The Bad Job (11/?) [Leverage]
Previous
His team had waited for him at the van, still hidden even while the whole forest was crawling with police. The feds seemed to be focused on the other side of the road, though, and Nate had slipped away from them just as easily as he'd slipped inside. Hardison was leaning against his car, eyes closed, Parker right next to him in companionable silence. She was still in her FBI-outfit, hair held back in a sensible pony-tail with big shades covering her eyes. Her shoulder was touching Alec, and it could have been coincidence. Her whole body, though, was leaning towards her friend who had lowered himself so their shoulders were at the same height. Nathan doubted that there was much chance in the way they stood, giving and receiving comfort and trust. It looked more intimate than a big, smooching kiss would ever look.
A few feet away, Sophie was trying to get Eliot to talk, shining her big eyes on his, looking right into his soul, it seemed. She was touching his arm every now and then to either console for some odd reason, or try to coax answers from him. The way Eliot shifted away and glared showed that he suspected a trick, some mind-washing or whatever she called it. He was probably right.
Eliot didn't look good, still wearing the clothes from the con though his hair had been messed up, a few leafs sticking out. A tear in his jeans and the dirt and grass on his boots led Nate to believe he'd ditched the stolen car somewhere and walked through the forest - more probably ran. He was tense like a bowstring, eyes distant and far away, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance and defense, trying to keep up the barrier Sophie was softly aiming to dismantle.
A tremendously bad idea, Nate realized.
“All right... that didn't go too bad.”
Everyone turned towards him, one proud, one grateful, one neutral and one … disbelieving. And angry.
“That went... are you out of your mind?” Sophie strode over, visibly calming herself before she reached him. This job had her out of her comfort-zone and it showed in every one her mood-swings and the loss of her composure, her calm. “You walked right into a whole bunch of FBI-agents, and that you weren't spotted or recognized as … some character you've played in the last years is a miracle, nothing less. You endangered not just yourself but us, the boy and the whole stupid plan, and you're saying it went well?”
She had a point, but right now, Nate didn't care. He'd interrupted her ploy, which had been his aim and now he just wanted to go home. “So? I wasn't recognized and nothing happened.” He shrugged. “Parker, where's McSweeten taking Ryan?”
“Back home,” Eliot growled, “or I'll go an' kick his ass.” He'd relaxed his stance a little, his face smoothing into his trademark calm that was so often mistaken for lack of intelligence. Nathan had fallen for that once, a long, long time ago, and never since. “They'll take his statement once Miriam gives her okay.”
“Who's Miriam?” Hardison asked, and Nate really wanted to know, too. Right now wasn't the best time, though.
“Guys, if we don't get out of here now, we might still get found and found out. So I vote for leaving and talking on the way.” Parker held up her hand. “What, Parker?”
“Oh... I thought we were taking votes now. I wanted to show my support,” she shrugged. “Can I drive?”
They unanimously declined her petition.
**
Eliot had straight-out refused to go with them, giving some bullshit reason to get the stolen car back to civilization. Since there wasn't much Nate could do to stop him except tie him up in duct tape, he had Hardison drop him off close to the car on their way back. He'd hoped to get more of the story, more about Ryan, but either Eliot needed some space, vent some of the tightly-coiled violence that was boiling behind his eyes or he wanted to check up on the kid.
Maybe all of it.
So he simply gave in, sending the rest of the team on their ways to cope with what they'd done, celebrate or shower or hide in a closet, he didn't really give a damn, didn't want to deal with them right now. He needed a drink, so fucking badly it was like a constant ache in his chest.
They would have to get some of the money towards their clients, but Nate didn't feel like doing it now. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and everyone in it and went at his whiskey like a starving man at a chicken-sandwich.
Three glasses in, he felt his limbs starting to relax and his brain abandoning the constant churning and chugging, the pushing of ideas, thoughts, plans; stopped putting them in front of his eyes, clearly visible against the blank screens on his walls.
Maybe it would be better to do his maudlin upstairs, he distantly wondered, a blank wall or ceiling, no couch, no screens, no exciting electric gadgets and no reminder of the people who crowded his life nowadays. A place where he wouldn't be constantly reminded of who they were, what they did.
What they'd done.
They had sold a child to a pedophile.
