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Another shout, more muffled. It sounded like someone was right outside the window.
Michael flung the blanket aside and staggered to his feet. Weak light filtered through the window blinds. He grabbed at the slats and pulled open a gap large enough to look through.
Just in time to see Gabriel tackle Chris hard enough to knock him to the ground.
Michael remembered chasing Chris through the woods. What the hell was—
Oh. Wait. They were laughing. An orange Nerf football lay in the grass a few feet away. Gabriel was letting Chris up. Nick retrieved the ball and pointed at something out of sight.
They were playing.
At once, Michael was simultaneously furious and terrified.
Playing. Outside, in full view of . . . whoever.
He grabbed his jeans from the floor and jerked them on, fighting with the button as he yanked the bedroom door open.
Hunter was sitting alone at the tiny kitchen table. He looked up in alarm as Michael burst out of the room. “You okay?”
“They shouldn’t be outside. I can’t believe they’re—” He stopped short as the ball sailed past the glass door at the back of the apartment.
“They’re what?” Hunter glared at the coffee mug in front of him. “I say leave them out there. I thought someone was going to get murdered in here.”
Michael rubbed his hands down his face. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him standing in a puddle of mixed emotions. “What? Why?”
Hunter glanced around. “Why do you think?” His voice had an edge. “There are two rooms and you were asleep in one of them. No television. No one knows what’s going on, or where we’re going to go, or what might happen.”
Michael looked out the door again, studying his brothers. At first glance, they’d looked carefree and happy. Under closer scrutiny, he could read the tension in their movements and see the worry in their eyes. Gabriel had tackled Chris a little too hard to be brotherly—and when Nick had thrown the ball, he’d propelled it like a missile. “How long have they been out there?”
“I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.”
“You didn’t want to play?”
Hunter shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
Michael took a long breath and looked into the kitchen. The clock over the stove told him it wasn’t much past five. He’d slept for three hours, which was two hours and fifty-nine minutes longer than he’d thought he would. The light on the coffeemaker was still lit, and half a pot sat there.
“Do you think we’re in danger here?” said Hunter.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because of how you came flying out the bedroom, all pissed that they’re outside. Does anyone know we’re here?”
Michael thought of those text messages. Would his brothers be any safer inside?
I’m not sure I could limit a fire to five apartments.
Maybe they were safer outside.
He had no idea.
“I don’t know.” Michael opened two cabinets before he found the mugs, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table across from Hunter, shifting his chair so he could see out the back window.
He had two hours to kill. An hour and a half, really, considering he wanted to get to the restaurant early, to walk the premises and see if the ground could offer further clues.
To see if Tyler or Seth was really behind this.
He could close his eyes and see the burned-out living room, the exposed beams in the ceiling, the destroyed furniture. He could still smell the acrid smoke and burnt insulation.
