Coach Diesel hadn’t said anything since he and Michael had entered the small exam room. Michael wasn’t exactly sure what had happened in the waiting room, but there was tension between the doctor and Coach. It had started the moment he and Joshua had walked through the clinic’s front door with Coach and had gotten worse when Coach had returned from talking with the doctor in her office.

Even Joshua had noticed it. He’d kept looking from Coach to the doctor to Mrs. Moody, who’d stayed quiet. Mrs. Moody was sitting with Joshua in the waiting room right now. She’d had crayons and a coloring book in her big purse, and Joshua was happily coloring when Michael had been led back to the exam room.

It seemed that Mrs. Moody didn’t actually say a whole lot. Michael hadn’t seen her lips move more than once or twice since he’d run up to Joshua at the practice fields. But she smiled sweetly and her touch had been gentle as she’d checked the wound on his head.

Which hurt like crazy. His head was pounding, but it was bearable. He’d had a lot worse. He stiffened as a new thought struck. Would the doctor ask to see more than his head? Would she ask him to take off his pants?

He swallowed hard. He’d say no. He’d fight them. He didn’t need the doctor seeing that. Hell, he didn’t need to see it, either. It had been over a week since the last time, and he was still seeing red streaks in his briefs.

Goddamn Brewer. Michael forced himself to breathe. To calm down. Because thinking about Brewer made him remember the night the man had been killed. Which made him think about the huge bald man who’d killed him.

Who’d returned to the house to look at Joshua. Why? Why had he done that? He’d returned Brewer’s car to the garage and left the man’s keys on a peg near the front door before coming up to look at Joshua. Why?

Why hadn’t he simply stolen the car and sold it?

The man had also taken a suitcase and some of Brewer’s clothes with him that night—a few suits, shirts, jeans, underwear—like he’d been packing for a trip.

No way Brewer’s clothes would have fit him. Brewer was five-ten with a beer belly. The man who’d killed him was closer to the size of Joshua’s coach.