Diesel steeled his spine, hoping that Dani had put her processor back on. He didn’t want to have to say any of this again. Ever. “But,” he said to Michael, this time voicing quietly, “Agent Decker knows about me. What happened to me.”

He watched Michael’s eyes pop wide. And he heard Dani’s indrawn breath. Good. She can hear me.

“You told Agent Decker?” Michael asked, stunned, and Diesel nodded.

“Not the details,” he added. “Nobody knows the details.”

“You never told?” Michael asked.

“No,” Diesel signed, still voicing quietly. “But I’m going to tell you.” And Dani. Please, God, let me get through this. Just once.

“Why?” Michael asked.

Diesel met the boy’s gaze. “Am I weak?”

“No,” Michael replied quickly. “Never. You’re strong. Nobody can hurt you.”

Oh, no. You’re wrong there. “Am I a man?”

Michael frowned. “Yes.”

“But I wasn’t always a man. I was a little boy, just like Joshua. Then I was a teenager, just like you. I didn’t hit a growth spurt until I was sixteen. Before then, I was skinny. Bony. Not strong.”

“You were a kid.”

“So are you.”

Michael’s mouth opened. Then closed. He folded his hands on the table and sat silently for several seconds. Then he nodded. “Okay. I’m a kid.”

Diesel drew a deep breath, pursed his lips. “I’m thirty-five years old and thinking about the man who hurt me when I was six still makes me throw up.”

Michael grew so sad that Diesel didn’t think he could stand it. “I’m sorry.”

Diesel’s eyes stung. His nose burned. Finally he blinked and swiped at the tears that fell. Then he pointed to his wet face. “Am I weak now?”

Michael shook his head. “No.” He didn’t use his hands, just mouthed the word.

“My dad took off before I was born. I never knew him. My mother was only seventeen when she had me. And her very Catholic family threw her out, so she raised me alone.”

“Was . . .” Michael hesitated. “Was she good?”

“Yes.” And that was true. “She was a good person, kind and gentle. And she tried really hard to be a good mother. For a long time it was just the two of us. She got a scholarship to college—she loved computers—but she had to give it up because she had me. She worked at night and went to community college during the day. She took me with her to her job sometimes. She cleaned office buildings, and when I was really little, I’d help. I don’t think I was actually much help, but my mom always made me feel like I was indispensable.”

“She sounds nice.”

“She was.”

Michael bit at his lip. “Is she dead?”

Diesel nodded sadly. “Yes. She died when I was fourteen. Car accident.”

“Did you go to foster care?”