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  She folded her arms. “You better not be breakin’ any of his bones, Sean Jones. Patrick has work to do ‘round here.”

  Patrick shot her a dirty look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tilde.” So he wasn’t a strongman, but Patrick wasn’t exactly a light-weight either.

  “Don’t worry,” Sean said. “I’ll go easy on him.”

  He wouldn’t. Sean got some perverse pleasure out of stomping him, but Patrick could hardly blame him. Patrick always got even.

  With a shake of her head, Tilde led Maggie away.

  “Been working out?” Patrick dashed out of Sean’s reach. “You might consider working on your personality first.”

  “I see you’re still curling your hair, Goldie Locks,” Sean returned.

  Patrick lunged, managing a smack on Sean’s shoulder before Sean lurched away. Patrick’s curls were natural! A genetic gift from his mother, as was the blond that he’d inherited from his father. Curl it? Please. Dye it? Never.

  Looking up, Patrick feigned interest in something in the sky until Sean looked too; then Patrick rushed him. Sean was an easy target like that. Patrick knocked him to the ground, but in a matter of seconds, Sean had Patrick face down in the dirt, with an arm up behind his back.

  Patrick tried to spit out a chunk of straw and mud from the corner of his mouth. “Still wrestling at school, huh?”

  “And boxing in the evenings.” Sean bounced once, winding him.

  “Oof!” Patrick wriggled under Sean’s powerful grip. “Show off.”

  With his free hand, Patrick patted the compacted dirt, the wrestler’s way of conceding.

  Sean released him and pulled him to his feet. “How are you?”

  Patrick shrugged as he rubbed his arm. “Sore.”

  The boys embraced, patting each other on the back, then stepped back to face one another.

  “Good,” Sean said. “I can’t believe it’s been seven months already.”

  “Time flies.”

  “Speaking of which, wait until you see the Sheas. They’ve grown a lot since last year. I promised the kids I’d bring them tomorrow night. They can’t wait to see you.”

  Patrick smiled. The Sheas were his only other friends outside of the circus, the only normal family he knew.

  “The boys are getting so big, and Elizabeth—” Sean let out a low whistle. “She’s really grown into herself.”

  Patrick shook his head. “How are they?”

  Sean ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “You mean considering their mom just died? Good, surprisingly. Elizabeth’s strong and is keeping them from falling apart. It was rough there for a while, but you know all about that.”

  Patrick rolled back on his heels. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’ve come to take me to the police station?”

  “Sometimes I think you really are psychic.”

  Patrick stared at his feet. “You’re the one who knew to come.”

  “Well, considering the last two years you’ve come back your dad’s taken off to gamble, I figured you’d need a ride, and Tilde and Jay are always too busy.” Sean raised his hands. “So, here I am.”

  Patrick stared across the camp where Maggie stood with Tilde and Jay. Jay was hard to miss even from across the park. The two were giving Maggie a good rub-down. “It’s not that they don’t want to. This place is their livelihood—”

  “And with the cops refusing to dig deeper into your mom’s missing person case, they figure there’s not much they can do?”

  “Not after two years.” They’d never had much to go on from the beginning. Six at night she’d left to go grocery shopping, a teller recalled checking her out, and then nothing. She was just gone. No witnesses, no leads, no nothing.

  “So, what are you going to do? Talking to the officers in charge…what are their names?”

  “Brown and Benson.” Patrick didn’t like Brown, but he did like Benson. That said, he didn’t trust either of them. How could he? The one thing he’d trusted them to do, they’d failed at.

  “They haven’t been exactly helpful, have they?”

  “I have a plan.” I needed in the records room, so that’s where I was going. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Sean scoffed. “Please. Like I’d let you have all the fun without me.”

  Patrick snickered. “Before we go, we have to help Jay and the others put up Maggie’s tent.”

  “Sure thing,” Sean said. His willingness to help with anything was one of the reasons Patrick liked Sean so much. He was reliable.

