Page 104 of Running to You

“Glad you asked.”

“Whose car?”

“Belongs to a friend. Colton met me at his house.”

Michael drove toward Mom’s house but parked on the street parallel to it. “There’s a path.”

She gazed at the house. “My friend used to live here. We went back and forth a lot.”

Michael’s only response was a quick nod. “I’ve been watching your house. No sign of bad guys, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here. We go in the back.”

“We don’t have a key,” Sam said. “How are we going to get in.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sam, you and I will keep watch while Eliza retrieves the passport. We keep it dark.” He handed them both flashlights. “In and out fast. Got it?”

Sam was looking at his brother, grinning. “Yes, sir, Inspector Gadget, sir.”

Michael didn’t smile. “You were almost murdered here, right?”

Sam’s expression dimmed. “Just never seen you so—”

“Let’s go.” Michael pushed open the door and climbed out.

They did the same, then crept between the houses and into the woods, lighting the narrow path with the small flashlights.

It was surreal, being back here. She had no idea what she’d done a week before, but this path felt familiar, smelling of mud and dead leaves. Had it always been so dark at night? When she was a kid, she and her friend would run back and forth at all hours. She’d never been afraid before. Tonight, though, the air crackled with danger.

Sam held a skinny, leafless branch out of the way. “Go ahead. I don’t want it to hit you.”

She ducked under it as she passed, but he moved into the lead again. Michael was bringing up the rear, both of them acting like guards.

They crossed the backyard. The grass was overgrown—very un-Mom-like. But then, Mom wasn’t here.

Where was she?

Eliza really needed to remember that, soon. Because when she found Mom, she’d find Levi.

Wouldn’t she?

Please, God. Please let them both be safe.

She couldn’t think about that or she’d fall apart.

One thing at a time.

Sam stopped at the bottom of the steps that led to the back door. “Should we break a window?”

Michael held something out. “Put these on.”

She took what he offered. Gloves? “Why? This is my mother’s house.”

Sam said, “You always carry plastic gloves with you?”

“I’d prefer not to get arrested. Or questioned. Humor me.”

They donned the thin, clear gloves. Then Michael crouched in front of the door and picked the lock.

As if it was something he did on a regular basis. As if it made perfect sense that he carried a lock-picking kit.