“I need a cell phone. What should I get?” It was early afternoon, and Miguel had decided he couldn’t sit around Nate’s house anymore, forced day off or not.

Dom and Kevin’s heads whipped around so quickly it was comical. Miguel chuckled. “Whoa, don’t hurt yourselves.”

He’d given up his phone when he fled Spokane. It made it too easy for Justin to find him. As time passed, he’d gotten used to being without one. He generally knew where his friends were. After all, he’d lived with two of them until a few days ago, and if he’d really needed to call someone he used Buck’s landline. Asking Dom and Kevin about a phone had also worked as a distraction from questions about his private life: chum in the water.

It was probably ridiculous to hope he could avoid a conversation about what had happened the day before. Miguel didn’t want to talk about anything to do with SkPD finding his wallet at a crime scene or why he’d gone in the police car—none of it. He would be happy if he never had to talk about it, but even putting it off for a few minutes was a win.

But now that he’d left Buck and Joey’s, he wanted to be able to get in touch with people. Including Nate. For instance, if Miguel had a phone he could have texted Nate and let him know he was headed to the shop, instead of leaving a note. Although he didn’t actually have Nate’s number yet. First-world problems.

“What’s this envelope about?” Buck’s voice came from the open office door.

Miguel hadn’t forgotten about the envelope, but he had put it on the back burner. Buck emerged from his office, the unopened envelope in his hand.

“Dude, this complete douchebag dropped it off for you, like, right after you left,” Kevin exclaimed, eyebrows coming together in a deep V. “He wouldn’t let Miguel touch it, because he’s tainted or something. I wanted to pound him.”

“It had your name on it. I didn’t open it, as you can tell.”

Buck eyed it suspiciously, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s not gonna open itself.” Miguel wandered closer, his curiosity piqued.

Buck rolled his eyes at Miguel. “Thanks, Mom.” He stuck his finger under the flap and ripped the envelope open to pull out a sheaf of papers. Unfolding them, he looked at the top page, then began flipping through. “What the fuck is this?”

“What?” Miguel tried to read them upside down.

“These are all about you.”

“What?” Miguel repeated, bewildered.

“These look like some kind of records—bank statements, other stuff. They have your name on them.”

Miguel snagged the pages from Buck’s hand and flipped through them. The top pages were his supposedly sealed juvenile record. Miguel had never kept his history a secret from Buck, but seeing his youthful transgressions printed out in black and white was galling. His arrest for car theft when he was fifteen—he hadn’t cared about the car; mostly he’d been trying to impress the other losers he hung out with. The judge had taken pity on him; instead of detention he’d been given a trillion hours of community service. And the foster home he’d been living in didn’t want him back. That was when Miguel had gone to live at the Singhs’.

Mr. Singh had known about all that, of course, but took him in anyway, then taught him a real skill. Mr. Singh had seen something in Miguel no one else had. He flipped to the next page, a list of the homes he had lived in. His credit report; jobs he’d been fired from during and after Justin. His medical records, for fuck’s sake; that unfortunate STD from 2006. The state’s documents regarding his mother and incarcerated father.

Buck read over his shoulder. “Why would anyone send these to me? Who would send them?”

“My ex.” There was no one else with this level of knowledge and hate for Miguel. He knew with absolute certainty that Justin was behind the envelope. Why hadn’t he opened it before Buck got back? He should have known that Justin would find him eventually. He wasn’t done destroying Miguel’s life. Instead the envelope had sat, gathering dust on Buck’s desk, Justin no doubt getting angrier and angrier that his special delivery didn’t have the effect he’d expected.

“Shit.” Buck ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s been over three years. How did he find me?” Miguel was going to have to leave Skagit, his friends, and the family he’d found for himself. His thoughts were racing ahead: planning, packing, disappearing.

“I knew that guy was a creep.” Kevin had a mulish expression on his face. “He acted like Miguel was worse than dirt.”

He stood in the middle of the shop floor, his friends’ conversation swirling around him unnoticed. Planning his escape. He would need to get a bag and some clothes from Nate’s; he probably didn’t have time to get money out of the bank.

