Page 37 of Prodigal Son

Fox waited.

“Evan Sanchez.”

“You’re American?”

“Originally.”

“How’d they find you?”

It was hard to tell, with his head tipped down, but it looked like he blushed. “Facebook.”

Fox barked a startled laugh. “Shit. Are you serious?”

“Mmhm.”

Fox made a gesture over his shoulder for Nicky:get out your phone and check that shit out. “Your last contact with them – what did they say to you?”

He couldn’t move much, because he was tied, but he shifted his sneaker-clad feet on the tile, the grit on the soles crackling audibly in the close space. “They…” He trailed off, took a breath. Wet his lips, nervously, and lifted his head again. His expression was naked this time, fear laid bare. “The guy I dealt with…he never gave me a name, you know? He was like something out of a movie. Suit, and sunglasses, and he never made any kind of facial expression.” His own face was incredibly expressive, brows jumping, frown almost pleading. “Real spooky dude.”

“Generally, if you’re willing to hire a sniper, you’re pretty spooky.”

“Yeah, but–” He pitched forward, and his ropes caught. He grimaced. “Look, I’m used to people like…” His eyes widened.

Fox grinned. “People like us?”

“Well…yeah. Shit, yeah, okay? Gangsters and mobsters and people with grudges, and–” His gaze flicked to Nicky, who must have moved.

“I get it,” Fox said. “But that guy wasn’t this.”

“No.” Evan sighed with relief this time. “No, this was…he wasintense.”

And this was just a dumb kid who was in way over his head, floundering, nothing but fingertips above the surface of the water. Something clicked into place then, and Fox understood.

This kid was likehim. Not exactly – no one wasexactly– but there was something restless and ungrounded under his skin. Something that made its own rules, lived by them, died by them. Fox felt it, deep down, because he had to. Because there were only two reasons why a lanky kid advertised sniper services on Facebook: either he was the stupidest fuck alive…or he was like Fox.

Fox studied him a long moment, and chose to believe the latter.

“Alright, tell you what, Evan Sanchez. Come work for us, and we can make sure you don’t wind up dead on the evening news.”

Evan’s gaze narrowed. “Why would you help me?”

“Oh, you tried to kill me, and my girl, and my old man. I’m not going to forget about that.” He grinned with all his teeth. “Payback comes later, rest assured. But these Pseudonym fuckers are going down.”

“Yeah, but…why would youhelp me?” he repeated.

Fox shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy. Take it or leave it.”

“I…” Evan’s jaw worked a moment; Fox could see him turning over possibilities in his head. But there was only one option for a kid like him, so he finally gave a jerky nod and said, “Take it.”

“Smart move.” Fox turned to Nicky. “Get him something to eat, and make sure he’s locked up somewhere he can’t get out.” Then he left the room.

Eden was waiting in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with a cup of tea cradled in both hands. She still wore her jacket, its collar flipped up, hair ruffled from the wind. She looked soft, in that moment, big-eyed, and pink-cheeked, and…

He shut the thoughts down.

But she made it hard, smile catching at the corners of her mouth. “I see what you did in there.”

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” he deadpanned, reaching for the tea kettle she’d left on the burner. There was just enough left for a cup.

---