Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) by Toni Kerr

do it myself!"
    "Drop your weapon," commanded a calm voice, "and don't move." A police officer stepped in from the bedroom hall, pointing a gun at Jimmy. "We have you surrounded."
    On cue, two additional officers fell into position from the front and back doors.
    "I said, drop your weapon."
    Jimmy dropped the cushion but not the gun. Tristan held his breath, forced through Jimmy's thought process of choosing a target: Tristan, to finish what he'd started, or the officer at the front door for practicality.
    "Give me one reason to pull the trigger," said the first officer.
    Jimmy finally concluded both targets were suicidal and the woman wasn't worth it. He lowered his gun. The officers at the hall and front door kept their guns steady on Jimmy and Tristan's mother, as a cop from the back door cuffed and searched Jimmy for other weapons, finding a flashy butterfly knife in an ankle holster.
    Tristan moved out of the way as the officer from the front door cuffed his mother. She and Jimmy were both escorted outside, leaving Tristan alone with the first officer.
    "How did you know—" Tristan froze, hearing a few random thoughts as confusion clouded the officer's sharp eyes.
    "Weren't you the kid that ran from a murder scene a few weeks ago?"
    "A few...weeks?" Hadn't he been in jail and set free when his alibi checked out?
    "No, I suppose not." The officer blinked and shook his head. "The property manager thought there might be trouble and called us. I heard the window break, and then your neighbor rushed out and said she heard gunshots. Who in their right mind rushes out when they hear gunshots?" The officer rolled his eyes. "Crazy old people."
    Tristan rubbed his temples to ease a brewing headache. "There were no gunshots. He never fired."
    "Well, I'm glad nothing happened while we got in position." The gun was put away and the officer relaxed. "I had plenty of time to hear her confession. We'll be arresting them both."
    Tristan smiled slightly, still confused by the officer's reaction to his involvement with the woman's murder.
    "This is an official crime-scene now. I'll have to seal the place off and take you into custody—children services. We're a bit shorthanded this evening, so I'll take you myself. Unless…do you have a relative who can come get you?"
    Tristan shook his head, then changed his mind. "Yeah, I have an aunt in town. She'll take me."
    "Good. Because you're—" The officer seemed to forget what he was going to say. "Never mind. Pack up and I'll give you a lift."
    Tristan nodded, stuffed everything back in his backpack and hurried to his room. It was a small town—there couldn't be more than a dozen officers, half of which were probably outside his house right now. Surely, if he'd been in a cell for a few weeks, he'd remember what it looked like. Every officer would certainly know he'd been freed. Why didn't the officer recognize him?
    "You got guts, kid."
    Tristan jumped and looked at a different officer holding a black rectangular box. When he pushed a button, a twangy rendition of his mother's voice filled the room. "...had a friend work on the brakes, and paid him good money to make a few mistakes. I didn't know when it would happen, but I knew I wouldn't be in the car, and that you would." The voice clicked off.
    "Sounds like premeditated murder to me," said the officer with the tape recorder. "Smart thinking to get her confession on tape."
    "I—" Tristan had no idea the conversation was being recorded. He'd never owned a tape cassette, not to mention an actual player that could record. How could he miss such a big thing when he was finding all the smaller stuff?
    "We should have plenty of evidence."
    "Good." Did it also contain evidence that there were legal papers to have him committed in a different state? He should have known about something that incriminating—how did she keep it hidden all this time? "I'll just be a minute."
    When the officer left, Tristan exchanged his homework for all the