I can’t remember the last time I held a crayon.

It’s strange to think that one day I picked up a crayon, put it back down, and then never touched one again. There was a time when a brand-new box was the highlight of my week but then, suddenly, that changed. I grew up. I grew out of them. I was too cool for coloring.

But there’s no way in hell I’m too cool to color with my daughter.

“What do you think?” I ask, spinning the book around to show her.

Charlotte leans over the table to check my work. She laughs, loudly, and covers her mouth.

“What?” I ask.

“No!” she says.

“No? What’s wrong with it?”

“He’s pink!” She giggles and points at the page.

“You’ve never seen a pink dog before?” I ask.

“No!”

I gasp. “I have!” I point to my head. “Right up here. Pink dogs. Green kittens. You name it, my brain can make it happen. Yours, too.”

She rolls her eyes, looking a little too much like Anna’s bullshit detector, but I’m hoping she takes that advice to heart. I suppose one could argue that I shouldn’t be teaching her the basics of using logic against people to aid confidence tricks and other scams, but hey, I’m only human.

“You!”

I look up, along with the rest of the customers sitting around the bakery.

Vincent marches out of the kitchen with a thick finger pointed at me across the room.

“I need to talk to you—”

“Vin, stop!”

Anna appears behind him and rushes forward to block his path before he can plow through to me. She grabs his arm and yanks him back into the kitchen with Evey’s help.

“Soothing breaths,” Evey says, guiding him back. “Deep, soothing breaths…”

He points at me again. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“Vincent, come on,” Anna says, pushing him through the doorway. “Knock it off.”

He and Evey disappear into the kitchen. I look at Charlotte and we share a look of confusion.

“Your uncle seems like a very nice man,” I say.

She laughs.

I glance up as Anna lets out a huge sigh on her way toward our table.

“Well, I can only imagine what that was about,” I say.

She slides into the chair next to Charlotte. “Let’s just say Vincent is a little more… protective than your average little brother.”

“Well, I guess it’s not every day your sister tells you…” I pause, my eyes falling to Charlotte again. I’m not actually sure what she knows about her origins yet. Better not say anything without consulting her mother first. “Well, you know.”

Anna nods. “Hey, Charlotte, you want to go give your uncle a big hug for me? Tell him I owe you a double cherry-cherry cupcake.”

Charlotte’s face lights up as she slides off her chair.

“Wait, Charlotte—” I say. She stops and looks at me. “Come here.” She hops back to me and I point to the turtle in my coloring book. “Close your eyes and tell me what color to draw this.”

She closes her eyes for a few seconds. “Red!” she says.

“You want a red turtle?” I ask.

“Yes!”

I reach out and poke her cheek just beneath her eyes. My eyes. “You got it, girl. Go get your cupcake.”

Charlotte spins and bolts through the bakery to the kitchen.

I grab the box of crayons and poke through it until I find a red one.

“Are you having fun?” Anna asks, smiling.

“Hell yeah. I’m having a blast,” I say. “Forgot how relaxing this is…”

She chuckles as I start coloring in the turtle’s shell. “So, you should probably lay low for a while.”

I glance up at the kitchen doorway. “How much more did you tell him?”

“Just enough, it seems.” She shrugs. “Need-to-know details only.”

“Like?”

“Like…” She tilts her head, watching closely as I continue filling in my turtle. “You’re her father. You lied on your donor profile. You have a criminal record. You were arrested for murder…”

“Tip of the iceberg, then,” I joke.

Anna smiles. “And that you saved our lives,” she says. “And that he should give you the benefit of the doubt, like I am.”

I set the red crayon down. “And what’d he say?”

She laughs. “Not sure if he’s been able to form a complete sentence that’s not grumbles and growls just yet, but I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good,” I say, smiling.

I look down at my coloring book. A puffy pink dog and a bright red turtle hanging out on the beach. I sign and date the bottom with a black crayon, drawing a little heart next to my name.

From your friend, Milo.

“I should get going. Don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.” I close the book and slide it over to her. “Make sure Charlotte gets that, all right?”

Anna pauses, barely blinking as she stares across the table at me. “Okay,” she finally says.

I stand up, taking my duffel bag with me. “Bye, Detective. Thanks for letting me hang with her for a bit.”

“No problem.”

I turn to leave but Anna slides forward.

“You know,” she says, making me pause, “I meant what I said before, about how we can work something out. If you wanted to hang with her again sometime, I mean.”

