“The men with patches came. The big one—Bear—he picked me up and carried me away from the blood. He said Lena was going to be okay. He said she was brave. He said she was the bravest woman he ever met.”
He pulled back enough to look at me.
“She is brave. She’s the bravest. She’s like a superhero.”
Marchetti smiled. It was a real smile, not the professional one she’d been wearing.
“She sounds like one. Colton, do you know why that man had a gun? Why he was yelling?”
Colton’s face changed. The fear was still there, but something else was underneath it. Something older.
“He wanted me. He said I was his boy. But I’m not. I’m not his boy.”
Marchetti leaned forward. “Who is he, Colton? Do you know his name?”
“He’s the man who hurt my mom. Before I was born. He hurt her so bad she had to run away. That’s what she told me. She said we had to keep running so he couldn’t find us. But he found us anyway.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest. This child, this eight-year-old boy with shadows under his eyes, had been carrying this knowledge his whole life. The knowledge that someone was hunting him. That his mother was afraid. That safety was something that could disappear at any moment.
Marchetti’s face was calm, but I could see the anger underneath it. The controlled fury of someone who had spent a career protecting children from people who saw them as property.
“Colton, I’m going to ask you something, and it’s okay if you don’t know the answer. Do you know where your mom is now? Has she tried to contact you?”
He shook his head. “She’s gone. She’s been gone for a long time. But Lena’s here now. Lena stays.”
He looked up at me, and the trust in his eyes was almost more than I could bear.
“She’s not going to leave, is she?”
I pulled him close and kissed the top of his head.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I promise.”
THE CASE TAKES SHAPE
The next three days were a blur of activity. Detectives came and went, taking statements from Harlon’s men, documenting the damage to the warehouse, collecting evidence from the shooting. I worked with a lawyer from the state who specialized in child custody cases, building the legal argument that would keep Colton safe.
Every morning, I woke to Colton’s face beside me. He’d taken to sleeping in my room, curled on a cot that Moose had dragged in from somewhere, his stuffed bear clutched to his chest. He was always awake before me, watching, waiting, making sure I was still there.
“You need to stop watching me sleep,” I told him one morning. “It’s creepy.”
He grinned. It was the first real grin I’d seen from him, and it transformed his whole face.
“You snore.”
“I do not snore.”
“Do too. Like a bear. A little bear.”
I grabbed him and pulled him onto the bed, tickling him until he was gasping with laughter. The sound of it filled the warehouse, and I saw Harlon look up from across the room, his face softening in a way I’d never seen.
That afternoon, Janet Pollson arrived with the final paperwork. She was a small woman with grey hair and the kind of eyes that had seen everything. We’d worked together for eight years, and in that time, I’d learned to trust her more than almost anyone.
“You look like hell,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“I was shot four times.”
“I know. I read the police report. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
She pulled a thick stack of papers from her briefcase and laid them on the table.
“The custody hearing is set for next Thursday. Judge Morrison—no relation to the detective, thank God—has a reputation for being fair but tough. She’s going to want to see evidence that Wade Prescott is a threat to the child. She’s going to want to see that you’re a suitable foster parent. And she’s going to want to hear from Colton himself.”
“He’s eight years old.”
“I know. But he’s old enough to have a voice in this. And if he tells the judge that he’s afraid of Wade Prescott, that he wants to stay with you, that’s going to carry weight.”
I looked at the papers, then at Janet. “You think we can win.”
