Vigilante 01 - Who Knows the Storm by Tere Michaels Read Free Book Online

this could be a trick.”
    “Who would do something like this? I only see the people at work and people here in our neighborhood—and none of them know what happened, right?”
    Nox tried to maintain his cool. He tucked his hands deeper in his pockets, glanced at the faded Persian rug under his feet. “They could make an assumption—I’m not that much older than you are.”
    “But who do we know that would do something like this? I know people at work, but I’ve never told them anything about me. And you don’t see anyone except for at the jobsite. We don’t have friends! Who would do something like this?”
    “Sam, I know how much you want this. But you have to be prepared….”
    “Prepared for what?” Sam snapped, annoyance clearly rising. “Prepared to be disappointed? Seriously, I’ve got that covered with the rest of my life.”
    Another anvil, hitting so hard between them Sam actually winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
    Misery crept over his face. “I’m sorry.”
    “I know this isn’t an easy way to live,” Nox said softly. “I wish things could be different.”
    Sam stared down at the floor.
    Nox couldn’t offer platitudes. He couldn’t tell Sam someday he could leave the city, go to college, live somewhere else. Sam existed in New York City. Outside? He was a kid without a birth record or certificate or anything else to prove who he was. He had a father who was still a child himself when he took responsibility for him. He was a secret no one else could know.
    It was what it was, and Sam had no power over any of it.
    “Just be careful. And—if you get another letter, I need to see it immediately,” he said, finishing with a hint of reprimand. “People shouldn’t be coming to the house.”
    His son nodded almost imperceptibly.
    “Thank you.” Nox couldn’t resist the urge—he opened his arms and let Sam trudge into his embrace. For a long time it terrified him, this easy affection his son gave him. His own father had not been a demonstrative soul. His mother had her moments, but when the paranoia and fear came in angry waves, she retreated.
    Nox had learned to do this—hugging and soothing and gentle touches to his son’s back as he shook with unshed tears.
    “I’m sorry,” Sam murmured again, face pressed against Nox’s shoulder.
    “We’re past that. Now you know—rules are important, Sam. They keep us safe.”
    Sam nodded, tightening his arms around Nox’s middle.
    He believed the lie, and that was all that mattered.
     
     
    N OX GOT Sam to eat, then sent him to shower. He needed to get ready, but he wanted Sam asleep first—this wasn’t a usual night’s patrol. His skin buzzed with nerves—Nox didn’t like being in the casinos, where surveillance cameras recorded every move you made from the time you set foot in their gilded halls until you walked out, poorer and wrung-out.
    The trick was to obscure your looks and keep moving, stick to blind spots and never— never —draw attention to yourself.
    The Iron Butterfly wasn’t his usual haunt—too shiny, too involved with paying attention to the customers. He played roulette at the Bourbon Street Casino and blackjack at 21. The smaller places generally catered to those with lower credit limits and left you alone to drink and gamble in peace.
    The crown jewel of the District was all about personal service.
    In his father’s study, he used his tablet to call up specs for the various hotels and casinos in the District. Being an electrician had its perks beyond decent wages—he could get whatever he needed from the city planner’s computer and read the plans with ease. His other work—well, that had the benefit of shaking down folks for codes and access to whatever he might need.
    Like an ID to get him into anyplace he wanted in the District….
     
     
    T HE DEALER ’ S name had been Brownigan, and he’d cried when Nox got him down on the ground one night the previous summer. He wasn’t in physical