I nod as my stomach twists into knots. “Sure. We’ll stay in touch.”

She gives a short smile. “Bye, Milo.”

I commit it to memory. The way her smile tugs on her jawline and brightens her eyes. The way her ponytail hangs just slightly over her right shoulder. Her cheeks suddenly flushing and slowly fading again. Her hands folded together on the table, slightly twitching.

I don’t want to forget what she looks like, just in case I never see her again.

“Bye,” I say again before walking outside.

* * *

When I first came to Boston, I arrived at this same train station. Seems fitting that I’ll leave from it, too.

I decided not to choose where I’d go to until I got here. I wanted to stand where I am now, stare up at the long list of destinations, and choose one at random. Letting fate decide has usually done well for me in the past but, then again, that’s how I ended up in Boston to begin with.

Boston wasn’t a total bust, I suppose. Still led me right back here again, though.

New York? Miami? Chicago? Maybe I’ll try out Canada for a change.

Or…

I walk up to the counter and the man behind it smiles. “I need a ticket,” I say.

“Destination?” he asks.

“Surprise me.”

I lay down a credit card and he nods, barely looking up. A few clicks on his computer and he swipes the card, triggering a ticket to pop out of his machine.

“Have a good trip, sir,” he says, laying it all down in front of me.

I blink. “I expected more of a reaction than that.”

He shakes his head. “Happens all the time, man.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you usually send people?”

“You’ll find out,” he says with a smirk.

I grab my ticket. “Well done, sir.”

I sit down on an empty bench and turn the ticket over to read my next destination.

Annapolis. Really, dude?

Fate’s a cruel bitch.

I drop the ticket into my duffel bag at my feet and stare into the passing crowd. My train doesn’t leave for another hour, so I have some time to kill.

After a few minutes, a woman walks over and stops in my eye-line. Her closed umbrella drips a small puddle next to my foot. My eyes glide upward in annoyance, taking in her pale, white skin and red knee-high — oh, goddammit. Give me a fucking break.

“Hello, Mr. Murray.”

I raise my head and Morgan McGregor flashes that snake-like smile at me again. “Morgan,” I grunt.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

I lean down to grab my bag. “I’m actually just leaving, so you can take the whole bench—”

Two hands slam onto my shoulders. I look back at the two brutes from her car a few days ago.

Ah, crap.

Morgan turns and sits down on my right. She lets out an amused, almost infectious, sigh and crosses her legs. “Well, this is an odd place to be looking for my brother’s killer,” she says. “I mean… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were leaving town without fulfilling your obligation to me. Now, how do you think this makes me feel?”

“Honestly, Morgan… I really don’t care.”

Her eye twitches. “Mr. Murray, I don’t think you’re taking this job very seriously.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” I quip.

That sour smile returns. “Turns out,” she says, “your horrible work ethic is a well-known liability.”

I frown. “Says who?”

Someone plops down on the bench to my left. I turn to see Daniel Quinn glaring at me with a large, white bandage covering his busted nose.

I sigh. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Fuck.”

Morgan licks her lips. “I heard about the loss of one of Daniel’s men,” she says. “In honor of my brother, I called to extend my condolences. It’s not easy to lose a valuable member of your family to such tragic circumstances.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, the community really sheds a tear every time a mobster gets whacked.”

She blinks slowly, fanning the flames in her eyes. Maybe I should cut back on the snark. Then again, fuck ‘em.

“Daniel and I had a lot to talk about,” she continues. “And guess whose name kept coming up?”

I don’t answer. She leans forward, expecting me to say something. I shrug, playing dumb.

“Yours, Mr. Murray,” she spits, impatiently. “Yours.”

“Ohhh,” I say.

Daniel slaps my shoulder. “Hey, show some respect, you little shit.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

“I need help tracking down my brother’s killer. Daniel needs help fortifying his food truck enterprise. What’s that saying?” Morgan asks. “Oh, that’s right. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Daniel will take over where you failed and help me find Canon’s killer. I will provide my family’s resources to help his food truck get in business again after your little fuck-up in exchange for half the profits. In the end, my brother got his wish. Peace and cooperation between the families really was the best thing for us.”

“Wonderful,” I say. “I’m so thrilled you two could bond over your mutual hatred of me.”

“So are we,” Daniel says.