  “I won the fight, by the way. Hand it over.” Sean held out his hand.

  Patrick reached into his vest pocket and searched until his fingers ran over the cool metal. He pulled out a silver dollar and ran his thumb over it. The two of them had been passing the coin back and forth for years. Sort of a man-of-the-hour thing with boasting rights. Patrick had had it for the last five months and had lost it within an hour of coming home.

  Let the game begin. He grinned.

  Sean crooked his fingers of his extended hand. “Toss it over. It’s mine fair and square.”

  Patrick flipped the coin in his direction. Sean caught it and planted a kiss on it.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Patrick said. “It’ll be mine again by the end of the night.”

  Chapter Two

  Riding her bike down her street, Elizabeth Shea kept a tight grip on the handle bars. From each handle hung several grocery bags, swaying back and forth, threatening to tip her. She hit a small rock, making the bike swerve. Her muscles stiffened as she fought to get it back under control. She was asking for it, way overloaded, but she didn’t have much choice. They needed the food. Next week she had midterms and wouldn’t have time to do the shopping.

  Two more houses to go. She pedaled at a steady rhythm, ignoring the awkward pull of the weighted, swinging sacks until she reached her house. She planted both her feet and duck-walked the bike up the driveway. If Donald could see me now. She chuckled.

  “Boys!” She dropped the kickstand in front of the garage and with finesse lowered the bags one at a time to the ground. “Boys.”

  Luke and Jake, the two youngest boys, were out the door immediately. She knelt next to the groceries as they rushed up to her. Her thirteen-year-old brother was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Kyle?” she asked.

  Jake, the ten-year-old, held out his arms for her to load. His head came to her chin, and he had the same dark raven hair they all had, but his eyes were emerald like Kyle’s.

  “Watching TV,” Jake said.

  She loaded his arms. All the boys were tall for their age and skinny, but man, were they buff. They had six-packs—even the six-year-old. Sure they ran around like a pack of wild hyenas, but she was athletic too, even ran on her track team, but with no six-pack in sight. How was that fair?

  Luke, the six-year-old, grabbed the gallon of milk and started waddling toward the house, his arms wrapped precariously around the jug.

  She cringed as she pictured a milky version of Lake Erie across the kitchen floor. They’d lost many a gallon to his uneasy grasp. “Wait,” she called after him, then looked at Jake. “Go help him, then tell Kyle if he doesn’t get out here, he’s getting onions for dinner.”

  Jake ran off after Luke and slammed the door behind him.

  She slid the rest of the bags up her arms and inched toward the house. Stepping up onto the patio by the front door, she stopped and stared at the doorknob. She hadn’t thought this through very well. The front door swung open, and she stepped back, the wood frame of the screen barely missing her nose. Her foot hit the edge of the step, and she almost careened backwards before Kyle caught her around the waist.

  When she was thirteen, she’d been nowhere near as tall as he was. He already had an inch on her. His emerald eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa, El, what are you doing?” He pulled her upright.

  From the living room TV, the Oompa Loompas sang of perfect puzzles.

&
nbsp; “Trying not to fall.”

  “Oh, well, you’re welcome.” Kyle grabbed several bags from her, turned, and marched back into the house.

  In the kitchen, Luke had the fridge open and was on his tiptoes, pushing the milk onto the top shelf. She rushed over just as the carton was about to tip out of his grasp and pushed it into place.

  “I can do it,” Luke protested, before catching sight of Willy Wonka on the TV. He ran into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “Play this song again.”

  Kyle and Jake dropped the bags on the counter and followed. From where she stood, she had a good view of her dad sleeping in the recliner, his hair was messy and his face flushed.

  “Kyle,” she called.

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “How long has Dad been home?” she asked.

  “He was home before I got out of school,” Kyle said.

  Kyle got home at 3:30, which meant her dad had left work early again. She took a deep breath. She hoped he was okay.