Quickly he catalogued the belongings in his brand-new apartment. Except for the red box, everything there was expendable. Maybe he could leave the box? The box, funnily enough, represented a sort of freedom. It was a cheap trinket, purchased on a whim at an import store, but when he’d seen it he’d known he would buy it. One day he wanted to travel places where things like that were made. He wanted to wander foreign markets rich with pungent spices, colorful fabrics, and the sounds of multitudes bartering, arguing—living their lives. The red box was all of those dreams. No, he couldn’t leave it. That would be admitting that Justin had won.

“He must not have known you were gone,” Miguel said, worried. “He must be angry it’s taken so long for you to open it, because otherwise you would’ve fired me by now.” Buck took the papers back and returned them to the envelope. Miguel was hot and cold at the same time. Like his body didn’t know how to process the reality that Justin was back in his life, still determined to ruin him.

“Buddy,” Buck laid a large, warm hand on Miguel’s shoulder, startling him from his thoughts, “I’ve got your back. We,” he motioned to Kevin and Dom, “have your back. The asshole is not going to be able to do anything to you. I knew all this crap already.” He waved the envelope around. “You’d already told me most of it. He doesn’t have power over you anymore.”

Oh, but Justin did. He had the power to hurt the people who’d remade Miguel’s entire world. When Miguel’d arrived in Skagit, he hadn’t thought there was any hope left. To be honest, he figured he would walk out into the woods, lay himself down, and that would be the end of it. Instead he’d seen the sign for Swanfeldt’s Auto and, much like Mr. Singh’s back in another life, it had acted as a beacon.

Buck had taken him in, and Miguel had rebuilt his life, but he’d always known Justin would find him eventually. He’d never fully stopped looking over his shoulder—that’s why he still didn’t have a cell phone, credit cards, or anything more than a savings account at the local credit union. Until he’d moved out, he didn’t even have his own address. He’d gotten comfortable and careless and fallen right into Justin’s hands.

If he stayed in Skagit all of his people, his friends, would be in danger too. He flashed back to the previous morning: first a flat tire and then the cat. They were warnings. Warnings to Miguel that Justin had found him; what befell the tire, or the poor animal, could easily happen to him or anyone Miguel was close to.

He was so lost in thought, in planning his escape, that he jolted when Buck grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look at Buck. The fat fucking envelope dug painfully into his face as fierce blue eyes caught his own.

“Do not think you are going through this alone. We are here. We will use our resources to get rid of this asshole.” Buck’s voice was fierce and powerful… but not enough.

Buck didn’t see: Justin had already won.

“I’ll call Adam. There’s got to be something a federal officer can do. He can at least give us some advice.”

Miguel nodded. As soon as he was able to get away, he would grab what he could and disappear. Buck had no idea who he was up against. As a police detective, Justin had connections all over the state, and outside it too. The thin blue line was fiercely loyal to its own.

“Dom, Kevin, get back to work. These tickets aren’t going to finish themselves. Kevin, call the clients we haven’t already rescheduled and tell them there’s a family emergency and we’re closed until Monday.”

“Okay, boss.”

“Miguel, my office.” Buck turned back, expecting that Miguel would follow. Sighing, he did. Miguel would let Buck think he was in charge for now.

His brain worked on overtime, churning up every weird event in his life over the past month or so. The driver of that Honda had been Justin. There was no doubt about it. He’d wanted Miguel on edge, wondering if he was losing his mind. The noises in his apartment, the doors slamming, even the midnight jogger—all had originated from the hand of Justin Oakes. He knew it.

Buck punched numbers into his cell phone while Miguel stood in front of his desk like a kid being called in front of the principal. He should know, he’d been called to the principal’s office often enough. It was a shame most educators didn’t have a sense of humor. Was it something they did during teacher training? Make them stand in a corner? Take away all their candy? Sheesh. Miguel was close to letting a nervous giggle escape.

“Hey, Adam, it’s Buck. Can you call me back? We have kind of an issue here I think we need your help on. I don’t want to explain over the phone. Thanks.” Buck put the receiver down. “All right, since you’re here, you can help me and the guys get these cars out the door. Then we can put our heads together and figure out what we’re going to do.” Buck sure liked giving orders. If Miguel hadn’t been so freaked out, he would have given his friend some crap about finally finding his balls.

Spending what was left of the afternoon with Buck and the brothers might have been enjoyable if Miguel hadn’t been nearly drowning in anxiety so thick and strong he almost couldn’t breathe. He was being sucked back down the endless dark tunnel he had spent the last three years pulling himself out of.

