The man then opened all four of the BMW’s doors and the trunk, searching for something. When he didn’t find it, he closed the doors, pocketed Brewer’s keys, backed the SUV to the main road, and drove away.

Michael let out a quiet breath. No keys. He didn’t know how to drive yet, but he could have figured it out. Now the car was no longer an escape option.

But now I don’t need to escape. Brewer is gone.

And Michael was so tired. His mother wasn’t home tonight. She was out partying with her friends, getting stoned again. Which was probably the reason Brewer had been so bold. He usually snuck around to do his dirty work.

But now there would be no one in the house to hurt them.

Besides, Michael knew where Brewer kept the rest of his guns, and he knew how to use them to keep his little brother safe. I’ll take Joshua home. Get some sleep. And in the morning I’ll figure out what to do next.

He’d made it back through the orchard when Joshua’s eyes blinked open. His mouth curved when he saw Michael’s face.

“Hi,” Joshua said.

Or at least that was what it looked like he’d said, and Michael was pretty good at guessing people’s speech. Especially Joshua’s. Michael had been watching his brother speak since he’d uttered his first words.

Michael smiled down at him, despite the pain in his shoulder. “You okay?” he voiced, because his arms were full and he couldn’t sign.

Joshua nodded sleepily, his eyes closing once again.

Michael shuddered with relief. They’d dodged a bullet tonight and Joshua seemed none the wiser.

And Brewer? Good riddance. I’m glad he’s dead.

Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, March 9, 2:15 a.m.

The river was high tonight, Cade thought as he watched the churning water flow past his vantage point above the bank. Nowhere near flood stage, but the current was still fast and deadly. Perfect for his needs.

Turning from the river, he stared down at the body in the back of his SUV, glad the miserable SOB was dead. Good riddance.

It had been close tonight. Too close. He’d assumed the asshole had been incapacitated by the Taser that he’d fired into the back of his neck, but somehow John Brewer had managed to move his arm enough to draw a weapon.

That hadn’t happened before, not in the four years that he’d been performing this service for the community.