The Truth of Yesterday

Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

Chapter 31

I stood uncertainly in the hall, trying to force my tired mind to think logically. My brain was, however, putting up a valiant fight.

When I'd left Micah there to watch out for Razi, I hadn't specifically told him what to do if Razi appeared. I'd simply hoped he'd know enough to invent a distraction. Micah wouldn't have deserted his post, so if he wasn't where I left him, it followed that he was most likely in the apartment.

"Fuck!" I cursed under my breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

That was the worst case scenario, but I had to do something. I took a deep breath, boldly walked up to the door, and knocked.

A few seconds later, it swung open to reveal Razi's thin frame and frowning face. His eyes narrowed when he saw me.

"I should have known."

"Is Micah in here with you?" I asked, as if it seemed perfectly natural that he might be.

"Yes, I opened my door and found him standing in the hall. He didn't mention you were with him."

"Oh, I was parking the car," I lied fluidly.

When his frown deepened, I realized he didn't believe me. I wondered frantically what pretext Micah had given him for being there. Until I knew, it would be better to avoid the issue.

"You didn't happen to see Tad while you were out there, did you?" he asked suspiciously.

"He's the boy who lives with you?"

Razi's dark eyes flicked over me. "Yes."

"I didn't see him."

I could tell Razi didn't buy anything I was saying, but he seemed to remember that we were still standing at the door. He stepped back and motioned me in, somewhat ungraciously, I thought.

He scanned the hall one last time, then shut the door firmly.

In the living room, I found Micah sitting on the couch looking somewhat lost and very nervous. I was struck again by the impersonality of the room, which contained nothing at all of the man living there. It could have been an anonymous showroom apartment anywhere in the country: well furnished and tastefully decorated, but empty of soul.

"I was just telling Razi how relieved we are that this whole mess is over," Micah said a little too loudly. I blinked uncomprehendingly, my brain too exhausted to catch his hint. "You know," he went on, "with Fenton being dead, now we can finally put Paul's death behind us."

"Oh, yeah," I said, catching on at last. "It's such a relief."

Razi walked slowly past and stood facing me across the glass-topped coffee table, where several glossy, oversize photo books of nude young men were scattered. He glanced pointedly between Micah and me, then cocked his head to one side.

"Try again."

"What?" The tension in my voice was clear, even to me.

"Why are you really here?"

"I told you, now that this is all over we just wanted to see how you were," Micah said. "I mean, you were Paul's closest friend and all..."

Razi cut him off with a razor-sharp glare before turning his attention back to me. "I know you were the one who found Fenton's body."

I shook my head in confusion. How could he know that? It hadn't been released in the news.

Razi misinterpreted my headshake. "Don't bother denying it. I have excellent sources."

"Sources?" I asked stupidly.

I was dying here. I had to clear my head. It was vitally important to my health — and Micah's — that I start thinking faster.

"It doesn't matter who they are. Let's just say I trust them completely. They've never let me down yet."

I took a seat next to Micah, who put his hand on my back, offering comfort. The slight tremble in his touch was not reassuring, however. He was as scared as I was — more so, really, since I was still too flustered to be properly panicked.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I found him, but what difference does that make? It's still over. Everything led to him. Paul found out about his criminal activities and had evidence on him. Fenton knew that, so he had Paul killed."

Razi's eyes snapped to mine. "Had him killed?"

"Or killed him himself." I tried to shrug my gaffe off. "Does it matter now? Paul is dead either way...and so is Fenton. It's finally over."

"Is it?" Razi asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

I was beginning to worry about our chances of walking out of there easily.

"Yes, it is. With Fenton dead, the case is closed as far as the police are concerned."

"What about Fenton's killer?"

"The police believe they have him in custody."

"And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

Razi's eyes locked with mine. "Is it over as far as you're concerned? Do you believe the police have Fenton's killer in custody?"

"What difference does it make what I think?"

"It makes a big difference...to the killer."

I laughed uneasily. "Aren't you giving me too much credit?"

"Am I? You pretty much single-handedly solved Paul's murder when the police couldn't."

"When the police wouldn't," I corrected. "They could have if they'd wanted to."

"I'm not so sure. You had contacts they didn't. People would talk to you that wouldn't talk to the police. People like TJ Jackson."

My eyes widened. He did have good sources if he knew TJ's name.

"Where is all this going?" I asked, tiring of our tense game of cat-and-mouse.

