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and he knew it would happen again. Though Travis practically made laziness an art form, his family had been rich and successful for generations. He’d known since he met the guy that the Brauns would be prime targets for his adoptive mother’s crusade.
    “Yeah,” he said, aware an answer was expected. “But they didn’t put me up to anything.”
    “Do they have names?” Vaughn teased lightly.
    He hesitated. “Tom and Owen. They’re new to school.”
    The friendly expression on Vaughn’s face flickered. “Ah,” he said, placid smile snapping back into place. Swiftly, he scribbled down the names. “Well, we should probably make certain Tom and Owen know you need to be home before dark from now on. If you’re going to keep doing well in school, you have to get to bed at a decent hour. Speaking of which…”
    He glanced to the couple stationed on the loveseat.
    Melissa rose quickly. “Dr. Vaughn is so right,” she agreed happily. “Off to bed, dear. School day tomorrow.” She bustled into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a steaming mug of cocoa. “And here you go, sweetheart,” she said, handing it to Cole. “Just the way you like it.”
    Cole rose, his gaze meeting hers as he took the mug. Melissa’s smile took on an acidic cast, and it required every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from tossing the liquid onto her flawless carpet.
    “Oh, is that your special cocoa recipe I’ve heard so much about, Mrs. Smith?” Vaughn asked, oblivious to the exchange. At her happy nod, he continued. “The other counselors simply rave about it. I’d love to try some one of these days, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
    Cole left them fawning at each other and headed back upstairs, the ridiculous mug of cocoa clutched in one hand. As he reached his bedroom, he could still hear them, cheerfully discussing his sanity from the dubious comfort of the couch.
    He set the cocoa on the dresser and shut the door. Stripping off the garish polo and stiff khakis, he tossed the costume into a corner and then retrieved his jeans, t-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt from the pile of clothes on the floor.
    Slowly, he exhaled, his muscles trembling. Sinking down onto the bed, he closed his eyes and then gradually crushed handfuls of the bedspread inside his fists.
    Nights like these were when he missed his parents most of all.
    In the eight years since he’d been selected by Robert and Melissa Smith, he’d tried not to think too much about the circumstances leading to his life in this upper-class hell. The conclusion always overshadowed any pleasant memory, but when the Smiths’ act became too much to take, sometimes the remembered horrors faded away.
    Victor and Clara Jamison had been good parents, for all that Melissa disparaged them constantly for having been poor. In truth, as inheritance babies, the Jamisons could have had money beyond the woman’s wildest dreams. But when their parents disapproved of their marriage, Clara and Victor had renounced their legacies and chosen to make their own way in the world – a fact that, in this place, always made Cole proud.
    As a family they’d done the best they could, and by the time Cole was ten, they’d moved to a nice apartment on the edge of a seedy neighborhood and were working hard to create a good future for their only son. Clara was a school nurse, healing the scrapes and wiping the tears of toddlers at a local nursery school. Victor was a banker, educated at the finest institutions by his wealthy father but struggling in the recession economy to find work. But in spite of their hardships, Clara and Victor forged a happy life with what they had, buying quality if not quantity and teaching their son about being content.
    But due to greed or envy, others had taken notice, and one Christmas Eve night, they’d done something about the little family living quietly on the apartment building’s third floor.
    Of the actual break in, he remembered only pieces. His