PROLOGUE
Twenty years ago
The car smelled like leather and something fake. Heath had never been in a new car before, but he’d seen advertisements for “new car smell” fresheners on television a couple of times. Last month, he would’ve liked exploring the car. Now, who cared? Why bother?
His head hurt, and his chest ached. The doctors had just finished poking at him, real doctors, which was weird. “Why did I have to get a physical?” he asked the driver.
She looked at him in the mirror, her blue eyes sharp. “We like to have a complete medical history at the boys home.”
Boys home. Yeah. What a shithole. Heath had arrived there yesterday, tried to save a mangy kitten, and then had taken a beating from the owner of the place. Ned Cobb was an asshole.
But hey, Heath had saved the cat. It had been his first day, and it had sucked. Then this lady had shown up early in the morning to take him for a routine physical. The doctors had believed him about falling on his bike to get the bruises.
Like he’d ever had a bike. “How long do I have to stay at this place?”
“Until you’re an adult.”
That sucked. His mom’s boyfriend had killed her and then disappeared more than a week ago. Heath had been trying to find him, but the police had caught his ass, putting him into the system.
At just eleven years old, he didn’t know much about the system except he didn’t want to be there.
The car smell was kind of cool, but he’d give anything to smell his mom’s lotion again. Her scent had been soft and sweet, kind of like he imagined pink roses would smell. If he’d been stronger, smarter . . . he could’ve saved her. Tears pricked the back of his eyes, and he ruthlessly shoved them away.
It hurt, but he kept his gaze blank, especially since the lady driving the car kept watching him. She had really sharp blue eyes and too-red lips, and she’d known his name.
“Do you work at the boys home?” he asked, shifting on the leather seat.
“No. I just consult,” she said, her eyebrows rising as she looked at him in the mirror. Her voice sounded like the ex-lawyer who’d lived next to Heath at one time. The guy had swum constantly in a vodka bottle but had been all right and even helpful with geometry homework. This lady probably had a bunch of degrees, too.
Heath didn’t have words, so he nodded at her, not really giving a shit about a home or whatever a consultant did. Without his mom to take care of, he didn’t have anything to do, since Spyder, the fucking killer, was long gone. His mom had been sweet but so lost with the meth. Sometimes she’d loved the dangerous crystals more than him, but he got it. Drugs sucked. He rubbed his chest, picturing her pretty bluish green eyes when they’d been clear. Drug free, she’d loved him a lot.
That was more than most kids got.
She had always chosen losers to live with, and Heath had been getting just big enough to protect her. But he hadn’t gotten there fast enough and she’d died. He clenched his fingers into a fist and fought not to cry in front of the lady driving the car.
“You’ll like it at the home,” the woman said. “And we’ll get to know each other.”
Why would the lady want to know him? “Humph.”
She smiled, and her teeth were really straight. “Do you remember my name?”
He scratched a scab on his elbow. “Sylvia Daniels.” He never forgot anything and could even recite the first page of a book he’d read years ago. “You’re a social worker studying smart kids.” At least that’s what she’d said when she’d picked him up to take him to the doctor. Something told him she wasn’t giving him the full truth, but grown-ups usually didn’t. So long as they left him alone, he didn’t really care. But she probably wasn’t going to leave him alone.
“Did your mother tell you anything about your father or family?” Sylvia asked.
“No.” Heath picked the scab off, and his elbow bled a little. His mom had seemed afraid of somebody—maybe family—and was always looking over her shoulder. “Do you know anything about them?”
“I do not,” Sylvia said, her voice changing in pitch.
He leaned his head back on the seat. Grown-ups always fucking lied. He’d gotten the feeling more than once that he and his mom were running from something. Maybe his dad was a total asshole who wanted to kill them. Made sense, considering the men his mom had ended up loving.
Well, except him. She’d loved him. Maybe he was an asshole, too. He frowned.
Even if he came from a jerk of a father, his mom had been a good person. Maybe he was half good. That’d be okay. If he’d had a chance, he might’ve been all good and made her proud. Gotten her help somehow.
Now he’d never get the chance. His bottom lip trembled, and he bit it. Hard.
Sylvia pulled down a long dirt road by a sign that said lost springs home for boys on it.
