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Stephen’s jaw worked. He stood his ground, his fists clenched, his nostrils flared, more bravado than conviction straightening his spine.
“Now, why don’t you tell me about Isaac Wells.”
“Nothin’ to tell.”
J.D. caught his arm. “Just start at the beginning. And this time, no lies.”
“Let go of me!” Stephen said, immediately defensive.
J.D. released his grip. “I just don’t want you to run off like your friend.”
“Miles Dean isn’t my friend.”
That was one for the good guys.
“That’s a start. Tell me about Isaac Wells and his car keys.”
“I can’t.” Stephen shook his head, and his skin turned the color of chalk.
“Sure you can.”
“Oh, gosh,” Stephen said, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. “You—you don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Stephen blinked rapidly. “Miles will kill me.”
“He’s not going to kill anyone.”
“You don’t know him. Or…or his dad.”
“Ray Dean?” J.D.’s ears pricked up. “What about him?”
“He’s back in town and he’s…mean.”
“Either talk to me or to the police.” J.D. felt sorry for the kid. Obviously he was in big trouble, wedged between the proverbial rock and a hard place, but J.D. couldn’t help him if he didn’t know the truth.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Stephen hesitated. He rubbed one elbow with his other hand and nearly jumped out of his skin when Charcoal galloped out from under the porch. “Oh, God.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
Stephen looked over his shoulder, and his eyes were wide with fear. “You don’t understand. If I say anything to you, or to the police…t
hey’ll hurt Mom and Chrissie.”
J.D. saw red. “Who?” he demanded. “Who’ll hurt them?”
“No one.” The poor kid’s voice cracked on the lie as he tried to backtrack, but J.D. grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
“Listen to me, Stephen. No matter what you’re involved in, no matter what happened, I’m going to help you. You got that?” When the boy didn’t answer but just looked at the ground, J.D. shook him again. “You got that?”
“Yeah.” Stephen nodded.
“Okay. So what’s going on? Who’s threatening to hurt your mother and sister?”
