Eric had his driver’s license, but he didn’t own a car. Sara wanted him to get a job and buy one for himself—practical life lesson and all that.

Eli respected her logic, especially after the crap Eric had pulled last year. The kid had made strides, for sure, but that didn’t mean he was out of the woods.

“Carly dropped me off. I’ve been waiting awhile.”

“Your mother thinks you’re at home, tucked up in your little bed. Call her, right now, and let her know where you are.” Eli stomped up the back steps, unlocked the door via the keypad on the porch wall and went inside. “And whatever you do, you idiot, don’t go waltzing in there without announcing yourself when you decide to go back, because Calamity Jane might just blow your dumb ass to kingdom come.”

Eric, so nervous earlier in the evening, was almost cavalier now. “Mom’s a crack shot, all right,” he said, following his uncle into the darkened house.

Eli flipped on the kitchen lights. He knew nobody was lying in wait inside—his dog and his gut, in that order, would have alerted him otherwise—but he was careful anyway.

He was letting Freddie Lansing get to him, and that pissed him right off. He had the upper hand in this situation, as long as he kept his head.

“Did you call Freddie out about that text?” Eric asked. He was crouching alongside Festus now, one arm looped loosely around the dog’s neck, and the cockiness was gone, replaced by uneasiness.

Eli removed his coat, hung it up, took off his service belt and secured his weapon in a gun safe bolted to the kitchen counter. “Yes,” he answered, at length. “Call your mother.”

Sara wouldn’t be asleep, Eli was pretty sure of that. More likely, she was sitting bolt upright in one of the living room chairs, with that Glock resting on her lap.

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Eli would have smiled at the image.

“She’ll be mad,” Eric said. “Because I left without telling her, I mean.”

“Your problem, not mine.” Eli opened the refrigerator, inspected the contents—as usual, he was overdue for a trip to the supermarket—and settled for the last slice of packaged cheese.

Before Eric could reply to that, his cell rang in the pocket of his jacket.

“Crap,” he said, frowning at the screen. “It’s Mom.”

Eli merely grinned, grabbed a can of beer, popped the top and closed the refrigerator door.

“I’m all right,” Eric said, into the phone. “I’m at Eli’s place...yes, I know how worried you are... I’m sorry, okay?”