“Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
She wavers, frozen like a kid on the high diving board. “How do I know that?”
“Because I just told you so. Everything’s going to be A-okay. I won’t harm a hair on Baxter’s head, you have my word. But only if you put him down and tell him to get over here.”
Her body remains perfectly frozen, but something breaks behind her eyes. Her arm loosens some, but she doesn’t let her son go. It’s almost comical how she thinks she still has a choice.
I load every bit of menace into the parts of me she can see. Hard mouth, squinty eyes, a look that says, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. This damn mask isn’t making it any easier to get my point across.
“Do it, Jade. Now.” I point the gun at her head, then lower my arm just a tad so it’s a straight line from the muzzle to her son’s head. “Put Baxter down.”
Up to now she’s been holding it together fairly well, swallowing her tears for her kids’ sakes, but two fat ones spill from her eyes now, dragging a shiny line down each cheek. She swipes her face before the kids can see, then pulls herself together as best she can. She whispers in her son’s ear and holds him close, kissing him twice on the temple.
And then slowly, carefully, she pushes his bar stool away from the marble and slides him onto the floor.
Two seconds later, he peers around the end of the bar.
I slip the gun into my waistband at the small of my back and crouch down, putting us eye to masked eye. “Hey, buddy.”
Any other kid would be bawling right now, but not Baxter. He just stands there, fingers of one hand wrapped around his sister’s chair, going to town on the thumb of his other hand. Two round blue eyes watch me from behind a fist, but they don’t look scared. They look curious.
I tap him square in the belly. “I meant what I told your mother just now, you know. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I want the two of us to be friends, and you know what friends do? They help each other out. I’m going to help you, and then you’re going to help me. How do you think that sounds?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
But he’s not freaking out, either, so I take it as a sign.
“Okay, so here’s the deal. If you go to the front door and tell me who’s down on the street, then I promise not to tell anyone you have a marshmallow sticking out of your ear.”
He frowns, and his thumb jerks out of his mouth with a loud pop. “I don’t got a marshmallow in my ear.”
“Yes, you do. Here. Hold still and I’ll get it for you.” I reach over his head and shake the thing out of my sleeve, catching it in a palm, pinching it between two gloved fingers, showing it to him with a flourish. I’m not the best magician, but I’m good enough to fool a six-year-old.
“That came outta my ear?” He sticks a finger in there and jiggles it around.
“It sure did. Next time your mama accuses you of not listening, tell her you couldn’t ’cause you had a marshmallow stuck in your ear.”
He gives me a knowing nod. “She does say that a lot.”
“See? Good thing I got it out of there, then, huh?” I grin and poke him in the bony chest. “Now it’s your turn to do me a favor. Do you think you can do that?”
He gives me an eager nod. I smile up at Jade.
See? So damn easy.
I hike a thumb over my shoulder, in the direction of the front door. “Go take a look out the front door, will you? I need you to tell me how many people are out there.”
I could pull up the footage on the Ring app, but it’s like looking through a fish eye, the scale distorted and blurry around the edges. I need the full, 180-degree view, which means I need actual eyes on the street.
The kid takes off so fast, he’s like a cartoon version of himself, running in place for a second or two before his rubber soles find traction on the floor. He disappears into the living room and I push to a stand.
“I’m not blind,” Beatrix says, glaring across the marble. “I saw you stick that stupid marshmallow up your sleeve.”
Of course Captain Obvious saw. From where she was sitting, she would have seen everything—me, pulling the marshmallow from the side pocket of my backpack and sliding it up my sleeve, the way I shook it out behind her brother’s ear.
But her anger is a little misdirected. If I cared enough to explain it to her, I’d tell her the person she’s really mad at is her little brother, for buddying up to the enemy.
Baxter returns in a flurry of footsteps, his cheeks bright with pride, with self-importance. “There’s two ladies down there talking, and a biker, and a big brown truck that almost ran into a mailbox.”