Alex continued to sit at the table. “Are you going to answer it?”
He really shouldn’t.
But the truck was in the drive, and if he didn’t, he figured it would only make her more curious. It was a perfectly logical, perfectly plausible explanation.
And it had nothing to do with the simple fact that he wanted to see her again.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called out as he slid Alex a look.
Alex stood up and went into the room off the back of the house. They’d rehearsed it all a hundred times. Probably more. And even though they both knew who was at the door, it didn’t matter. Alex did his part. Gus did his, reaching for the Sig Sauer on the kitchen counter and tucking it into place at the small of his back.
“Do you need that?” Alex asked softly, even as he tucked himself against the wall and got ready. Always ready. The backpack was hanging on the back of a chair, and Gus could grab it in a moment. In two minutes, they could be out of this house. Out of the house, and running. Again.
Fury tore into Gus with hot, greedy claws, so abrupt and so all-consuming. It all but leveled him and caught him completely off guard. He’d thought, after all this time, he had dealt with this. Nobody understood the reasons behind this as well as he did. Why get angry over something he couldn’t control?
But the anger was there, bubbling, burning inside him.
He shoved it down, buried it deep as he looked at Alex. He’d never fully deal with it, perhaps.
This was no life for that boy. None at all. He knew it and he hated it. They lived every day by a set schedule. Up at dawn where they went through a routine, what to do if somebody tried to break in, what to do if somebody did break in and managed to get ahold of Gus, where Alex was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do. Gus went to work at his shitty job where the kid sat in the car and did his schoolwork because he couldn’t go to school. They lied through their teeth that Gus was homeschooling him because they didn’t need the mess it would bring down on them if somebody suspected the boy wasn’t getting an education, although that was actually the least of Alex’s concerns.
If they managed to find him—Stop it. He couldn’t do this now.
The resigned look on Alex’s face was another blow. It didn’t cut at him the way the fear did, but it was a blow nonetheless. Like Alex had already accepted this was his life. This was all his life was, would ever be.
Gus didn’t want that for him.
He wanted to promise Alex that things would get better, that he’d have . . . something. A life, somehow. But he didn’t do that. Instead of offering promises he couldn’t keep, he stood there and stared back at the boy until Alex looked away. Casually, he adjusted his shirt, made sure it covered the gun. “You know it’s necessary.”
“But—”
He cut the boy off, speaking softly, in a low voice, and watched as Alex tucked his chin against his chest.
“Yes, sir.”
And as Gus turned away and started down the hall, he heard her voice again.
You must do this for me.
Yeah. He knew that. He knew what he had to do. He just wondered if he and the boy would get through it without the boy hating him.
“HAVE you found them?”
Esteban eyed the boss from under his lashes for a moment before he lowered his gaze back to the floor.
The boss did have a name, but he didn’t dare speak it. He didn’t even want to be here. The last man assigned to this job had failed. And he hadn’t been seen since.
He didn’t want to end up the same way.
But he knew it was likely. He had another idea, but whether or not the boss would go for it . . . Swallowing the spit that pooled in his mouth, he managed to keep his voice level as he responded, “No, sir. We haven’t found him. Not the boy or the man.”
“Why not?”
He had no answer.
After a few seconds, the boss said, “It’s been years. You realize this, don’t you? Years. And a pendejo whose claim to fame in life is looking pretty and fucking females has managed to keep that child away from us. It’s pathetic. You were supposed to be reliable. To have resources. And what have you done but fail?”
“I have a new plan lined up,” he said, swallowing the nasty, metallic taste of fear that rose up his throat. He resisted, just barely, the urge to swipe his hands down the sides of his trousers, but that would wrinkle them and the boss wasn’t overly impressed by a man in a wrinkled suit.
The boss wasn’t impressed by much, to be honest. He never should have taken this job. If he failed this time, his best bet was to get as far away as possible. At least he’d lined up an escape route.
Skepticism dashed through the boss’s eyes, carefully concealed, there and then gone.
But he knew what he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. Doubt. Anger. He made a study of recognizing such things. It kept him alive, made him money. Sometimes, one was equally as important as the other.
“Oh?” The boss leaned back and crossed his hands over a belly that had just now started to go soft even though he was almost sixty. “What is this plan?”
Floundering, he wracked his brain for a decent lie. “I am still working to get it together. Once I have more concrete data to present you with, I’d be happy to go into detail with you, sir.” He didn’t plan on giving him any detail, if he could avoid it. Because if this didn’t work out, he needed to disappear. No point in making it any easier for the man to find him, right?
The boss continued to watch him, his eyes flat, black . . . soulless. “I would suggest, my boy, that you get that information together. Quickly.”
He bowed his head and turned to the door. He had to get back to the search. And he planned on leaving quickly. He was running out of time, he knew. But this new development . . .
Yes. It was the best break he’d had in the past seven months, ever since he’d started hunting for the missing child. As long as it was legit, he might stand a chance.
And he thought it was.
He had a knack for discerning codes, and this website was nothing but code. The subtext and innuendos that people used to get across hidden meanings. It was little wonder they didn’t want people stumbling across the site, little wonder they used code and subtext.
Psychics.
These people were for real. They were legit, not just a bunch of lunatics or New Agers who thought they were psychic. He knew it in his gut. Now he just had to get one of them out in the open. And if that didn’t work, he’d just keep going until he succeeded.
The boss called out his name just as he reached the door.
Pausing, he stood there. Waiting.
The next words sent a shiver across his spine. “I hope you realize . . . my patience isn’t endless. You are quite running out of time. Very much so.”
AS the door shut, Reyes turned and stared out the window.
Four years.
It had been four years.
He hadn’t lost hope, though.
Losing hope too easily led to lost focus, and when one lost focus, it was too easy to stray from the path. He would find the boy.
Find the boy, and kill the man who had taken him away.
It was as simple as that.
But he was losing faith in the man he’d hired. Supposedly this one could find the unfindable, do the undoable, finish the unfinishable. That was what all his previous clients had said. His job record was impressive, to say the least.