  After unloading the groceries, she went back into the hall and picked up her dad’s wallet off the hall table. Opening the buttery leather, she counted what was left of his last pay check and frowned. Just enough to get them to his next paycheck, if her dad didn’t have one of his “weak” moments again. It’d been two weeks since he’d last gone out drinking all night, and he promised he wouldn’t do it again. Opening her purse, she removed the change she’d gotten from the groceries and shoved it back in her dad’s wallet with the rest of his money.

  Luke came skidding around the corner. His honey-hued eyes, the exact shade as her own, stared at her wide and excited. At the top of his lungs, he sang the Oompa Loompa song fixating on the part about how much elephants eat.

  Elizabeth grinned.

  Luke hopped up and down in a circle. “We still going to the circus tomorrow?”

  She breathed out. Not with their dad’s money, they weren’t. Not if they wanted to eat next week.

  “I want to see Maggie and Patrick!”

  It was a good thing Elizabeth had saved her allowance and babysitting money religiously for years. It was intended for college, and while she’d promised her mom she wouldn’t touch it, they’d had a rough month. Plus, she wanted to see Patrick. He always made them laugh.

  She was a little nervous about seeing him, too, not just because her mom had passed, but because she’d turned sixteen. Her face flushed with heat as she remembered a conversation she’d had with Patrick two years ago, when he’d turned sixteen.

  Naively, she’d asked him if he would be going on his first date now that he was old enough, not realizing that the sweet-sixteen-dating rule only applied in her house. Of course, she had friends that’d dated before they were sixteen, but for some reason she hadn’t put it together. It’d been humiliating.

  Patrick and Sean had nearly burst from laughing. And then Patrick had claimed her very first date. At the time she’d been equal parts perturbed and excited.

  Now she was equal parts hopeful that he’d remember and wishing he wouldn’t. She thought of her dad slumped in his chair. Love hadn’t done her family any good.

  Luke grabbed the hem of her shirt. “Are we going?”

  She could spare a hundred bucks it’d take to get them in. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat and smiled.

  “Are you kidding?” She dropped to a knee. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “You know you just ran that light, right?” Patrick pulled on his seat belt, making sure it was secure. Sean’s Jaguar was always a joy to be in… when Sean wasn’t driving.

  “Don’t be such a crybaby.” Sean sped through several neighborhoods and toward the 35th precinct. His car kicked up colorful leaves that lay like a red and orange blanket over the streets. “Every cop within a hundred-mile radius knows who I am. You don’t really think anyone would give me a ticket, do you?”

  “Yes, I do.” Just because Sean’s dad was a judge—okay the judge that everyone feared—that would mean nothing to a self-respecting cop.

  “Three years with a license and my record is clean. You just need to know how to negotiate.” Sean rested a hand on his gear-shift.

  Patrick shook his head. And Sean thought Patrick was the master manipulator? Right. Something poked him from the back of the seat, and he shifted. The object scraped across his back. He reached down and pulled the offending item from between the bend in his seat. It was purple and lacy and…

  A bra. Patrick chucked it into the back seat.

  Sean chuckled.

  “You started wearing bras?” Patrick wiped his hands on his pants, picturing its real owner.

  “Just the lacy ones,” Sean deadpanned. “They’re pretty.”

  “I can’t believe you left that in your car.” That was something Sean would never have done a year ago. “What if your dad found it?”

  Since when had Sean gotten so careless? Sean’s number one rule had always been to present as the perfect son. He kept all his shenanigans so secret, not even Sherlock Holmes could’ve figured it out. Leaving a bra in his car like that was just asking for it.

  Sean pursed his lips.

  Oh. He was asking for it. “You want your dad to find it, don’t you?”

  “What? No. I don’t care anymore. He doesn’t care, why should I?” Sean took a right at Patrick’s favorite outdoor café, almost hitting a couple about to cross the street.

