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J.D. had heard enough. He was on his feet, hopped over his duffel bag that was packed near the door, and was down the two flights of stairs in an instant. He flung himself out the back door and across the lawn before the two boys knew what was happening. At the sight of him, Miles started walking away.
“Not so fast,” J.D. said, reaching the older boy and taking hold of his arm.
“Let go of me.”
“Not yet.” J.D. wasn’t going to be intimidated.
“Leave him alone,” Stephen ordered, his eyes wide.
“Not just yet.” But J.D. abandoned his grip and placed both hands on his hips. “I overheard part of your conversation.”
There was stunned silence. Mosquitoes whined around them as the heat of the day began to recede.
“You shouldn’t threaten people,” J.D. said.
“Crap!” Miles muttered.
“Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What do you know about Isaac Wells’s disappearance?”
“I don’t know nothin’,” Miles spat out.
“No? Then why all the scare tactics while you tried to intimidate Stephen here?” He hooked a thumb at his nephew, who was as pale as death and sweating like he’d just run a marathon.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Miles sneered.
“No? Then let’s find out. We’ll go down to the police station together. Call your mother, see what she has to say.”
“You can’t.”
“Just watch me.”
“No, don’t!” Stephen insisted.
“Why not?”
“Because—because—” Stephen looked to Miles for support, and in that instant, Miles jerked his arm free and ran. Like a fox being chased by hounds, he vaulted the fence and took off through the neighboring yards. J.D. had half a notion to run after him, but decided the kid wouldn’t get far on foot.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Stephen said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it does,” J.D. countered, turning to face his nephew. “Because you’re involved.”
“So?”
J.D. eyed the boy. “I care.”
Stephen snorted. “You’re not my dad.”
Needle-sharp pain seared J.D.’s brain.
“Just because Chrissie thinks you’re hot stuff, doesn’t mean I have to.” Stephen was on a roll, and all his fears came tumbling out. “I’ve seen you and Mom, you know. Seen you together, and Christina’s just a little kid. What does she know, huh? She was messed up when Dad died, started having all those nightmares and now...now, just ’cause you’re here, that seems to be over, but they’ll come back. Just as soon as you leave.” His eyes flashed a blue challenge, and J.D. inwardly cringed. The kid might be right. Christina had seemed to attach to him, and if he left—no, when he left, which was going to be tomorrow morning—the little girl would be disappointed.
Or devastated. Maybe worse than she was when you arrived down here, Santini. Boy, have you made a mess of things. The worst part of it was that, he, too, would feel the pain of separation; he’d started to think not only of Christina as his little girl, but of Stephen as his son.
“I’m your uncle, Stephen. I care.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true.”