"Going? It's not going anywhere." Razi suddenly seemed more at ease. His shoulders slumped, and a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth. "I'm just killing time until Tad gets back."

"Where'd he go?" I asked, relieved at the break in the tension. I felt Micah relax next to me as well.

"To take out the trash," Razi said.

He walked over to a long, narrow table against the wall and leaned casually against it. The top was completely barren except for a carved wooden staff lying stretched across a matching set of intricately fashioned brass stands.

"He's never taken this long before. I hope he didn't run into trouble." He threw me an unreadable glance.

"You want us to go look for him?" Micah asked hopefully, no doubt seeing a chance to escape.

"No, that's quite alright. I wouldn't want to impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition," Micah said quickly — too quickly.

Razi gave us a little smile I didn't like at all. I suddenly felt more uneasy with this relaxed Razi than I had when he was so clearly on edge.

He trailed his fingers lazily across the staff.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is," I said.

And it truly was: magnificently carved with mythical creatures writhing around its entire length.

"It's one of the few things I own from my homeland." He looked up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded, almost seductive. "I didn't bring it with me, of course. I didn't have time. I bought it here."

He paused and smiled creepily again.

"I never told you my story, did I?" He was speaking only to me, as if Micah wasn't even in the room.

I shook my head, my throat suddenly too tight to speak.

"The last time you were here, I said we all have stories. You asked me what mine was, but I was rude and didn't tell you. I'll rectify that now, if you'll allow me."

I nodded.

"I was born on the West Bank in a village not far from the Israeli border. My parents were considered freedom fighters by my people, terrorists by Israel and the U.S. Death was a daily occurrence. Killing and fighting were a part of my earliest education. I could shoot a gun by the time most American children are learning to tie their shoelaces. I can handle almost any weapon with ease, from a rifle to a knife. I can even kill with my bare hands if I have to. That didn't mean I liked killing, just that I was good at it. When I was ten years old, my mother died in a car bombing. Two years later, Israeli soldiers arrested my father, and he was never seen again. I was sent to live with my uncle and his wife."

He paused for a moment. I sat in horrified silence, watching as he gripped one end of the staff and gave it a slight twist. To my surprise, a slender steel dagger slipped from it like a sword from its sheath. The blade was no longer or wider than that of a large letter opener, but I had no doubt the glittering edge was lethal.

Glancing our way, Razi seemed pleased to see our eyes glued to the dagger.

"Beautiful and useful," he said, sliding the blade back into the staff and locking it in place. "What good is beauty if it's useless?"

He stroked the staff again, then turned to face us.

"To continue my story, although my uncle was married, he and his wife never had children. I don't know why. Maybe because my aunt couldn't conceive, or possibly because my uncle was gay...at least, I understand that now. I didn't even know what the word meant then. All I knew was that my uncle liked to do things to me at night when everyone else was asleep. He used to tell me that if anybody ever found out, I would be killed. I accepted what he did to me as payment for living with them instead of on the street as a beggar. It got to the point where I became quite good and even rather enjoyed it. It went on for a few years, until one night his wife caught us. She was utterly horrified, as you can imagine. My uncle panicked and killed her — strangled her to death."

Razi began to pace, never moving too far from the staff and its concealed blade.

"That left us with the question of what to do with her body. I suggested leaving it near the border, to appear as if an Israeli had killed her, but the border area was dangerous, and my uncle was never a fighter. Besides, soldiers didn't kill by strangulation. My uncle decided I would have to take the blame. Who was I to argue? I was barely fifteen. My uncle couldn't stand the idea of my being executed, however, so he chose to help me leave the country. He would tell the authorities I had run away. I'd be long gone by the time they came looking for me. He still knew my parents' friends, people who could arrange for me to slip over the border unnoticed. I was passed from one place to another, from person to person, until I reached Jordan.

"There, I was helped by a kind woman who reminded me much of my mother. She took pity on me, a young boy alone and afraid in a strange country. She had contacts, knew the right people, and arranged for them to supply me with false documents, including a passport, so I could travel to the United States. It would never work today, but back then, my fake passport was sufficient."

He paused his pacing and leaned against the table once more. "There I was, fifteen and alone in a foreign country. I barely spoke English, didn't know a soul. I managed to find my way to the city, where I quickly learned to survive using what my uncle had taught me — first as a street hustler, later as an escort. I've done pretty well for myself, wouldn't you say?" He gestured around the room with an all-encompassing sweep of his arm. "So there, Killian Kendall, that's my story. Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes," I managed to say.

