“Through me,” I heard myself croak. For the first time in a very long time—since Kabul—I began feeling the high costs of making small deals with the devil. Debts where unsuspecting souls were used as currency to pay for my sins.

Lucy emerged from the bathroom looking stunned and frail. Jimmy went to her, whispered something comforting, then took her into his arms. She let him. Her eyes, wide and panicked, flitted between me and her laptops.

“Somebody tell me something,” Jimmy said sternly. “Now.”

“Lucy was fifteen when she got accepted to Michigan Tech,” I said. “She was going to study theoretical computer architecture.”

“You, Sherlock?” Lucy looked at me with wide, glassy eyes. “You sold me out?”

“I’m a cop,” I said apologetically. “Ex-cop. Eventually I check everybody out. Force of habit.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at me in disbelief.

“So, what did you do?” Jimmy said to me. “What have you done?”

“After second year,” Lucy said, a vacant look in her wet eyes, “I went home to visit my mom. There was this sheriff’s deputy. He tried to—to my mom and me—I cut him. Bad. I ran. I’ve been running for three years. It’s why I don’t stay long anywhere. Coming back here was a mistake.” After holding back a flood of tears, Lucy said, “But how—how does he know about me, Sherlock?”

“I paid a guy to delete your records,” I said. “A guy who’s good with computers. A hacker who used to live in Detroit. Nobody’s after you, Lucy. There aren’t any warrants. They’re gone. And that deputy that attacked you and your mom? Drunk driving. He’s dead, Lucy.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Lucy said.

“I—like having you around, kid,” I said. “I didn’t think—”

“No!” Lucy screamed. “You didn’t think!”

I stood from the sofa, feeling my chest filling with dread, anger and the weight of my betrayal of Lucy’s confidence. To the house, I shouted, “Come out, come out wherever you are, you sonuvabitch!”

The house was suddenly thrust into darkness.

Then the gas fireplace erupted with flames.

An exaggerated evil laugh erupted through my Bluetooth wireless speakers and bounced off the walls of the living room.

Lucy screamed.

“Not goddamn funny!” I yelled.

The evil, echoing laugh suddenly morphed into the regular laugh of a man genuinely amused with his joke. “Hey, yo, I’m sorry, y’all. I couldn’t help myself. That shit’s funny to me!”

“Skittles?” Lucy said.

“Sup, ma niggahs!” the voice of Skittles said with unfettered glee.

“You’re working with—him?” I said through my anger and confusion.