Page 553 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

I’ll be smarter. And richer. And maybe I’ll enjoy it better this time around, so I guess I’m not horrified by this idea.

Except … what happens to Eve, in the future? Thatfuture.The one I vanished from without a trace. If I never get back, she’ll never know what happened to me. Just like we never knew what happened to Mickey for so many years.

My hands grow clammy.

Then one more thought strikes me like a bolt of cold lightning.

Ashley.

I want them both back now, and that thought puts a fist right through my sternum so hard I nearly gasp.

I have to get back. Iwillget back.

But while I’m here, I’ll save a few lives. In fact, the first thing I’ll do after stopping this bombing is figure out how to get Danny Mulligan to stop hating me.

For no reason, I might add. His words to me, out of Eve’s earshot, have left a bruise.“I don’t trust you, Stone, and I’m warning you—stay away from my daughter, unless it’s work related. I don’t want you to get her into trouble.”

Everything for the rest of my life will be classified as work related, you can bet on it. But I would really prefer Mulligan to like me, especially since he’s going to be sticking around.

How? I’ll figure that part out later.

I reach over Eve’s shoulder and point to a listing down the page. “What is that article about a protest?”

It’s something from a Canadian news site about an organized protest. Eve reads it as fast as I do.

“It looks likeGood Earthcoffee was named by the protesters as one of the perpetrators of child labor,” she says, summing up what I’ve just read. “There’s a long list.”

“Who are the protesters?”

“A conglomerate group. The article mentions Free the Children, a couple church groups, and the International Child Labor Defense League.”

“Yahoo that.” That sounds weird. Apparently “Google it” doesn’t translate. “Search for the Child Labor Defense League,” I say, simplifying.

She’s already typing it in and a few hits come up. “It’s a group out of DC. They’ve been involved in a number of protests around the country. Here’s one in Oregon, and another in New York City.”

She pulls up the article. “Oh, wow, they’re not exactly peaceful. Seattle. The burning of…acoffeeshop.”

“Was anyone arrested?” I’m reading it too, but Eve’s always been a faster reader than me.

“A couple people. Gus Silva and…Jo De Paulo.”

“Do a search?—”

But she’s already typing, and there is a hit for a Gustavo Silva, Brazilian footballer.

Brazilian.

“He immigrated to the US a year ago with D.C. United,” Eve says. “And was arrested about three months later.”

I sit back and shake my head. “What is a Brazilian footballer doing hooked up with a child labor protest group in Seattle?”

“According to the Child Labor Defense League, Brazil is one of the leading countries that uses child slave labor to pick their beans.”

“Interesting. Where is Gustavo from in Brazil?”

“There’s a picture of his team.” She’s pulled up the team roster. “Wow, about half these guys are international.” She is scrolling down and right about the middle of the page, my gut clenches.

“Stop.” I point to the screen. “That’s Ramses.”

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