"Good." Then, moving so quickly I barely had time to register what was happening, he suddenly leaped forward, swinging the staff like a club.

I slammed myself against the back of the couch while Micah, who I'd almost forgotten was there, threw himself in front of me.

The carved cane hit Micah's head with a sickening thud, the force of the blow actually knocking him off the couch and onto the floor.

I sat stunned by the sudden violence. It took me a few seconds to realize that Razi was making no move to hit me.

He stared down contemptuously at Micah.

"How heroic, sacrificing himself to save his beloved. Hero — it's really just another way of saying someone did something stupid." He looked up at me with terrifyingly cold eyes. "If only the poor idiot knew he was the target all along. Now that we're alone we can talk...man to man. I told you my story, so it's time for you to tell me yours."

"What do you mean?"

"I know why you're really here. We can skip that part. Somehow, you figured out who killed Paul and Fenton and, of course, you came running right to me. Unfortunate for you, convenient for me. It saves me the trouble of hunting you down. You were my last obstacle. What I really want to know is how you figured it out, and, more importantly at the moment, what have you done with Tad."

"I haven't done anything with Tad," I said, praying the boy would be smart enough to stay by the car and not come looking for us. I'd completely lost track of how long we'd been in the apartment. "I didn't see him when I came up."

If we were going to stay alive, we had to escape — and fast — but I had no idea how to accomplish that, especially with Micah unconscious. My only chance was to get the pepper spray out without Razi noticing it and hope it really was as effective as Novak said.

In order to do that, though, I had to stall and distract him, so I kept talking.

"I thought Fenton killed Paul, except everyone kept saying it wasn't his style, that he'd probably hired a hit man. Either way, I knew who was behind it, so I went to the police with the evidence I had."

"Considerable evidence," Razi commented offhandedly.

I filed that away, beginning to suspect his source was a mole inside the police department.

"The police said they were going to raid Fenton's place. I had a friend who I knew was with Fenton, so I went to the estate to try and get him out before they did it. That's when I found the bodies and called the police. I guess you were tipped off and got there ahead of me?"

"You had a friend there?" Razi asked sharply, not answering my question.

"Yes. He's the one you left alive. I spoke to him last night after he woke up. He told me how he'd overheard Fenton ordering you to kill Paul. It was fairly simple to put the rest together."

"I should have killed him when I had the chance," Razi said. He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "But you're here, not the police, which means they don't believe your little friend, at least not yet. I'll be long gone before they arrive. All they'll find here will be two more dead bodies."

He swung the staff back.

"Wait!" I screamed as I scrambled up onto the sofa, balancing precariously on the cushions. "I have one more question."

His arm stopped in midair. I took the scant opportunity before he could begin the downswing.

"Why?" I asked. "Why did you agree to kill Paul?"

The staff swung down. I didn't have time to do more than flinch before it smashed across my face, sending me reeling over the back of the sofa. I hit the floor with a heavy crash, but thankfully, I was still conscious — a little stunned, but aware. I could taste blood in my mouth, metallic and warm, but I figured the damage was unimportant, all things considered.

I scrambled to my knees as Razi came purposefully around the sofa.

"You want to know why I killed Paul?"

He stalked slowly toward me, speaking in a chillingly calm voice, while I crab-shuffled away as quickly as I could manage.

"I'll tell you why I killed Paul: for the same reason I killed Fenton and his clowns, and for the same reason I'm killing you and your boyfriend. Because I didn't have a choice."

I spit out a mouthful of blood. "You always have a choice."

"No!" he shouted, then regained control and continued. "No, I didn't. Not if I wanted to keep my freedom. That's something most of you Americans take for granted. I know the difference."

"What do you mean?" I had to keep him talking and hope he wouldn't notice me trying to get my hand in my pocket as surreptitiously as possible. "How could you lose your freedom by refusing to kill someone?"

"When I was working for Fenton as an escort, some rich, fat-cat politician tried to rape me. Apparently, he got off on taking by force what was already included in the price. I knew how to kill, remember. I'd done it before. So I killed him. A good lawyer might have argued self-defense, but it was just as likely I'd be locked up for murder. After all, he was a respectable public servant, while I was just an illegal immigrant prostitute, brown skin and all. Imagine the headlines, the field day that the Republicans would have had with that. Fenton helped cover it up, but what I didn't know at the time was that he carefully saved the evidence — just in case. If necessary, he wanted to be able to pin it all on me."