It didn't get any better with his mind half-drowned, it was still the truth. No matter how he twisted and turned it, explained it and reasoned with himself, they had still sold a man a kid. Eliot had sold that man a kid, though they'd all helped, they all had been accomplices in the deed.
Eliot, being the man he was, would probably be able to live with that, he was already living with so much shit that this little thing wouldn't matter. Or would it?
Nate realized that he really wanted to know. From the perspective of the leader in their little bunch of misfits, sure, since he needed to know if one of his people had gone over his limits, had gone too insane, had come from asset to liability. But he also wanted to understand this man, from a friend's perspective and from a purely selfish reason: was there a chance that he himself would one day get over this? One day look in the mirror and not see Winham look back, smiling his smarmy smile gratefully and extending a hand towards that little, scared boy from the video-feed.
The video...
Frowning, Nathan stood and swayed over to the equipment-bag Hardison had dumped by the door for when they would need it later. He found the laptop and even found the videos they had taken from inside the cabin, filled himself another glass - he should really start using bigger glasses, it was a pain having to refill every minute - and started the film.
He was still watching when Eliot arrived.
**
The videos didn't show much more than he'd already seen. But they made things possible, like stopping the scenes, going on in slow-motion or speeding things up.
And he couldn't stop watching Eliot's interactions with Ryan, couldn't help but cling to them as the truth, the goddamn truth about what had really gone on. He'd muted the pictures, not wanting any distraction from what he was seeing. On the screen, Winham had just asked Ryan his name, and Eliot'd moved; a tiny, nearly invisible shift of his hips. He was poised to attack, a hint closer to Winham than he'd been before but even though it was such an innocent, easily excused movement, Ryan had reacted, taken up the cue like ...well, like Sophie did so often with Nate, not thinking. Reflex.
He'd shifted a bit further away from Winham, not even a step but leaning away, even away from Eliot to give him room to move, to not be in the way. He'd also let his shoulder drop and was now standing minutely behind Eliot, not between the two adults anymore. And it had given him confidence, had allowed him to work with his eyes and whisper his fake-name.
After that - Nathan knew because he'd already watched it countless times - Eliot had been prepared to strike any second, always putting himself ever-so slightly between Winham and the kid. When the trapdoor had been opened and Winham had gone down, the two had been alone for a brief second, and this was the favorite and most hated part of the video for Nate.
The two had faced each other and silently, without a word, it was agreed to go on with the plan.
Ryan had been afraid, that much was clear from his shifting glances, but he'd held the unspoken question in the eyes of the man who was so clearly protecting him, had nodded and then bobbed him against the stomach, as if it was him reassuring the adult that everything would be alright. Then, he'd opened his arms to let himself be carried down the ladder, not like a child clinging to a father but like Parker strapping herself in her harness. Necessity, protection, trust.
It made Nathan feel better and worse for getting the boy into this. Better, because it was clear that Eliot hadn't just snatched some random kid from the streets, a thing he of course never thought Eliot would do. Except... maybe he would?
And worse because while Ryan had talent even bigger than Sophie's when it came to pretending, conning, grifting, it still held the question as to where he'd gotten that skill. What boy would know so much about manipulating people?
**
“Nate?”
“Heya Eliot,” he waved, then let his hand drop in his lap. He was too fucking tired to hold it up. “Where's the others?” Was it something to be proud of that he wasn't slurring, even after half a bottle of the finest Irish Whiskey? Or should he feel ashamed?
“At the pub.”
“So, they're not ready to face the facts? Not ready to know the truth?”
“I think they're not ready to deal with your drunken ass,” Eliot growled, still leaning against the wall next to the door, relaxed and poised at the same time. Damned cats.
“Really? And they're fine with the rest of this,” he sneered, inexplicably angry. “Fine with selling a child?”
He didn't look to the door, but clearly heard the sigh. “We didn't sell a child, Nate,” Eliot murmured, then walked over to the couch, sat down across from Nathan. “What're ya looking at?”
“Nothing,” Nate hissed, childishly closing the laptop so no-one would see this, would realize that he wasn't angry so much as fucking jealous. Jealous that Eliot had this kid, had someone who looked up to him like Sam had done; like Sam would, one day, have forgotten and move on to live the life of a teenager, then a man. But Sam wouldn't ever grow up, would never again look bright-eyed at Nathan in wonder, would never again show so much trust in him or anyone that he'd walk into the basement of a bad, bad man, sure that nothing would happen to him, that he was safe. It hurt to know that, hurt so bad he couldn't breath right, couldn't think straight. “He yours?” he asked, aiming for indifferent but apparently coming across as plain mean.
