evan, can you please empty your pockets?” I tighten my fingers around the smooth plastic of the pen and my notebook, and drop my hands to my hips.

“I already emptied his pockets. The other boys got away with their pockets full,” the manager says angrily, slapping his hands against his thighs.

Raising my chin, I ask. “So, he doesn’t have any stolen goods on his person?”

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