“Now that y’all are bosom buddies, can we put all this behind us?” I ask. “Mob war averted. Whiskey for all.”

“Not all, Mr. Murray,” Morgan says, tapping my cheek. “Not you.”

“How about I make this solution super easy and promise to leave Boston and never come back? How does that sound? I was just on my way out anyway.”

“Not good enough,” she says. “You see, both me and Daniel here want to take a piece of you home with us today. He’s happy with your head. Just—” She slices a line along my throat with her sharp, red fingernail. “Lopped off, right at the neck. Me, however… I want something a little more below the belt.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, growing even more fed-up with this mob bullshit. “Is it my balls?”

She beams. “Very good, Mr. Murray!”

“You know killing me won’t solve any of your problems, right?” I ask. “You still won’t know who killed Canon.” I twist toward Daniel. “The cops still know everything about your dumbass food truck business. It’s only a matter of time before you and your whole families are rotting behind bars.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats, Milo,” Daniel says. “It’s actually a little rude.”

“Very immature, Mr. Murray,” she says, scolding me.

I turn to Daniel. “She’s just going to betray you once she gets what she wants. Canon was killed because he wanted to play nice with the Quinns. What makes you think she’s just suddenly going to start braiding your hair?” I look at Morgan. “And he’s never going to be happy splitting his business fifty-fifty. Are you kidding? He’s a cheap, old bastard and have you heard the way he speaks to his mother? He’s never going to respect you.”

They both crane their necks to look past me at each other.

Daniel shrugs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Sounds reasonable,” she says, nodding.

They stand up and the men behind me release my shoulders.

“Get up,” Daniel says. “If you leave quietly, I promise it’ll be quick.”

Morgan hums. “Well, not quick, but like… not as slow?”

“I’m just saying we won’t torture the poor guy. The Quinns have some standards in this department.”

“I don’t want it to be painless, though,” she says. “Can we do his balls first?”

“Pretty sure that falls under torture,” he argues.

She sighs. “Okay, one ball, then his head, then the other one?”

Daniel scratches his chin. “It’s not ideal, but it’s a compromise.”

My mouth sags. “I have no words.”

“Good.” He waves at me. “Get up,” he repeats.

I push off the bench to stand between them. Daniel stares at me, his eyes painted black and purple from the deep bruises surrounding his nose.

“Does that hurt?” I ask him.

He frowns. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

I head-butt him again and he collapses to the floor.

Morgan gasps behind me. I spin around and my elbow accidentally slams into her nose.

“Oh!” I say, raising my hands. “I did not mean to do that! I’m sorry!”

She bends forward and holds her face. “Fuck…” she whines.

“I don’t hit girls,” I say. “This was not on purpose. Are you okay?”

“Fucking shoot him!” she shrieks at her men.

I sigh. “Shit.”

They reach for their guns and I bolt into the crowd. I hear a few warning shots spray the ceiling, knocking out the lights above our heads. People scream as sparks rain down and I kick up my knees to run faster, bashing into others as they try to take cover.

“Excuse me! Sorry!”

I race for the entrance, looking back over my shoulder to see if I’ve gained any ground at all between me and Morgan’s giant bastards. They’re several paces behind me, not nearly quick enough to keep up. One of them stops and raises his gun.

“Fuck, fuck—”

I shift left and right and pray they aren’t well-trained.

“Get down!” I shout at anyone who will listen.

He fires at me, missing me completely but I feel every phantom shot in my chest. It rattles my bones, chilling me to the core. I can outrun this. I just have to keep going.

I crash through the entrance doors and look around. People wander by the station, most unaware of the danger coming their way. I rush forward, hoping to blend in with them but a quick look back shows Morgan’s men aren’t too far behind me.

I race into the street to get away and a taxi slams into me. I roll over the hood and shatter the windshield.

The driver hits the brake, shifting the momentum, and I roll right off onto the concrete. It slaps me in the face and I wince as dark spots fill my vision.

Pain fires through me, hitting every limb from my head to my toes, but I can’t stop. I push off the ground, forcing my legs beneath me to get myself back up.

“Sir, are you okay?”

A crowd fills the sidewalks, blocking the two brutes from following me. I turn from them and limp my way across the street, taking to the alleyways to try and stay out of sight.

I ignore the pain as it throbs up my leg. My ribs burn and my head feels like it could explode but I keep running. I’m always running from something.

I don’t know why I ever expected that to change.