  “Hey, watch it.” Patrick dropped his hands to the dashboard.

  “I forgot about it. The girl it belonged to was crazy. Attacked me and everything.” Sean shifted up a gear, zooming down the residential street with quaint little bungalows.

  Something had happened between Sean and his dad, but Patrick wasn’t going to pry. Sean would tell him when he was ready. He always had. They came to each other about everything. “Just be careful, man, and maybe you should stay away from the crazy girls for a while, huh?”

  Sean chuckled. “Two things: I had nothing to do with that bra coming off, and I haven’t gone out with a crazy girl in months—or any girl.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Sean shrugged. “Have you ever considered that my tastes might be refining?”

  “No, why would I?” Patrick’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. The caller ID read Rafferty. He shoved the phone back.

  “Who was that?” Sean glanced over.

  “No one. Keep your eyes on the road.”

  “It was him, wasn’t it? Sergeant Rafferty?” Sean slowed the Jaguar infinitesimally. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  Patrick fought back a grin. “I want my visit to be a surprise.”

  “Oh, come on. If I knew you were back, then he definitely knows. I swear he keeps tabs on the circus.” Sean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

  That probably wasn’t far from the truth after Patrick’s last visit to the station. He doubted he’d be getting a welcoming cheer, but his intention had been to shine a big, bright, obnoxious light on his mom’s case and that’s what he’d done. Of course, it hadn’t helped find her, but it kept them from forgetting her. The fact that Rafferty was calling was proof of that. Two of Rafferty’s detective’s, Brown and Benson, were over his mom’s case and he’d been present for all of Patrick’s visits.

  Patrick’s phone beeped, alerting him to an incoming text. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read: Don’t come to the station today. Have crisis. Won’t have time to talk. Will be in touch.

  Patrick grinned. If they were in crisis, then this was the perfect time to come in.

  “Now what? Why are you smiling?” Sean ran a stop sign, but started to slow now that they were only a block from the station. “That was him again, right?”

  “Yep. Apparently they’re in a crisis and don’t want me to come in.”

  “And that’s a good thing… because?”

  “It’ll make sneaking into the records room a lot easier.”

  Sean sped into the station’s park
ing lot and slammed on his brakes, making his car swerve into a parking spot.

  Patrick took a deep breath and released his death grip on his seat.

  Sean asked, “You want to break into the records room?” His tone asked, Are you crazy?

  “Detectives B and B won’t tell me what’s happening with her case. This is the only way to find out. Besides, if we get caught, you can use those negotiation skills you’ve been bragging about.” Patrick clapped Sean on the shoulder. “I can’t wait to see you in action.”

  “You wish. If we get caught—” Sean pointed at Patrick. “I’m rolling over on you.”

  “‘Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.’”

  Sean glowered. “That’s annoying.”

  Patrick shrugged.

  “Who said that?” Sean asked.

  “Amelia Earhart. Smart woman. Brave woman.”

  “Yeah, and look where that got her.” Sean opened his door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Three

  Inside the station lobby, Patrick leaned against the tall, gray, front desk. He held his hand suspended over a little bell as he made eye contact with the officer sitting there. She kept her poker face as she held a phone between her shoulder and ear. Her posture was perfect, her blue uniform starched and ironed stiffer than her posture, and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

  Patrick had never seen her before, but he liked her. She managed to keep calm on the phone despite his pestering, and she seemed competent. It almost made him feel bad for the shenanigans he was about to unleash.

  Patrick had visited the station enough to know that the hall that ran vertically behind her led toward the bullpen and break room and that the hall running horizontal of the front desk and behind it led to the records room. Patrick wiggled his fingers over the bell as she wrote on a small pad of paper.

  When she finished, she attached her note to a file with a green paper clip she’d pulled from a cup of them. “Yes, sir,” she spoke to the person on the other end of the line. “I’ll let Rafferty know you’re on your way. Yes, the war room is set up. Okay.”