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night,” the pastor, who oversaw the youth program, called above the noise. While groans and protests rang out, the gym full of teens stopped their games and began tossing their basketballs into the cans near the back door.
    “Saved by the whistle.” Max tapped the ball, knocked it out of the kid’s grip and gave it a toss. It sailed into the end basket, neatly missing everyone, and into the bin. “Another two points for me.”
    “Sad. I feel sorry for you. The only way you can beat me is to cheat.” Marcus winked, although he shook his head, feigning sympathy. “It only proves it. You’re washed up. Obsolete. It’s a wonder the police department doesn’t retire you. Can’t even beat a kid at basketball.”
    “I’m pathetic, I know, but next week, watch out.” The kid was good. And if things kept going as they were, he would graduate high school at the top of his class witha college scholarship in hand. They walked to the bleachers, keeping the conversation up as they pulled sweatpants over their workout clothes. Zipping up jackets, they headed out the door into the surprisingly cold evening.
    “Loser buys the pizza, so it’ll be your turn to treat. Again.” Marcus held out his hand to check the falling chunks of precipitation, for it was amazingly white. “Is that snow? Man, I can’t believe this place. I miss L.A.”
    “Tell it to the weatherman.” Personally, he didn’t care if it snowed all year long. All that mattered was that Marcus was in a good environment, doing well in school and keeping his nose clean. He beeped the remote and his truck’s door locks snapped open.
    “Hand over the keys, bro.” The kid’s palm shot out. “I won. I get to drive.”
    “You played a good game, Marcus.” Max hadn’t grown up in a touchy-feely home but he handed over the keys, sure the boy would understand that the gesture was meant to be affectionate. “Don’t you chip my paint job, you hear?”
    “Sweet.” Ignoring the warning, the kid loped toward the driver’s side. “I wish I had a rig.”
    “That money in your account at the bank is for college. Not a truck. End of story.”
    “Yeah, I know. I get it.”
    Hiding a grin, Max hopped into the passenger seat and buckled in. He was glad he’d come with his brother tonight. Being busy kept his mind off of certain subjects—work and, more troubling, Brianna McKaslin. Ever since he’d stayed up most of the night after reading that newspaper article, she’d taken up residence in his head. Dayshad passed, and he couldn’t explain why. She didn’t belong there.
    That didn’t stop him from remembering how she’d looked in the bakery. His first sight of her had been a mix of “wow” and “oh no.” She was too naive, too young, too perfect, too sweet for him. Her voice had been low and musical, a quiet melody that he wanted to hear again. He wasn’t a complicated man, and he knew what he felt was interest. She had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.
    “Hey, bro. Are you paying attention?” Marcus called out, sounding amused.
    Max shook his head. “Sorry, I was off thinking.”
    “For about four whole minutes.”
    That was the truth. He glanced around, realizing they were already out of the snowy parking lot and on one of the main roads, where the traffic kept the streets wet, with only a slight layer of white up the center of the lanes.
    “Look at that poor person.” Marcus nodded once, gesturing toward the upcoming block where a bike’s reflective taillight flashed amid the stubbornly falling snow. “Someone really needs a car. That can’t be pleasant. It’s freezing out there.”
    “Freezing,” Max agreed, staring at the biker.
    It was too dark to recognize anyone, much less from behind. The rider was diminutive, slender of shoulders and of frame, but it was hard to see much more than that. He spotted light reflected off the helmet, but that’s all the information he could gather. He moved in his seat and gave the shoulder