Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,25

cigarette, and glowered over at them. She flicked her hand at him, and he ambled a few steps farther away.

Evan said, “Are you always like this?”

“No, dear,” she said. “Sometimes I’m assertive.”

“You two fight a lot?”

“He does. I don’t show up to every argument.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Argentina?” She sighed. “I’m here on a lark.” She shot a glance at Matías, who was locked onto them and smoking aggressively. “I bore easily.”

“Who do you need me to help?”

She lowered her voice. “His name is Andrew Duran. You’ll have to find him.”

“Who is he to you?”

“I made a promise to someone, his mother, to look after him if anything ever—”

Matías called over. “I need to know what the hell is going on.”

She ignored him, and Evan followed her lead.

Evan asked, “Why should I help him?”

“You just need to. Go. You’ll see.” She reached to shake his hand. He felt something pressed between their palms—a scrap of paper. “This is a starting point. He’s somewhere in Los Angeles.”

That struck Evan as a hell of a coincidence.

He glanced down at the paper, saw an address scrawled in a feminine hand, and slid the scrap into his pocket.

“After this little fiasco, I’d imagine that airport security will be a problem,” she said. “Get down to Saladillo Airport, Paramount Jets. I have a private charter standing by. It’s a Bombardier Global 6000, but you’ll make do.”

“And you?”

“There’s a bit to untangle here after all this, so I’ll be coming a few days behind you. I have a gentleman friend with an estate in Bel Air.”

“Another gentleman friend,” Evan said, in a tone he did not recognize. “Is he as much of an asshole as Chancellor Matías?”

“Of course.” She blinked once, indulgently. “No one wants to have polite sex, darling.” She took in his reaction, amused. “What?”

“I’m trying to figure out what to say that won’t make everything worse.”

“And?”

“I can’t think of any good options.”

She leaned forward, perched on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. He pulled away, the lipstick imprint of her lips cool on his skin, the scent of lilac lingering.

Matías was storming over, brow twisted, face red. She turned calmly to receive him as he came at her with pride-bruised grievances.

Evan took two steps back, vanishing into the haze.

13

A Test

The handball court and the dark sedan lurch into view as Evan rounds the corner, sprinting, feeling much younger than his twelve years. The Mystery Man jerks around from his languid pose by the fence.

“Listen, listen—” Evan stops, panting, leaning over. “I know you want Van Sciver, but there’s stuff about him that’s … that’s…” He shakes his head, agitated.

The Mystery Man walks toward him, annoyed. “What’s this about? What’s wrong with Charles?”

Van Sciver is currently doubled over on his bed, clutching his gut. Late last night Evan emptied two bottles of Papa Z’s Ex-Lax onto the kitchen counter, crushed the pills, and mixed the residue into Van Sciver’s protein powder. The cramping set in a half hour after Charles downed his morning shake, and he’d since alternated between toilet and bedroom, awash in a cold sweat.

“This some jealousy thing, kid? Believe me, you don’t want to fuck with me. I told you. You’re not good enough. You’re not strong enough. You’re not gonna surprise m—”

As the Mystery Man nears, Evan sinks to his haunches, pivots, and kicks the back of the guy’s lead ankle with as much force as he can, sweeping the leg. Mystery Man goes horizontal and lands hard, cigarette ash scattering across his face as his head audibly strikes the asphalt.

Evan pulls himself up, all five feet and three inches, and drops the blue bandanna on the Mystery Man’s chest. “You surprised now?”

In a flash the Mystery Man is on his feet, fist twisted in Evan’s collar, knuckles grinding Evan’s chin. His other hand draws back, blotting out the sun, and Evan realizes for the first time just how much he is willing to be hurt.

To the side the dark sedan’s headlights flare. Just once.

But it’s enough to freeze that fist in midair. The Ray-Bans are off kilter from the fall, dangling off one ear, and Evan sees now why the man wears them day and night—he has a lazy eye. The left pupil, slightly misaligned, peers past Evan’s shoulder even as the right lasers a hole through his forehead.

The Mystery Man shoves Evan away, adjusts his shades, and walks over to the sedan. The driver’s window eases down with an electric purr, but Evan can see nothing