Razi became so caught up in his story he failed to notice my hand slip into my pocket, my fingers curling around the cool metal cylinder there. It helped that my crouching position partially hid my movements.

"Fenton used that evidence to blackmail me into killing Paul and stealing the evidence Paul had against him," he said. "I didn't want to. I tried to talk Paul into running, or at least leaving Fenton alone, but he wouldn't hear of it. He died because he was too damn stubborn." He paused, a tiny, cruel smile playing at his lips. "Kind of like you."

He made a sudden lunge toward me, whipping the staff through the air as I threw myself backwards, scrambling away from him until my back hit the wall.

Yanking my hand out of my pocket, I ripped the lid off the canister. I didn't have time to aim it, only to hope I had it pointed in the right direction.

I held it out in front of me, but before I could press the button, Razi caught my hand on the back swing, knocking the can out of my grip. I watched helplessly as it skittered across the floor.

I turned my horrified gaze back to Razi, who had crouched down in front of me, his face now so close I could feel his breath. If anything, he was even more terrifying than before. His eyes had taken on a crazed look that sent chills running down my spine. Any perceptible sanity that had been there in the beginning was gone, replaced now by pure hate.

"You and Micah have caused me so much trouble," he said in a low voice made rough by emotion. "No one actually cared who killed Paul until you came along. I'm really going to enjoy killing both of you." He cocked his head to one side. "I think I'll do it slowly, so you feel every second of pain."

He twisted the handle of the staff and the soft click sounded unnaturally loud in my heightened state of alert. He slowly withdrew the dagger, its razor-sharp edge eerily mirroring the glint in his eyes.

"What do you think? Should I start with your pretty face?" he asked in a breathy voice, seeming almost turned on by the prospect. "Or maybe I should start somewhere a little more personal."

He flicked the blade toward my crotch, chuckling menacingly when I flinched.

I fought the rising panic in my chest, willing myself to remain still. I was deadly certain that, if I tried to move, he would forego the torture and kill me quickly and efficiently. He was clearly enjoying the smell of my fear.

He reached out a steady hand and drew the blade softly across my right cheek.

There was no pain, but I immediately felt a trickle of blood spill out. I sucked in an involuntary gasp.

"Sharp, isn't it?" he asked seductively.

The cut began to sting, and I felt a tear roll down my cheek, more from fear than pain.

"Are you scared now?"

I nodded.

"Good. I want you to be scared. That makes it more fun."

He was reaching out to slice my left cheek when a flash of motion caught both our attention.

Before I could even turn to see what was happening, Razi spun around to face his new adversary.

With a roar of fury, Micah launched himself at him, the two of them colliding with bone-rattling force and crashing to the floor.

The knife vanished from sight in the chaos, but I didn’t waste precious time worrying about it. My focus narrowed to one thing: the pepper spray. Heart hammering, I dropped to my knees and scrambled frantically across the floor. I shoved aside an end table, flipped a recliner, and there it was—the canister, glinting faintly in the sunlight.

I snatched it up, surged to my feet, and vaulted over the couch.

Razi and Micah were still locked together, grappling like wild animals, their limbs tangled, their faces pressed dangerously close. If I used the spray now, I’d hit both of them.

I froze, the canister aimed and ready, my finger twitching on the trigger—until I saw the dagger emerge from between their bodies, still clutched in Razi’s fist.

“I’m sorry, Micah,” I whispered, and pulled the trigger.

The effect was instant and brutal. Both men shrieked in unison, a raw, animal howl that tore through the room before dissolving into choking coughs. They writhed on the carpet, clawing at their streaming eyes as the knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.

For a split second, I just stood there, shaking, paralyzed by indecision. What now? What if Razi recovered first? What if—

The front door exploded inward with a deafening crack, splinters flying. I hit the floor instinctively as the shout rang out:

“Police! Don’t move!”

Relief crashed through me so hard I almost sobbed. I had never in my life been so grateful to hear those words.

It took a while to sort things out.

Eventually I learned that, after I'd talked to Chris, she'd become worried and explained things to her father. He'd agreed that it sounded dangerous and called Detective Evans. Together, they decided "unofficially" to drive over to Razi's apartment.

When they showed up in uniform, Tad had quickly approached them, concerned because I'd been gone so long. He had no idea they were there looking for us, assuming they were two cops who just happened to be in the neighborhood. So they were forewarned before they went in.

When they got to Razi's floor, they heard Micah's scream, so, of course, they broke the door down.

