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“Yeah.” Xavier pointed to Carlos’s shoes. “Get your shoes and your phone and your wallet. And be quiet.”
Carlos shoved his feet into his shoes and squared his shoulders. He gave Xavier a nod, then lifted a finger for him to wait. Quickly, he searched Xavier’s closet. When he turned around, he held a baseball bat in one hand and a golf club in the other.
As quietly as possible, they crept to the spare room. But the window creaked when they opened it. The two of them froze, waiting for... Xavier wasn’t sure what.
Until he heard it.
Footsteps on the stairs. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
Adrenaline spiking, Xavier punched the screen hard, popping it from the window frame. Tilting his head to the window, he mouthed, “Go.”
Carlos didn’t hesitate. He dropped the bat and golf club out of the window and grabbed for the branch, swinging himself to the tree trunk.
When the branch was clear, Xavier threw his leg over the windowsill.
“No,” a deep voice growled. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Xavier grabbed the branch one-handed, as his other hand still held the gun. He was nearly clear of the window when a big white hand grabbed his shirt and yanked.
He didn’t let himself think. He swung the gun toward the man and saw that he, too, was armed. Not hesitating, Xavier fired.
Then he jumped to the branch, shimmied a few feet down the trunk, then jumped to the ground where Carlos waited, the bat and the golf club in his hands.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” Xavier gasped. He was not fine. “Run.”
They took off through the garden to the back fence. Luckily it was a normal chain-link fence, only four feet high. Xavier scrambled over it, then turned to hold Carlos’s weapons.
Carlos was a little slower, but soon they were both running again. Xavier’s pulse pounded in his ears and his breath sawed in and out of his lungs.
He wasn’t a runner. He wasn’t any kind of an athlete. He was studying to be a doctor, goddammit.
And he might have just killed a man.
Don’t think. Just run.
“Where are we running to?” Carlos asked, his breath coming more easily, because Carlos was a runner. Every damn day he ran, and Xavier was kicking himself for not running with him.
“I don’t know. Oh God. What if I killed him?”
They’d run across the five acres of land on which Xavier had been raised and were now in their nearest neighbor’s yard. They stopped behind her shed, Xavier struggling for breath.
“If you did,” Carlos said, panting only a little, the bastard, “then he deserved it. He broke into your house, X. He had a gun, for fuck’s sake. We can only assume he was going to try to hurt you. Did he follow us?”
Xavier peeked around the shed, afraid to look. But he forced himself to keep his eyes open and saw no one running toward them. “I might have killed him.”
“Then he deserved it,” Carlos repeated flatly. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” Xavier felt a sob rising in his throat and fought it back. “I can’t call my mom. She’ll call the cops and...” He tried to control his breathing. “She can’t do that.”
Carlos’s eyes narrowed. “Why, X? Why is this guy chasing you? Are you in some kind of trouble? Tell me. I’ll help you, I promise.”
That his best friend immediately offered his help made Xavier want to cry. He owed him the truth. Or as much as he dared to tell.
“I saw something. A long time ago. I didn’t think they’d find me.” But Rocky had. It made sense that the men Rocky feared could as well. “Maybe it was just a matter of time.”
Carlos pressed his lips together, anger snapping in his eyes. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? That old guy that used to visit you? I knew he was no good.”
