“Oh, you want to play with knives?” Mac pulled his father’s KA-BAR from its sheath on his ankle. The KA-BAR was more than a knife. It was a jungle survival tool that could chop wood, slash through foliage, and still maintain an edge sharp enough to slice ripe tomatoes. That flimsy, folding blade was a butter knife in comparison.

Mac lifted his gaze from the weapon to the man’s face and got his first good look at him. The man was just a kid.

He was beyond thin, nearly gaunt. The sallowness of his skin and the hollows in his cheeks marked a lifetime of poor nutrition. Silver hoops pierced his ears, nose, and one eyebrow. Shaggy jet-black hair hung in points across his forehead like a Japanese anime character. From behind the thick fringe, insolence shone from stubborn dark eyes. His gaze dropped to the KA-BAR. He licked his lips and shifted his weight, uncertainty crossing his face.

“Drop the knife. I don’t want to kill you.”

“Can’t do that.” The kid adjusted his grip.

“Who told you to follow me?” Mac asked. “Freddie?”

The kid didn’t respond, but Mac could see the affirmation in the surprise on his face.

“I know Freddie a hell of a lot better than you,” Mac said.

Silver rings swayed as the kid shook his head. “Then you know I can’t cross him.”

Mac sighed. This kid could be the Christmas Past version of him. But damn it, he didn’t want to hurt him.

With a stubborn sneer, the kid lunged. The awkwardness of the movement suggested he hadn’t trained with Freddie very long.

Mac stepped aside, out of the path of the knife, and brought the hilt of the KA-BAR down on the kid’s wrist. The knife fell to the dirt.

“Ow.” The kid clutched his wrist and turned to run away.

In one motion, Mac kicked the switchblade away and grabbed the kid by the neck of his shirt. He hauled him against the side of the SUV. Pinning him, Mac searched his pockets for weapons but found only a bag of weed and a cell phone. “What’s your name?”

“Rabbit.”

“OK, Rabbit, here’s what’s going to happen.” Mac guided the kid toward his bike. “You’re going to leave town.”

The kid spun and jabbed a finger at Mac’s nose. “If you know Freddie, you know why I can’t do that.”

Mac had been close with Freddie’s son Rafe in high school. At the time, Mac imagined that they’d folded him into their family right when he’d felt very much alone. But the reality was a far cry from his teenage impression. Freddie used Mac for all sorts of duties.

“What were you going to do if you caught up with me?” Mac asked, staring pointedly at the kid’s finger.