Once they saw what was going on, I tried to explain who was who and what had happened. I'm not sure how coherent I was, but they got the gist of it.

They quickly placed Razi under arrest and handcuffed him. Then they left him to cough and thrash on the floor while they attended to Micah.

By then, I was at his side. He was calmer but still in excruciating pain.

Evans rushed into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a bowlful of suds.

"It's just dish soap and water," he said, more to me than Micah, whose eyes were still squeezed shut in agony, streaming tears.

He began carefully dabbing at Micah's red face.

"Can you bring me fresh water?" he asked me. "I need it to rinse his eyes and get this soap off his skin."

Running to the kitchen, I found a glass and filled it with tap water.

"Will this stop the pain?" I asked, handing it to the detective.

"Not completely, but it'll help ease it some," he said without looking up.

Meanwhile, Louis had called an ambulance, which arrived in what I thought was a surprisingly short time. Micah was handed over to the paramedics to be taken to the emergency room, where he would be treated for the pepper spray and the blow to the head, which I now saw was bleeding slightly at his temple.

When they noticed that the cut on my cheek looked pretty nasty, they insisted I go too, so a doctor could decide if I needed stitches.

Miraculously, Tad had not disappeared. He arrived on the scene with the paramedics when they came up. I'd been half afraid he'd run, but he was determined to make sure we were okay.

I told the officers he was with me and insisted he accompany us to the hospital. It was allowed with a minimum of questions.

"So what now?" Tad asked a few hours later as we sat in the waiting room.

Micah was still in an examination room. I hadn't required stitches, for which I was very grateful, but they had bandaged the cut on my cheek with some gauze and white surgical tape.

"I guess next I'll have to talk to the police," I said wearily. "I'm sure they didn't get all their questions answered at the apartment. I doubt I was very articulate. I'm surprised they haven't shown up before now."

"That's not what I meant. I want to know what happens to me. But since you brought it up, will I have to talk to the police again?"

I glanced over at him. He looked more like a lost little kid than I'd ever seen him.

"What did you tell them before?"

"Well, they were pretty busy with everything else so they really weren't paying much attention to me. When they arrived, I just told them I knew you'd gone up to talk to Razi and you hadn't come back. They took off like a light. Later, this guy asked my name and address and wrote them down, then said they'd be in touch."

"Did you tell them the truth?"

"My name and address you mean? Not exactly. I said I was Tad Young and gave them the address of another apartment in the building."

I raised an eyebrow. "Probably not the smartest thing in the world."

He shrugged. "I was scared."

"I'll talk to Detective Evans and straighten it out."

"Will he make me go back to my dad?"

"I don't know. I'll try to get him to let you come home with me."

I watched his eyes skitter toward the door and knew he was thinking about bolting.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't run. I'm not going to abandon you, I promise. No matter what happens, I'll be there with you."

He bit down on his lip and nodded.

"So what's your real name?"

For several long seconds I thought he would refuse to answer. Then, seeming to come to some sort of decision, he drew a quavering breath.

"Tad Yoder. Thaddeus."

I smiled at him and held out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Thaddeus Yoder."

He gave me a small smile back and shook my hand. "Call me Tad."

"Thank you," I added, knowing how much trust it took for him to tell me.

He left his hand in mine and we waited a bit longer in companionable silence.

At last, the double doors swung open and Micah stepped out, trailed by an attractive woman in a white coat with a stethoscope draped casually around her neck. His face was still flushed and blotchy, his eyes bloodshot, and a neat little bandage — nearly identical to mine — was taped at his temple. Aside from that, he looked remarkably intact, far better than I’d feared.

"They say I'll live," he said cheerfully. A bit too cheerfully for someone who had been thwacked in the head and hit with pepper spray just a short time before.

"Luckily, he has a hard head," the doctor tacked on. She gave us all a warm smile.

"I could have told you that," I said dryly.

Just then, Detective Evans walked into the waiting room, trailed by another young officer.

"Good, I see you're all here." He turned to the doctor. "If you're finished with them, I think it's my turn."

"They're all yours." She excused herself with a little half-bow.

"Lucky me," he muttered under his breath, and then louder, "Alright, kids, we're moving this party to my place. Officer Barnes here will escort you since your car remains parked at Mr. Akiba's apartment building. I'll meet you at the station."

"Wait," I said and looked over at Tad. He nodded slightly. "Before we do, you need to know that Tad gave you a false name when he was questioned back at the building."