Good thing Eliot was the one person in their team who could deal with mean just fine. He raised his eyebrows. “Who, Ryan? No, I'm pretty sure he's not mine.” He thought a moment, shrugged. “Could be, I guess. Don't think so, though.”
“Huh.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just... huh.” Now Nathan shrugged. “He has the same look in his eyes you have,” he added, not sure why. Eliot just frowned, clearly not happy with that observation. And though Nathan had meant it as a compliment, in retrospect it wasn't very flattering for the kid to have the eyes of … well, whatever Eliot was. It was still true, though, and that sobered him up some. “Jesus, Eliot, where's that kid come from?”
Sighing, Eliot moved his hands through his hair, clean from all the goop he'd put in it to be Evan Howard. He smiled, a little smile to himself. “Met him in the gym,” he said, and when Nate frowned he added “I teach self-defense for kids at the youth-center, once a week.” Huh. Nathan hadn't known that. Eliot smirked. “Little punk nearly took out my kneecap, he was so fucking angry. Must've been... hm, dammit, not quite two years back already.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah. He was nine, small, scrappy. Wiry, slippery little bugger, constantly fighting with the others. I've had to grab him and drag him off kids twice his size, and man, he was hard to hold on a good day, but once you had him pinned, he flipped, just lost control and got mean. Shit, he once broke Liam's arm.” He looked up. “Liam was fifteen. Was just joking around.”
There was pride in his eyes and voice, a softness as he recalled the events of the past.
Still, Nathan had to ask. “Not a good sign, right?”
“No kidding, absolutely not. Took a long time to sort him in any kind of shape, and Miriam said he'd been even worse when she'd first seen him. Miriam's his social-worker, or whatchacallit,” he added for Nate. “She's good people. He's fine now, I guess, or at least on his way there. Got better control. But he's still a lying piece of shit most of the time.” Even the insult sounded like praise. “I still fall for his puppy-eyes even though I know it's fake. Hell, the kid could con Sophie into giving up her shoe-collection, he's just that good. Scares the shit outta me to imagine how he got like that.” The last part was whispered, more to himself than for Nathan's benefit. He'd still heard it.
And heartily agreed.
“So...he's an orphan?”
“No. His parents,” he spit the word out like it tasted bitter “are in prison, and they better not ever step out of it. Kid's just getting his feet back under him.” Eliot looked at Nate, clearly angry and not hiding what he'd do if Ryan's family ever turned up in their city. “If you wanna know the whole story, dig up Wynona Harris and Peter Connor. You might not want to know, though,” he cautioned.
Nathan knew he'd check anyway. Might do it without Hardison's help, though. He wiped his hand over his chin, feeling exhaustion waft over him like a shroud, pulling him down, down, down. He'd need more alcohol, though, to keep the dreams away.
“If I'm thinking right, how the Hell did you get him to go with you?”
“Told him everything. The whole plan. Every detail.” Eliot took a sharp breath, exhaled slowly. “When we knew what Winham had on his plate, I thought of Ryan right away. Nate, he's so fucked up, but he's tough. He's a good kid, if you look underneath all that bullshit. I told him what's what. Wouldn't let anyone walk into that blind. He just thought about it one minute, asked about what we'd do to Winham, and he agreed. He fucking agreed, and from that moment on, I couldn't have stopped him. Bugger's gonna be a police-man, he said.” He smiled fondly. “Bet he'll make a great cop.”
“Yeah...” Nathan could still see Ryan and McSweeten. They'd be an interesting match. “Still. Eliot... did we really have to? Was it worth it?”
The silence stretched, and the clock from the kitchen kept ticking away. The answer, when it finally came, was short.
“Yes.”
“Just like that? Just that simple? A 'yes' and that's all?”
“Yes, that's all. I'll let you think about it. See ya t'morrow.” Eliot stood and stretched, walked out the door and was gone, like a ghost, leaving no trace. Maybe he hadn't even been here, Nate thought. Had he been? Was he sleeping already?
“Sam,” he whispered into the silence. “Sam....”
