“I thought I’d try picking the lock.”

“You ever pick a lock?”

Max had entered hundreds of homes searching for suspects or executing warrants. He had seen a lock pick used, but admitted he had never actually picked a lock himself. “From what I hear, it’s not all that hard.”

“It’s not. Most people would piss their pants if they knew how easy it was. But it does take finesse. My uncle was a locksmith; I can do it with my eyes closed. Which might come in handy since it’ll be dark.”

“So, you can teach me.”

“I can, but I won’t because you’re not going in. If someone’s gonna commit a felony here, it’s gonna be me. You go to the bar and watch.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m at the bar. I’m aiding and abetting the crime, so I may as well—”

“I’m not gonna argue with you on this, Max.” Lyle gave him a look as heavy as stone. “I’m going in and that’s nonnegotiable.”

Max tried to come up with an argument, but he had nothing. “You’ll need a lock-pick set.”

“You got a hacksaw blade and something to grind it with?”

“In my shed.”

“Then I’m good. It’ll take about an hour.”

“Okay then… I’ll go buy a couple burner phones. That way I can signal you if there’s a problem.”

“Now you’re talking,” Lyle said. “We’ll do this right. Might as well put all that cop training to good use at last.”

Max found his hacksaw and a drill with a grinder bit out back, and Lyle set to grinding a lock-pick set right there at Max’s kitchen table.

Max had kept a single debit card that he used for food and gas and the like, just one more tether that he worried made his exile a sham. But he would use cash to keep the burner phones anonymous. He went up to the loft and dug out a tin can he kept in his drawer. He was about to turn away when he saw the box of keepsakes, and he thought of Jenni.

Max wasn’t one to believe in angels or spirits, but in his darkest moments, he sometimes wondered what she thought of his downfall. And here he was, preparing to commit another crime. Would she understand? Would she see that this time he was doing it to save a child—to try to make things right?

He opened the box, lifted out the bracelet, and looked at the empty golden charm. In a world full of tradeoffs, this one seemed easy. There was a little boy lost, and no one else looking for him. If it was their child out there, she would want him to go to the ends of the earth—to hell and back—if that’s what it took to bring him home. Max was sure of it.

He slid the bracelet into his pocket along with a roll of twenties from the tin can, and tucked the box and can carefully back away.