Michael shuddered, his eyes filling with helpless, frustrated tears. “She only throws stuff at me.”

“And if she misses?” Coach asked. “For now, trust us. We want to help you. Okay?”

Michael clenched his jaw. “I got no choice, do I?”

Both the doctor and Coach sighed. “Yes, you do,” Dr. Dani signed. “You have choices. But none of them are good ones. Sorry.”

And she was sorry. Michael could see that. Coach was sorry, too.

And his mother had nearly hit Joshua recently. In the last week, since Brewer had “disappeared,” she’d been especially out of control.

She thought that her husband had left on a trip without telling her. She thought he was having an affair. That he’d divorce her. That her kids had cost her a good life. She thought Brewer was leaving her.

Which was why the big bald killer had taken Brewer’s clothes. So everyone would think that he’d just left. And because the bald guy had left the car there in the garage, that Brewer was coming back. Someday.

Only Michael and the big bald killer knew different.

No one else could ever know. Because that man would come back for Michael. And maybe for Joshua.

Michael couldn’t let them be separated. He’d let the doctor stitch him up, then he’d take Joshua and run. He wasn’t sure where, but he’d find a place for them to hide.

And then? Where will you hide? How will you take care of him?

Damn, my head hurts. Wearily, Michael dropped into his chair, rubbing his forehead. “Fine,” he signed sullenly.

Coach sat back down and the doctor pulled up a stool and sat in front of him. She was very pretty, but in a way that made him frown. It wasn’t the white streak that framed her face, because her brother Greg had one, too, and Michael was used to seeing it. It was something else . . .

Oh. “Your eyes are two different colors,” he signed before he realized he was going to. He winced. “I’m sorry. I was rude.”

But it was true. One of her eyes was a deep brown and the other a bright, bright blue. Just like Greg’s.

She just smiled at him. “They are. I was born with them. Takes folks a little while to get used to, but you should see my older brother. His are downright spooky.”

Michael wanted to ask questions, but she was pointing to the women. “This is Maria Catalano. She’s your interpreter.”

Catalano was older than his mother and had gray hair. “You’ve worked with an interpreter before?”

Michael nodded. “I have one in school.” So he knew the rules. She’d interpret everything anyone said so there’d be no secret conversations behind his back.