Next
His team had waited for him at the van, still hidden even while the whole forest was crawling with police. The feds seemed to be focused on the other side of the road, though, and Nate had slipped away from them just as easily as he'd slipped inside. Hardison was leaning against his car, eyes closed, Parker right next to him in companionable silence. She was still in her FBI-outfit, hair held back in a sensible pony-tail with big shades covering her eyes. Her shoulder was touching Alec, and it could have been coincidence. Her whole body, though, was leaning towards her friend who had lowered himself so their shoulders were at the same height. Nathan doubted that there was much chance in the way they stood, giving and receiving comfort and trust. It looked more intimate than a big, smooching kiss would ever look.
A few feet away, Sophie was trying to get Eliot to talk, shining her big eyes on his, looking right into his soul, it seemed. She was touching his arm every now and then to either console for some odd reason, or try to coax answers from him. The way Eliot shifted away and glared showed that he suspected a trick, some mind-washing or whatever she called it. He was probably right.
Eliot didn't look good, still wearing the clothes from the con though his hair had been messed up, a few leafs sticking out. A tear in his jeans and the dirt and grass on his boots led Nate to believe he'd ditched the stolen car somewhere and walked through the forest - more probably ran. He was tense like a bowstring, eyes distant and far away, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance and defense, trying to keep up the barrier Sophie was softly aiming to dismantle.
A tremendously bad idea, Nate realized.
“All right... that didn't go too bad.”
Everyone turned towards him, one proud, one grateful, one neutral and one … disbelieving. And angry.
“That went... are you out of your mind?” Sophie strode over, visibly calming herself before she reached him. This job had her out of her comfort-zone and it showed in every one her mood-swings and the loss of her composure, her calm. “You walked right into a whole bunch of FBI-agents, and that you weren't spotted or recognized as … some character you've played in the last years is a miracle, nothing less. You endangered not just yourself but us, the boy and the whole stupid plan, and you're saying it went well?”
She had a point, but right now, Nate didn't care. He'd interrupted her ploy, which had been his aim and now he just wanted to go home. “So? I wasn't recognized and nothing happened.” He shrugged. “Parker, where's McSweeten taking Ryan?”
“Back home,” Eliot growled, “or I'll go an' kick his ass.” He'd relaxed his stance a little, his face smoothing into his trademark calm that was so often mistaken for lack of intelligence. Nathan had fallen for that once, a long, long time ago, and never since. “They'll take his statement once Miriam gives her okay.”
“Who's Miriam?” Hardison asked, and Nate really wanted to know, too. Right now wasn't the best time, though.
“Guys, if we don't get out of here now, we might still get found and found out. So I vote for leaving and talking on the way.” Parker held up her hand. “What, Parker?”
“Oh... I thought we were taking votes now. I wanted to show my support,” she shrugged. “Can I drive?”
They unanimously declined her petition.
**
Eliot had straight-out refused to go with them, giving some bullshit reason to get the stolen car back to civilization. Since there wasn't much Nate could do to stop him except tie him up in duct tape, he had Hardison drop him off close to the car on their way back. He'd hoped to get more of the story, more about Ryan, but either Eliot needed some space, vent some of the tightly-coiled violence that was boiling behind his eyes or he wanted to check up on the kid.
Maybe all of it.
So he simply gave in, sending the rest of the team on their ways to cope with what they'd done, celebrate or shower or hide in a closet, he didn't really give a damn, didn't want to deal with them right now. He needed a drink, so fucking badly it was like a constant ache in his chest.
They would have to get some of the money towards their clients, but Nate didn't feel like doing it now. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and everyone in it and went at his whiskey like a starving man at a chicken-sandwich.
Three glasses in, he felt his limbs starting to relax and his brain abandoning the constant churning and chugging, the pushing of ideas, thoughts, plans; stopped putting them in front of his eyes, clearly visible against the blank screens on his walls.
Maybe it would be better to do his maudlin upstairs, he distantly wondered, a blank wall or ceiling, no couch, no screens, no exciting electric gadgets and no reminder of the people who crowded his life nowadays. A place where he wouldn't be constantly reminded of who they were, what they did.
What they'd done.
They had sold a child to a pedophile.
