Page 92 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“Neighbors,” I say.

“Mrs. Jones across the hall,” Cara says. “She watches everything and calls the police fast. Mr. Denton downstairs is half deaf and owns a baseball bat.”

Dima looks up despite himself.

Cara keeps going. “The super’s name is Mike, but everyone calls him Big Mike. He has keys to the building, but Kathryn changed the chain after a package was stolen.”

“Clinic,” I say.

“Brookline Pediatrics,” she answers. “Mikhail hates the dinosaur mural in the waiting area because the teeth are wrong.”

The name again. Mikhail.

“Preschool,” I say, forcing the next question out.

“Bright Steps Early Learning,” Cara says, voice catching. “Kathryn’s friend works there. Mary. She knows me. If strange men show up, she’ll stall and call Kathryn first.”

“Pickup time?” I ask.

“Three, unless Kathryn has staff duty,” Cara says. “Then three thirty.”

“Who has keys?” I ask.

“Kathryn. Me. Big Mike for emergencies. No one else should.”

“Evan?” I ask because the man already tastes like a weak link.

Cara’s face closes. “He had Kathryn’s spare once when she was sick.”

“How long ago?” Abramov asks, pausing over the keyboard.

Cara turns her head toward him. “Two months. Maybe three.”

I look at Abramov. “Assume copied.”

Abramov nods. “Already noted.”

“Has Patrick seen the boy in person?” I ask.

Cara flinches like I put a gun on the table. “Yes,” she says. “I try to keep him away.”

My hand closes around the edge of the table. “Photos?”

“My mother has one,” she says, rubbing her thumb over the center of her palm. “Patrick could have seen it. Kathryn posted nothing. I posted nothing.”

“Does he run when scared?” I ask.

Cara goes silent.

Every man in the study feels the turn. I know before she speaks that I stepped on something human and small and sacred. I have spent my life making people movable. I can’t bring that language to a four-year-old and expect his mother not to react.

“Mikhail is four,” Cara says, every word shaking. “He’s not trained. He doesn’t have a tactical response. He’s not an asset in one of your reports.”

My control cracks. How dare she.

“He’s my son outside my reach,” I say, my hand closing over the back of the chair until the wood groans. “So give me whatever keeps him alive.”

Silence comes down hard. Cara’s face changes, and the hurt there is worse than anger. She has heard it from me now.