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grandiose style that felt gauche and overdone. "R.J. never called. I just wanted to talk to him for a second. I tried calling, but it went straight to voice mail."
    Travis stood motionless with the door in his hand.
    Cody shivered against the cool night air.
    Travis blinked and looked outside and then closed the door. "R.J.'s—"
    "It's okay. If he's asleep, I'll just go and talk to him for a second. I promise not to wake up Peter." She heard a squeak from the top of the stairs and looked up. Her heart danced at the form of a small boy standing at the top of the stairs, but she quickly realized it wasn't R.J.
    "What's going on, Dad?"
    "I'm not sure." Travis looked back at Cody and shook his head. "RJ.'s not here."
    Cody turned to him, looking for the smile, the joke. No one was laughing.
    Travis reached out to touch her, but she pulled away. "What do you mean, he's not here?"
    Travis looked up at Peter and then back to Cody. "I called you twice on our way home, but no one answered." He raked a hand through his hair. "Jesus, he got picked up."
    "Where is he? Where's my son?"
    "His father picked him up. Peter, isn't that right?"
    Cody nearly choked. She shook her head as her hand covered the gasp that escaped her lips. His father couldn't have picked him up. Ryan's father was dead.
    Peter started down the stairs, his figure like a tiny ghost of her own child.
    "Peter?"
    Peter was nodding slowly, and in his eyes Cody saw R.J. as he had been that morning: his chin up, his eyes narrow as he demanded to spend the night at his friend's house. She'd deferred to his stubbornness, let him out of her protective shield. And now he was gone.
    "Jamie told me he left with a man," the child whispered, now standing beside his father.
    She blinked hard, forcing R.J.'s features off his face.
    "Earlier you told me R.J. left with his dad. Was it a man or his dad?" Travis asked.
    The words were like shots to her ears. "No one should have picked him up but me." She looked at Travis. "Where were you?"
    "I was there, just a few minutes after three."
    "You were late," she said flatly, turning her back on him. "Peter, who picked R.J. up? Can you remember, sweetie?"
    The boy's wide eyes moved slowly between Cody and his father. "I don't remember."
    Travis stepped closer. "You don't remember what Jamie said? This is serious, son."
    He shook his head quickly.
    Travis spun toward her. "Is he in danger? Is his father dangerous?"
    She stepped backward and hit the solid oak of the closed door. She was moving her mouth, trying to get the air to speak. She saw Oskar Kirov as he had been in the courtroom the day he was sentenced to seven to ten years on a laundry list of convictions, including fraud, drug trafficking charges, and tax evasion. That day in the courtroom was the one time she'd seen him after her husband and his son had died in a shootout.
    He had looked at her with glaring gray eyes and in a raspy accented voice had said, "You will pay. You and your son will pay for my son's death. I don't care how long it takes."
    First Mark, then Ryan. What better way to make her pay for Viktor Kirov's death? It was Kirov—it had to be. She'd never even sensed they were close. She had no idea how they'd found her. But they had. Kirov had found her. The Russian mob had Ryan.
    She clasped her hands together, wrestling her emotions. She wanted to scream and kick and also to collapse. Instead she ran her hands over her jeans and drew in a deep breath. Ryan. She kept her eyes closed and exhaled. Please, not Ryan. She smoothed the hair back from her face.
    Travis's insistent voice invaded her desperation. "Is he dangerous?"
    He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. She felt the heat of his hands through the thin shirt. The reality of his touch shook her back.
    "Are you okay?"
    She nodded, the coldness starting to set in. She could do this. She'd been through it before. She'd get him back and they would move on. By God, if Oskar Kirov hurt her child, she