Faith nodded unsteadily, then opened her eyes to focus on Michael. She sat next to him and made him look at her. “Your face says you think this is your fault. It’s not. It’s the fault of the asshole who shot him and who tried to kill you. Not your fault. You did nothing wrong and everything right. Do you understand me?”

Michael nodded, too. They were nice words, but . . . “Is he going to die?”

Faith shook her head. “He didn’t the last two times he was shot, so odds are good that he’ll be his own grouchy self by lunchtime.”

“Two times before?” Michael gaped. “This is his third time getting shot?”

She nodded again, firmly this time. “And that doesn’t count the time he was shot in Iraq. My cousin really is a tough bastard. All of us are. So you need to be tough, too. It’s kind of a club requirement.”

It was silly enough to make Michael smile, which was just in time, because Joshua returned with a concerned frown.

“I couldn’t find the Legos in the toy box,” he said.

“No?” Deacon tilted his head. “Maybe I was wrong. I know another place they could be. Let’s go check.” He held out his hand and Joshua took it trustingly.

When Michael and Faith were alone, she squeezed his knee. “Dani and Deacon are two of the best people I know. They’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Michael let himself believe it because he was too scared not to. “I’ll pack up the Xbox so that Dani can beat Coach at Cuphead.”

Faith grinned wickedly. “Video it with your phone, please. I want to see the look on Diesel’s face when Dani kicks his . . . cup.”

Michael laughed. Maybe it would be okay after all.

Chapter Twenty

Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 3:45 a.m.

The cops were doing door-to-door searches. Cade leaned against the wall of the house he’d entered and made himself think. Which was hard because his leg hurt. The wounds weren’t fatal, not like those he’d given Detective Stone. The first bullet had hit a few inches above his knee, the second a few inches below, both far enough away from the femoral artery that he wasn’t going to bleed out.

He didn’t think he’d dripped any blood as he’d run, and they hadn’t seen his face, so they couldn’t identify him if they did manage to catch him. Plus he’d bought his escape with the grenade, his timing perfect. The smoke and dust thrown up by the exploding dirt had kept them from seeing where he’d gone, but they knew he couldn’t have run that far.

The cops were driving along the street, announcing the danger via loudspeaker. “A dangerous criminal is on foot in your neighborhood. Keep your doors and windows locked. We will be conducting door-to-door searches.”