Diesel wasn’t going to insult the boy’s intelligence. “Yes. But I’m going to ask that you go play a video game. I . . . I don’t know what I’m going to find,” he said when Michael’s eyes flashed in anger, the boy’s hands rising, poised to sign angrily.

“It’s going to be no good,” Michael snapped, twin flags of color staining his pale cheeks. “I’m not stupid. Brewer knocked Joshua out. With a drug.” He mimed a syringe in his arm. “He was taking him out of the house.” His eyes narrowed. “I know what he did to me. I know what he was planning to do to Joshua.”

Diesel opened his mouth, lifted his hands. Then lowered his hands, closing his mouth, because he didn’t know how to respond. “You’re right,” he finally signed. “It’s going to be no good. And I know what you’ve been through. I know.” He let the kid see his own hurt. His own torment. And he knew the moment that Michael understood because he reared back in stunned disbelief.

“No.” Michael’s eyes filled with tears once again. “You?”

Diesel nodded. “Me. So I know what you see in your mind, and I don’t want you to have to see it on my computer screen. I care about you too much already. I don’t want more pictures in your head.”

Michael blinked, sending the tears down his cheeks. “But . . . you put them in yours,” he signed, his movements small.

“And when you’re older, you may choose to do the same. For now, do you trust me?” Diesel held his breath, waiting for Michael’s answer.

“Yes.” The sign was immediate and firm. Adamant. Certain.

The crack in Diesel’s heart widened painfully. “Then let me do this. For you and for Joshua. And for the other kids who don’t get a choice. Who can’t ignore the pictures in their minds. Please. Go play a game. For me.”

Michael swallowed hard. “Okay.” He stood, unsteady on his feet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Diesel watched as the boy slowly walked to the room he’d been assigned and shut the door. Then he picked up his laptop from the coffee table and headed for the office with its lockable door. It was time somebody besides Scott King and Richard Fischer saw what was in their super-secret database.

Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 4:05 p.m.

Goddammit. Cade peeled the bandages from his leg with a grimace. He’d hoped a few hours’ sleep would help his leg heal, but the wounds looked worse.