clicking against the pavement. I had to almost jog to keep up.
“Mom,” I said, “why didn’t you tell me about Admiral Carter?”
“Because some stories don’t end when people think they do.”
That answer made no sense.
Before I could ask what she meant, she stopped.
Across the parking lot, a black SUV sat near the curb. Its windows were tinted so dark they reflected the gray sky. A man in a charcoal suit leaned against the driver’s door, arms folded. He was tall and thin, with gray at his temples and one side of his face partly hidden by shadow.
Mom saw him.
Everything about her changed.
Her shoulders lowered. Her face went still. Her right hand shifted slightly, not toward a weapon, but toward where one would have been if she were carrying one.
“Get in the car, Lucas.”
“Who is that?”
“Now.”
I got in.
She
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