It didn't get any better with his mind half-drowned, it was still the truth. No matter how he twisted and turned it, explained it and reasoned with himself, they had still sold a man a kid. Eliot had sold that man a kid, though they'd all helped, they all had been accomplices in the deed.
Eliot, being the man he was, would probably be able to live with that, he was already living with so much shit that this little thing wouldn't matter. Or would it?
Nate realized that he really wanted to know. From the perspective of the leader in their little bunch of misfits, sure, since he needed to know if one of his people had gone over his limits, had gone too insane, had come from asset to liability. But he also wanted to understand this man, from a friend's perspective and from a purely selfish reason: was there a chance that he himself would one day get over this? One day look in the mirror and not see Winham look back, smiling his smarmy smile gratefully and extending a hand towards that little, scared boy from the video-feed.
The video...
Frowning, Nathan stood and swayed over to the equipment-bag Hardison had dumped by the door for when they would need it later. He found the laptop and even found the videos they had taken from inside the cabin, filled himself another glass - he should really start using bigger glasses, it was a pain having to refill every minute - and started the film.
He was still watching when Eliot arrived.
**
The videos didn't show much more than he'd already seen. But they made things possible, like stopping the scenes, going on in slow-motion or speeding things up.
And he couldn't stop watching Eliot's interactions with Ryan, couldn't help but cling to them as the truth, the goddamn truth about what had really gone on. He'd muted the pictures, not wanting any distraction from what he was seeing. On the screen, Winham had just asked Ryan his name, and Eliot'd moved; a tiny, nearly invisible shift of his hips. He was poised to attack, a hint closer to Winham than he'd been before but even though it was such an innocent, easily excused movement, Ryan had reacted, taken up the cue like ...well, like Sophie did so often with Nate, not thinking. Reflex.
He'd shifted a bit further away from Winham, not even a step but leaning away, even away from Eliot to give him room to move, to not be in the way. He'd also let his shoulder drop and was now standing minutely behind Eliot, not between the two adults anymore. And it had given him confidence, had allowed him to work with his eyes and whisper his fake-name.
After that - Nathan knew because he'd already watched it countless times - Eliot had been prepared to strike any second, always putting himself ever-so slightly between Winham and the kid. When the trapdoor had been opened and Winham had gone down, the two had been alone for a brief second, and this was the favorite and most hated part of the video for Nate.
The two had faced each other and silently, without a word, it was agreed to go on with the plan.
Ryan had been afraid, that much was clear from his shifting glances, but he'd held the unspoken question in the eyes of the man who was so clearly protecting him, had nodded and then bobbed him against the stomach, as if it was him reassuring the adult that everything would be alright. Then, he'd opened his arms to let himself be carried down the ladder, not like a child clinging to a father but like Parker strapping herself in her harness. Necessity, protection, trust.
It made Nathan feel better and worse for getting the boy into this. Better, because it was clear that Eliot hadn't just snatched some random kid from the streets, a thing he of course never thought Eliot would do. Except... maybe he would?
And worse because while Ryan had talent even bigger than Sophie's when it came to pretending, conning, grifting, it still held the question as to where he'd gotten that skill. What boy would know so much about manipulating people?
**
“Nate?”
“Heya Eliot,” he waved, then let his hand drop in his lap. He was too fucking tired to hold it up. “Where's the others?” Was it something to be proud of that he wasn't slurring, even after half a bottle of the finest Irish Whiskey? Or should he feel ashamed?
“At the pub.”
“So, they're not ready to face the facts? Not ready to know the truth?”
“I think they're not ready to deal with your drunken ass,” Eliot growled, still leaning against the wall next to the door, relaxed and poised at the same time. Damned cats.
“Really? And they're fine with the rest of this,” he sneered, inexplicably angry. “Fine with selling a child?”
He didn't look to the door, but clearly heard the sigh. “We didn't sell a child, Nate,” Eliot murmured, then walked over to the couch, sat down across from Nathan. “What're ya looking at?”
“Nothing,” Nate hissed, childishly closing the laptop so no-one would see this, would realize that he wasn't angry so much as fucking jealous. Jealous that Eliot had this kid, had someone who looked up to him like Sam had done; like Sam would, one day, have forgotten and move on to live the life of a teenager, then a man. But Sam wouldn't ever grow up, would never again look bright-eyed at Nathan in wonder, would never again show so much trust in him or anyone that he'd walk into the basement of a bad, bad man, sure that nothing would happen to him, that he was safe. It hurt to know that, hurt so bad he couldn't breath right, couldn't think straight. “He yours?” he asked, aiming for indifferent but apparently coming across as plain mean.
