No. Kit refused to indulge whatever the fuck that was. Pure manipulation or horrible truth.
“Skip the bullshit,” Kit said, holding onto anger. Security. He wasn’t alone. “Answer the question or I’m hanging up.”
James was already doing something intently on his own phone. Maybe tracking the call. Kit didn’t know how that worked.
“Suit yourself.” Laird’s voice was strange as well as familiar. Kit hadn’t heard it in five years. “Little Orion sadly passed away last week.”
The words shot like a bullet through Kit’s gut. He’d known. He’d agreed with Holden’s analysis. Believing it was different.
Hearing Dad confess was different.
“Fortunately,” Laird continued, “Archie picked up a new boy. I’d be happy to send him home to his family, safe and sound, if you meet me.”
Kit couldn’t reply. He couldn’t think what to say, and if he could, the words couldn’t pass his throat.
“I’ll text you the location,” Laird said, sounding cheerful. Like he was explaining his plans for their next camping trip. “Feel free to bring your new friends. I’d love to meet them.”
The call ended.
“Fuck.” The snarl sounded like a stranger’s voice, but it tore Kit’s throat. “Fuck, fuck,fuck.”
He flung his phone, but Bishop caught it before it hit the ground. That was fine. Kit flung himself to his feet and paced. His heart drummed violently in the silence. Everyone else was waiting for his directions.
Kit hated that.
Kit needed it.
“Someone figure out who the new kid is,” Kit snapped. He didn’t want to take his anger out on anyone here. He just couldn’t control his voice.
“Laird could be lying,” Darius said.
“He’s not,” Holden chimed in, and shrugged at Darius’s questioning look. “About taking the kid, at least. Jury’s out on the ‘sending him home safe and sound’ thing.”
Yeah, Holden was on the right track. Kit would have thought having someone else tuned into Dad’s mindset would be terrifying. Instead, it was comforting. Affirming. Kit wasn’t making shit up.
“We’re getting the kid back, dead or alive.” Kit flinched as his phone buzzed. “What does it say?”
Bishop’s lips pursed. “Monday at noon.” He grabbed his own phone. “I don’t recognize the address. I’ll look it up.”
“That’s two days from now,” James said, frowning. “Why would he give us so much time to prepare?”
Darius stood, casually cracking his knuckles. A reminder that his ever-present calm took effort. “Kit said Laird likes to control the board and players. He couldn’t flush us out with Mr. Tweed, so he waited for Kit to reach out.”
“Which might have been quicker than he expected.” Bishop’s frown deepened. “The address is a public park.”
“What the fuck?” James asked.
Darius cracked another knuckle. “I’d rather have a shady alleyway.”
Kit stopped short. His body swayed with abruptness, then steadied. Whatever Dad was planning couldn’t be good. Going out in a blaze of casualties? Using local toddlers as human shields?
An orderly hostage return didn’t seem likely. But even in the best-case scenario, some other kid had to stay with Dad for two more days.
Plans crept up from the chaos in Kit’s head. Some good plans. Some very bad plans.
“We shouldn’t wait,” Kit said. Everyone looked over, and Kit struggled to order his thoughts. “Like Bishop said, Dad’s network is old. Ours isn’t. We don’t know where he is, but I have a few good guesses.”
“He still owns the house in Vilton,” Bishop said.