The three of them refused to leave him alone. There seemed to be a tacit agreement that one of them was always right next to him, in the shop, talking to him. He wasn’t to be left alone. Buck might have sensed Miguel planned on disappearing as soon as he could get away. They could put it off, but they couldn’t stop him.

Adam Klay hadn’t returned Buck’s call by the time they pulled the doors down for the day. Buck sent Dom and Kevin home, insisting he would drive Miguel to his apartment for anything he needed and then to Nate’s house. Joey had picked up a shift—some kind of staffing emergency at St. Joe’s.

“Look,” Miguel tried talking sense into his friend, “you don’t need to do this. I’ll grab some stuff, then head over to Nate’s and wait for him there.” He tried to make it sound like the most reasonable plan on the planet. One Buck would be obliged to agree with.

Buck looked at him as if he had grown a second (or third) head. “Who do you think you are kidding?” He shook his head and kept walking toward Sheila. “Jesus Christ.”

Miguel hadn’t realized anyone but Joey could drive Buck to curse.

Jamming the two of them into the beat-up shop GTI was kind of a joke, but since Buck’s other choice was the tow truck, Miguel figured he wouldn’t complain. He liked the tow truck, but it lacked an air of discretion.

 

Buck cast an appraising eye over the studio. “So, this is the new pad?” His tone bordered on disapproving.

“Yeah. Pretty much. You want a tour?” He waved a hand toward the only other true rooms—the bedroom and tiny bath.

“What about Nate Richardson? You two seem pretty cozy.”

Miguel felt his face heat. “Nate and I… honestly, Buck, he and I connect; he could be important. But not with my ex in the picture. I think it’s best if I back off for now.”

“Good luck with that. From my impression yesterday, I don’t think he’s going to let you ‘back off.’ Lemme know how that goes for you.” Buck gave him an appraising glance, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Was that bastard actually laughing?

“Seriously, Miguel, why wouldn’t you want Nate at your side? Along with all of us? All these years, and you still haven’t figured out who your family is? That we’re right here? Right. Here.” Buck wasn’t smiling anymore. “Nate seems to be all in. Don’t get me wrong, the man has his hands full with you, but if he’s willing, he’s got us to help out.”

The earnest expression on Buck’s handsome face was almost too much. Miguel almost agreed that he would stay, that Buck was right. Thing was, Buck didn’t understand how Justin could change things. He was an X factor. Charismatic, good-looking, and very intelligent, Justin could sell dirt to a dirt farmer. Miguel had to leave Skagit to protect his family.

Miguel hadn’t been living in the new apartment long enough to feel at all settled. Regardless, the little hairs on his neck were restless. He knew Justin had been there, been inside while Miguel was at work or at Nate’s. In the main area nothing was out of place—admittedly hard to tell when most of his belongings were sitting in piles waiting for furniture he didn’t have.

But then there was the red box. Miguel had left it on the stack of books next to his bed; now it was sitting in the exact center of his bed, the lid slightly askew. While Buck nattered on, opening and shutting the few cupboards in the kitchenette, Miguel pondered how to ditch his friend and escape Skagit altogether. Picking up the box, he stuffed it in a canvas shopping bag without looking inside. He was very afraid Justin had left something unpleasant for him. While Buck’s back was turned, Miguel stuck his hand between the mattress and the box spring where he kept an envelope with a stack of cash. He had learned from the last time. He wouldn’t be left wholly without money.

Buck turned around, and Miguel dropped the envelope into the bag, hoping he didn’t have too guilty an expression on his face. Leaving that bag next to the bed, he picked up another bag of paperback books and some random clothing, then announced, “Ready.”

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Miguel stopped, saying, “Crap, I forgot my headphones, just a sec.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran back up the stairs. Quickly unlocking the door of his apartment, he threw the bag of books inside and grabbed the other bag with his escape fund. He relocked the door and, instead of going back to the front entrance, took the back stairs down to the rear exit.

Turning left into the alley behind the apartment building, Miguel ran as fast as he could, the canvas bag bumping against his shoulder. When he felt safe enough to stop for a moment, he took the cash out of the envelope and stuffed it into his front pocket. The bag and the red box he discarded. Dreams weren’t meant to come true for people like him.