So, how do you keep a child distracted when all she wants to do is go home and sleep in her own bed?

Shower her with love and games, load her up with sugar, and pray she wears herself out.

Mother of the year. That’s me.

Charlotte is too young to understand what’s going on and I’m not about to shatter her innocent childhood by explaining it. Sorry, honey. We can’t go home because the Irish mafia might be parked outside of it. No, we can’t go to your favorite park to play. We need to stay here, hidden away for just a little while longer until it’s safe.

And no, honey, your friend Milo can’t come over to play with you.

It didn’t take long for me to hear that one.

Luckily, baking cupcakes with Uncle Vincent is working to distract her. For now.

She and Zachary lean over the prep table in the bakery kitchen, each with a bag of frosting in their little hands. Zachary is already a pro at this, having successfully frosted about a dozen. Charlotte’s hanging in there, but she’s more concerned with how much of everything she can get into her mouth instead.

Vincent sighs but he’s long from giving up on her. “Charlotte, let me show you…”

He takes the bag and guides her hands to hold it correctly. It doesn’t last long. She drops it and he sighs again.

I take a sip of my drink, a very relaxing gin and tonic Tommy delivered for me from the bar next door, and chuckle quietly at Vincent’s perseverance.

My phone rings in my pocket. I reach in to check it, reading Trevor’s name on the screen.

“Hey, Trevor,” I answer. “What’s up?”

“Are you by a TV?” he asks.

“No, but I can be. Why?”

“Channel nine.”

I slide off my stool. “Be right back,” I say, drawing a suspicious glance from Vincent.

“Just happened about an hour ago,” Trevor says as I take the stairs. “Shots fired at the train station. Daniel Quinn and Morgan McGregor were arrested, along with two of her bodyguards.”

“Jesus…” I reach the upstairs apartment and walk over to turn on the TV. “Was anyone injured?”

“Bumps and bruises only, thankfully,” he says.

I sigh with relief. “Mob war in full force, I guess.”

“Oh, it gets better. Guess who was spotted — on camera — fleeing the scene.”

I change the channel. “Who?”

“Boston Police Department is asking anyone with information regarding this man to come forward as soon as possible. He’s wanted in connection to tonight’s shooting and should be considered armed and extremely danger—”

I exhale, staring into the familiar eyes of his mugshot.

“Milo,” I say.

“Still think he’s not the type?” Trevor asks, his voice sharp. “He left a bag behind full of fake IDs, stolen credit cards, and a ticket to Maryland. Looks like he was running.”

I keep quiet, my eyes locked on the looping security footage. Milo runs, dodging bullets and pushing others to safety as he rushes by. He races outside and my guts twinge as he gets hit by a car. Nausea strikes me cold but I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he pulls himself up and continues limping through the streets.

“Anna?”

“They haven’t found him?” I ask.

“No,” he answers. “He slipped away. Only a matter of time, though. We have our best on it.”

My chest clenches.

“Thanks, Trev,” I say.

“Wait, Anna—”

I hang up and grab my jacket off the hook by the door.

Vincent meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah. We, uh…” I slip my jacket on. “We had an incident at the train station tonight. Looks like we need all hands on deck, so I’m going to go and see if I can be useful.”

“What happened?”

I lower my voice to censor it from the kids. “A shooting,” I say. “No one was hurt but it’s connected to our case. I can’t say any more.”

He nods. “I’ll call Evey over here and go with you.”

“No, just…” I raise a hand. “I’ll be surrounded by other cops. Trust me, I’ll be fine. Just get Charlotte to bed at a decent hour, please. I’ll be back later.”

He nods once but he’s not happy about it. “All right. Be safe.”

“I will.” I brush my fingers through Zachary’s hair. “Bye, Zach.”

He nods at me once, still very focused on squeezing out a few more perfect frosted peaks. Like father, like son. Maybe baby number two will inherit Evey’s talent for mixing drinks instead.

I lean over Charlotte to kiss the top of her head. “I love you, honey,” I tell her.

“Love you, Mommy,” she says, looking up at me with those sharp, multicolored eyes. His eyes.

I step out into the alleyway, feeling my heart pound harder with each step I take toward the parking lot in the back. Rain pours down on me as I fish into my pocket for my keys. I picture his body shattering that car’s windshield and another stab of worry digs deep inside of me.

Milo’s hurt. He needs help but he’s not going to get it now, not with the entire city on the look-out for an extremely dangerous suspect. They don’t know what I know or see what I see. He’s not the bad guy they think he is.

There’s only one place I can think to look.

I just hope he’s still okay by the time I get there.