Good thing Eliot was the one person in their team who could deal with mean just fine. He raised his eyebrows. “Who, Ryan? No, I'm pretty sure he's not mine.” He thought a moment, shrugged. “Could be, I guess. Don't think so, though.”
“Huh.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just... huh.” Now Nathan shrugged. “He has the same look in his eyes you have,” he added, not sure why. Eliot just frowned, clearly not happy with that observation. And though Nathan had meant it as a compliment, in retrospect it wasn't very flattering for the kid to have the eyes of … well, whatever Eliot was. It was still true, though, and that sobered him up some. “Jesus, Eliot, where's that kid come from?”
Sighing, Eliot moved his hands through his hair, clean from all the goop he'd put in it to be Evan Howard. He smiled, a little smile to himself. “Met him in the gym,” he said, and when Nate frowned he added “I teach self-defense for kids at the youth-center, once a week.” Huh. Nathan hadn't known that. Eliot smirked. “Little punk nearly took out my kneecap, he was so fucking angry. Must've been... hm, dammit, not quite two years back already.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah. He was nine, small, scrappy. Wiry, slippery little bugger, constantly fighting with the others. I've had to grab him and drag him off kids twice his size, and man, he was hard to hold on a good day, but once you had him pinned, he flipped, just lost control and got mean. Shit, he once broke Liam's arm.” He looked up. “Liam was fifteen. Was just joking around.”
There was pride in his eyes and voice, a softness as he recalled the events of the past.
Still, Nathan had to ask. “Not a good sign, right?”
“No kidding, absolutely not. Took a long time to sort him in any kind of shape, and Miriam said he'd been even worse when she'd first seen him. Miriam's his social-worker, or whatchacallit,” he added for Nate. “She's good people. He's fine now, I guess, or at least on his way there. Got better control. But he's still a lying piece of shit most of the time.” Even the insult sounded like praise. “I still fall for his puppy-eyes even though I know it's fake. Hell, the kid could con Sophie into giving up her shoe-collection, he's just that good. Scares the shit outta me to imagine how he got like that.” The last part was whispered, more to himself than for Nathan's benefit. He'd still heard it.
And heartily agreed.
“So...he's an orphan?”
“No. His parents,” he spit the word out like it tasted bitter “are in prison, and they better not ever step out of it. Kid's just getting his feet back under him.” Eliot looked at Nate, clearly angry and not hiding what he'd do if Ryan's family ever turned up in their city. “If you wanna know the whole story, dig up Wynona Harris and Peter Connor. You might not want to know, though,” he cautioned.
Nathan knew he'd check anyway. Might do it without Hardison's help, though. He wiped his hand over his chin, feeling exhaustion waft over him like a shroud, pulling him down, down, down. He'd need more alcohol, though, to keep the dreams away.
“If I'm thinking right, how the Hell did you get him to go with you?”
“Told him everything. The whole plan. Every detail.” Eliot took a sharp breath, exhaled slowly. “When we knew what Winham had on his plate, I thought of Ryan right away. Nate, he's so fucked up, but he's tough. He's a good kid, if you look underneath all that bullshit. I told him what's what. Wouldn't let anyone walk into that blind. He just thought about it one minute, asked about what we'd do to Winham, and he agreed. He fucking agreed, and from that moment on, I couldn't have stopped him. Bugger's gonna be a police-man, he said.” He smiled fondly. “Bet he'll make a great cop.”
“Yeah...” Nathan could still see Ryan and McSweeten. They'd be an interesting match. “Still. Eliot... did we really have to? Was it worth it?”
The silence stretched, and the clock from the kitchen kept ticking away. The answer, when it finally came, was short.
“Yes.”
“Just like that? Just that simple? A 'yes' and that's all?”
“Yes, that's all. I'll let you think about it. See ya t'morrow.” Eliot stood and stretched, walked out the door and was gone, like a ghost, leaving no trace. Maybe he hadn't even been here, Nate thought. Had he been? Was he sleeping already?
“Sam,” he whispered into the silence. “Sam....”
Next