Page 40

“I won’t.”

That answer, at least, is true.

I don’t drive home; instead, I sit in the parking garage beneath the restaurant, engine running, Kamden Blake’s file open across my lap.

I look at the photograph again.

Nineteen-year-old Kamden stares past the camera, entirely unaware that the man his father trusted with his life has just been ordered to end his.

Eleven years late, that’s what I am.

Eleven fucking years late.

But not too late—not yet.

I close the file and hold it against my thigh.

The words hang in the enclosed space of the car, stripped of Mathias’s casual authority. Upstairs, they were an order. Down here, they’re a choice.

Mathias means one thing.

John meant another.

I put the car in gear after throwing the folder onto the leather passenger seat.

This time, I will take care of his boy.

4

Kamden

Two days after watching a man get shot in the face, I am alphabetizing soup.

Nobody asked me to. Nobody, as far as I know, alphabetizes soup at all. But I guess this is what my brain has decided will keep me from having a nervous breakdown.

Amy’s before Campbell’s. Campbell’s before Healthy Choice. Progresso near the bottom because the cans are tall enough to mess up the shelf spacing if I put them anywhere else.

One can at a time. Label forward. No dents. No gaps.

Simple.

I crouch in front of the lowest shelf with my box cutter tucked safely into my apron pocket, arranging chicken noodle beside cream of chicken while an elderly woman a few feet away spends several minutes debating reduced-sodium tomato versus regular.

My hands have almost stopped trembling since the thing, but every now and then, two cans knock together in my grip, producing a metallic clink that goes straight through my teeth. I’ve learned to anticipate it and to try to prevent it by moving slower.

Most importantly, I try to keep my head empty, because thinking is dangerous now.

Thinking leads to rain, and rain leads to dumpsters, and dumpsters lead to Wade’s knees folding beneath him as he crumples to the ground.

My fingers tighten around the Campbell’s can.

No.

No thinking.

Amy’s. Campbell’s. Healthy Choice.

One can at a time.