I’m back, and you’re going to pay for how things went down last summer, you little crap-stain. Go crying to your uncle and you don’t even want to know what I’ll do to you, or to that pretty little sister of yours.

Eli looked up from the screen. Two minutes before, he’d had Brynne on his mind and not much else. Now he was in uncle-mode, big-time.

“Freddie Lansing?” he asked.

Eric swallowed visibly and nodded. “I can’t prove it’s him,” he mumbled miserably. “But who else could it be? I’m not the most popular kid in school, but I don’t have any enemies. At least, not that I know of.”

Eli figured the boy was right.

And he was obviously scared shitless.

The Lansing kid was a bully, a thief and a real contender for a long stretch in prison, if he didn’t either get himself killed or have himself a genuine come-to-Jesus moment. The previous summer, when Eric had gotten himself into trouble with the law—and make no mistake, he was responsible for his own actions and choices, no matter how young he was—he’d gotten most of his ideas from Freddie.

Freddie had gone away to stay with relatives on the other side of the state, after he and Eric and the others were arrested. Clearly, he was back in town, and the knowledge had gotten past Eli somehow.

“I’ll talk to him,” Eli said. “Tonight.”

Eric looked almost frantic. “Don’t,” he pleaded. “You saw what he said about bringing this to you!”

For the second time that night, Eli rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder.

The kid was trembling.

“Listen to me, Eric. You did the right thing, telling me. And you know I’ll do whatever I can to keep you and Hayley safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Eric fretted.

“Where’s Hayley tonight?” Eli asked. He thought he recalled Sara saying something about a sleepover, but there hadn’t been any specific information.

“She’s at Melba’s house,” Eric answered. “Hayley is tight with her daughter, Jill. There’s a slumber party or something.”

Melba Summers was working tonight, on the lookout for drunk drivers and highway accidents. The state patrol, efficient as they were, always needed extra help on booze-saturated holidays like New Year’s Eve.

“The kids are alone there?” he asked. “At Melba’s place, I mean?”

“No,” Eric replied, his gaze jittering from here to there, as though he expected Freddie Lansing to jump out at him from behind a bush or a parked car. “Mom said Melba’s ex is spending the night.”