If his head wasn’t throbbing so badly, he might have panicked. Instead he just stared and tried to keep his legs from collapsing.

The boy sneered. Close up, his face reminded Kevin of a boar. He was older than Kevin and a foot taller, but still young, with pimples all over his nose and chin and a tattoo of a knife high on his forehead. He smelled like dirty socks.

The boy brought his face within a few inches of Kevin’s. “I’m going to give you one warning and one warning only, squat. That girl is mine, not yours. If I ever see you so much as looking at her again, I’ll kill her. If I catch you sneaking out to see her again, I may just kill the both of you. You hear me?”

Kevin just stood dumb.

The boy slapped him across the cheek. “You hear me?”

Kevin nodded.

The boy stepped back and glared at him. A slow lopsided grin split his face at a cruel angle. “You think you’re in love with this little tramp? Huh? You’re too stupid and too young to know what love is. And so is she. I’m going to teach her love, baby, and I don’t need a squat like you messing with our little romance.” He stepped back.

Kevin saw the knife in the boy’s hand for the first time. His mind cleared. The boy saw his eyes on the knife and he lifted it slowly.

“You have any idea what a nine-inch bowie can do to a squat like you?” The boy twirled the blade in his hand. “Do you know how persuasive a bright shiny blade can be to a young girl?”

Kevin suddenly felt like he was going to vomit.

“Get back to your little room, squat, before I decide to cut you just for looking so stupid.”

Kevin fled.

7

Friday

Night

KEVIN SAT IN HIS RECLINER, waiting impatiently for Samantha, flipping through the channels to hear the various versions of the “car bomb,” as they were calling it. He nursed a warm 7UP in his left hand and glanced up at the wall clock. Nine o’clock— nearly five hours had passed since she’d left Sacramento.

“Come on, Samantha,” he muttered softly. “Where are you?” She’d called him halfway down. He told her about the dog and begged her to hurry. She was already doing eighty, she said.

Back to the television. They knew Kevin’s identity, and a dozen reporters had tracked down his number. He’d ignored the calls per Milton’s suggestion. Not that he had anything to add anyway—their theories were as good as his. Channel nine’s suggestion that the bombing might be the work of a well-known fugitive dubbed the Riddle Killer interested him most. The killer had taken the lives of five people up in Sacramento and had vanished three months ago. No more details, but the speculation was enough to plant a knot in Kevin’s throat. The pictures of the charred wreckage, taken from the sky, were stunning. Or terrifying, depending on how he thought of them. If he’d been anywhere near the thing when it blew, he’d be dead. Like the dog.

After Slater’s call, he’d forced himself to return to the backyard and explain the situation to Balinda, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. She’d already put the matter behind them by executive order. Poor Bob would somehow be convinced that Damon was alive and well, just gone. Balinda would have to explain her initial screaming flight across the ash after the explosion, of course, but she was an expert at explaining the unexplainable. The only time she even responded to Kevin was when he suggested they not call the police.

“Of course not. We’ve got nothing to report. The dog’s fine. Do you see a dead dog?”

No, he didn’t. Eugene had already dumped it in the burn barrel and set it on fire. Gone. What were a few more ashes?

His mind drifted to the call with Slater. What boy?Slater didn’t seem to know of any boy. What boy?The key to his sin was found in the riddles. As far as he could see, the riddles had nothing to do with the boy. So then Slater couldn’tbe the boy. Thank God, thank God, thank God. Some secrets were best left buried forever.

The doorbell chimed. Kevin set down his 7UP and clambered out of his chair. He stopped at the hall mirror for a quick look. Haggard face. Smudged T-shirt. He scratched the top of his head. The bell chimed again.

“Coming.”

He hurried to the peephole, peered out, saw that it was Samantha, and unlocked the door. It had been ten years since he’d kissed her on the cheek and wished her well in conquering the big bad world. Her hair had been blonde and long; her blue eyes sparkling like stars. She’d had one of those faces that looked airbrushed all the time, even without a speck of makeup. Smooth rounded cheeks and soft upturned lips, high arching eyebrows and a soft pointed nose. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Of course, he wasn’t seeing a lot of girls in those days.

Kevin fumbled with the knob and opened the door. Samantha stood under the porch light, dressed in jeans and smiling warmly. He’d thought of her a thousand times since she’d left, but his mind’s eye could never have prepared him for seeing her now, in the flesh. He hadseen a lot of girls in the last five years, and Sam was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Bar none.

“Are you going to invite me in, stranger?”

“Yes. Sorry, of course! Come in, come in.”

She walked past him, set down her bag, and faced him. He shut the door.

“My, you’ve grown up,” she said. “Put on a bit of muscle.”

He grinned and ran his hand over his head. “I guess.”

He was having difficulty not staring at her eyes. They were the kind of blue that seemed to swallow whatever they gazed upon—brilliant and deep and haunting. They didn’t reflect the light so much as shine, as if illuminated by their own source. No man nor woman could look into Samantha’s eyes and not think that there was indeed a God in heaven. She stood just up to his chin, slender and graceful. This was Samantha, his best friend. His only real friend. Looking at her now, he wondered how he’d survived the last ten years.

She stepped forward. “Give me a hug, my knight.”

He chuckled at her childhood reference and hugged her tight. “It’s so good to see you, Samantha.”

She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Beyond that one blissful kiss when they were eleven, their relationship had remained platonic. Neither of them wanted romance from the other. They were bosom buddies, best friends, almost brother and sister. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed Kevin’s mind; a friendship had just always been more appealing. She had always been the damsel in distress, and he the knight in shining armor, even though they both knew she had rescued him in the first place. Now, despite the fact that it was she who’d again come to his rescue, their childhood personas came naturally.

Sam turned to the living room, hands on her hips. “I see you like travel posters.”

He walked with her and grinned self-consciously. Quit rubbing your head; she’ll think you’re a dog. He lowered his hands and tapped his right foot.

“I’d like to go to all those places someday. It’s kinda like looking at the world. Reminds me there’s more. Never did like being shut in.”

“I like it! Well, you’ve come far. And I knew you would, didn’t I? You just had to get away from that mother of yours.”

“Aunt,” he corrected. “She never was my mother.”

“Aunt. Let’s face it, dear Aunt Balinda did you more harm than good. When did you finally leave?”

He walked past her to the kitchen. “Twenty-three. Drink?”

She followed him. “Thanks. You stayed in that house five years after I left?”

“Afraid so. You should’ve taken me with you.”

“You did it on your own—that’s better. Now look at you, you have a college degree and you’re in seminary. Impressive.”

“And you graduated valedictorian. Very impressive.” He pulled a soda from the fridge, popped the tab, and handed it to her.