His next class was Bible and that was taught in Hebrew, so he was excused from it. He wanted to go somewhere and sleep for twelve hours, but since he was dependent on Hannah for wheels, he had no choice but to stick around. Besides, if he didn’t show up at Biology, someone might say something and he didn’t want to cause any problems.

During his breaks, he’d been playing a lot of scales, but the instrument was off tune and it was killing his ears. He didn’t mind banging out an off-pitch “My Heart Will Go On,” but Chopin deserved a lot better. Since tuning a piano was a specialized skill, he finally gave up.

There was a café across the street and he could use a cup of coffee. Technically, sophomores weren’t allowed off campus, but the guards were a joke. Within seconds, he easily slipped out of sight and into freedom—whatever that meant.

He hadn’t walked more than a few steps when he heard the whistle—a melodic slide that went from G to C-sharp. It was always the same whistle—always the same tempo, the same duration, and the same pitch.

Gabe’s ear didn’t come from nowhere.

He stopped walking, his stomach acid churning as his brain went momentarily black. No sense pretending he didn’t hear—clearly he had heard because he stopped walking—so now it was just a matter of choosing the right car so he wouldn’t look like a doofus.

There were three cars parked along the curb. The Honda Accord was out of the picture—too pedestrian and no pickup. The Jaguar was too flashy and in the wrong color—no way he’d drive a powder blue car. The last one was a black Audi A8—2008. Good car with enough pickup, and most important, probably enough room in front to accommodate his long legs and his six-foot-four frame. The windows were tinted but not dark enough to arouse suspicion.

In a single motion, Gabe yanked up on the passenger-door handle and slid inside. Once there, he stared out the windshield, counting the seconds as they ticked by. He knew that the only way to handle Chris Donatti was to roll with the punches. It took his father a good five minutes before he uttered a sound.

“You okay?”

Gabe nodded, his eyes still fixed ahead. “Fine.” He could hear his father breathing hard. No boozy smell; the man was sober and that made him scarier. A moment later, a manila envelope plopped on his lap. It was closed with a metal clasp and taped several times around the flap.