Evans gave me a surprised look.

"Is that true?" he asked Tad.

"Yes, sir," Tad answered in a low voice. "My real name is Thaddeus Yoder, not Young."

"Why would you lie about that?"

Tad threw me a desperate look, and I hastened to explain.

"His father abused him so he ran away. Razi took him in off the streets, but then started abusing him too. He's scared you'll send him back to his father."

Evans frowned. "Well, by law we have to report this to social services. They'll step in and do an investigation to see if there was abuse. Then he'll be placed in foster care."

Tad took on a stricken expression.

"Isn't there any way around that?" I asked. "He can stay with me."

"It's not that easy," Evans said.

"What if we talk to his dad and he gives permission?"

The detective looked at me curiously. "And bypass social services?"

"Can we do that?" He looked unsure, so I threw in a final plea. "Please? He's already been through so much."

He sighed. "Let me check into it. For now, this will stay between us." He gave Officer Barnes a meaningful look. "Let's go."

Barnes took us to a holding room at the police station. One by one, we were ushered into an interrogation room where Detective Evans sat waiting. I was last.

After I gave my statement, which took the better part of an hour with all his questions, the detective shut off the recorder.

"Well, Kendall, as much as it pains me to say it, congratulations on a job well done — despite screwing up a few times along the way. That said, your visit to Fenton Black's estate and this mess with Razi Akiba were both dangerous and risky — not to mention incredibly stupid."

"Yeah, I know. I just didn't know what else to do. The official channels move so slowly, and I was worried about my friend. And Tad."

He shook his head. "The justice system is far from perfect, but it's not your job to take matters into your own hands. Still, it's hard to argue with the results. You potentially saved two lives, even if you put your own — and your boyfriend's — at risk. I can't figure out if you're the luckiest asshole on the planet or if you're really just that good."

"A little of both?" I suggested. I attempted a smile, but I'm not sure I pulled it off. "So what's going to happen to Razi now?"

He chuckled. "The bastard's going away for a long, long time. He's admitted to everything. Your statements are just icing on the cake."

"He admitted to it?" I asked in disbelief.

"Singing like a canary. He's hoping it'll make things go easier for him."

"Will it?"

"Not a chance, but nobody's telling him that."

I snorted.

"You've tied up quite a few loose ends. Not only do we now have all the answers about the deaths of Paul Flynn, Fenton Black, and his bodyguards, but we can also close the books on that nasty business from a few years ago."

"Nasty business?"

"The john Akiba killed and Black covered up. The guy was a low-level politician, one of those right-wing, pro-family types. His body showed up in a fountain in Duport Circle. We never got anywhere on it. It was still an open case. Now it's closed, thanks to you."

"What about his sources? It sounded to me like there was a leak in the police department."

His face darkened. "We're working on it," was all he would say.

I took the hint.

"And Tad? Have you had a chance to look into that?"

His expression lightened some. It was still burdened, but for a different reason.

"Not yet. I haven't had time." My face fell, and he took pity on me. "Look, so far, he's flying under the radar. No one has paid any attention to him. That makes things a little easier. After all you've done, I'm going to return the favor. I'll look the other way on one condition."

"What?"

"I'm taking a risk here, but I don't want to see the kid stuck in foster care. There are some good people who are willing to open their homes, but it's a rough life for a boy his age. I've seen way too much. He'll be better off with you. Just...make sure you handle things correctly, okay? Go through the right legal channels. Don't let this come back to bite me in the ass."

"I won't," I said. "I know a lawyer who specializes in situations like this. She does family law."

He nodded. "The father will need to be contacted."

"I know."

Evans shook his head. "You're a remarkable young man, Mr. Kendall. I said once before that I'd be proud to have you on my force, and I meant it. A little discipline would do you some good, honestly. If you ever decide to get out of the PI business and go into law enforcement, you be sure to let me know."

He stood up and held out his hand.

I jumped to my feet and clasped his rough hand in mine.

"Thank you, Detective Evans. That's very kind of you, but I think I'll stick to being a private eye."

"Your mistake. Take care, Kendall."

"I will. Thank you again. For everything."

He nodded and led me out to the waiting room.

Micah and Tad stood up, Tad looking very nervous.

"Let's go," I said brightly.

Tad's eyes darted between Evans and me.

"I can go?" he asked hopefully.

"You can go," Evans said.

The smile that slowly spread across Tad's face was like the sun rising over the horizon after a long, harrowing night.