Page 46 of 2nd Strike
“Yep. Here we go, kid.”
Two minutes later, I pull into an empty spot across from the park. Row homes line both sides, encircling the quaint wooded play area and a concrete jungle of ramps and rails where a group of teenagers make death-defying jumps—are they nuts?
Surrounding the entire area are benches and a few tables. Sitting at one is a man eating. He’s in a dark suit and looks like any other businessman taking a dinner break before heading home. In reality, it’s Justice Greystone, a man in charge of some secret group of renegade agents we think is tied to the FBI.
Another of Grey’s agents, Tony, should also be out there, but from this vantage point, I can’t see him.
Doesn’t matter. Their presence settles me and my shoulders instantly drop. If any press managed to follow me, Grey and Tony will deal with them.
This, I know.
I kill the engine, grab my tote and shove the drugstore purchase into it before exiting.
Ethan meets me on the sidewalk and points to the north end of the park. “I told him we’d meet him by the see-saw.”
A cold wind whips right through me, making me shiver. I shove my hands in my pockets as we walk the concrete path leading to the playground.
I don’t see any teenagers hanging around the benches, but that doesn’t mean anything. Jon could be watching for us.
“Meg?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m freaking out a little.”
Again, I feel a punch of anxiety for him. “Of course you are. You’re about to meet a kid that’s possibly…well…you. Charlie is the shrink in our family, but I’d imagine this situation comes with a whole lot of confusion. As long as you keep talking about it and letting the people you care about know how you’re feeling, you’ll always have help. Your parents love you, Ethan. You know they do.”
“Yeah. I know. This is just…weird.”
It sure was. “It is. And, look, we’re not family, but you can always call me. Or Charlie. Or Matt.” I do my best at a winning smile. “We’re a full-service agency.”
Ethan bumps me with his shoulder. He’s more than half my age, but has at least three inches on me and we both laugh at the awkwardness of his action.
“We’ve got this,” Ethan says.
“You bet we do.”
Ahead, the scrape of a skateboard draws my eye left. A shaggy haired teenager wheels in and heads straight for the see-saw.
Here we go.
He’s tall. Lean. And…dammit, his hair is the exact color of Carl’s.
My stomach pitches then rolls. Ethan faces me, his eyes big and focused in a spaced-out way I haven’t seen on him before.
I reach for his arm and squeeze. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Don’t assume anything. People look like a lot of people. Trust me. I’m a sculptor.”
People look like a lot of people?I’m not even sure what the hell that means. I shake it off, chalk it up to nerves.
We turn back and find him settling in on the bench.
Ethan stops. Just halts right in the middle of the path.
“Ethan, we don’t have to do this. We can turn and walk right out of here.”
For a few seconds he doesn’t move. Just stands there staring at Jon. Whatever he decides, I’ll support him. As bad as I’d like answers about Jon, I’d walk away.
If it helped Ethan, I’d do it.
