Now You See Me by Kris Fletcher Page B

and the speed with which they were fleeing, they were undoubtedly up to no good. The question was, had he spotted them before or after it was mission accomplished?
    If he had half a brain, he would get back in the car and drive straight home. Pulling over in the lot and walking around the school in search of damage was nothing short of idiocy. If there were damage, and if he were found at the scene—highly likely, given his history—then he’d be looking at a hefty fine, minimum, for destroying public property. The town would finally get the chance to pin something on him.
    Another movement caught his eye. Something was in the bushes by the flagpole.
    Walk away, Delaney.
    He meant to. He did. But a low sound drifted toward him, like a muffled moan of pain, and in a second he was sprinting across the grass. If some little jackass had got himself hurt—
    But it wasn’t any little jackass, as he saw the minute he pushed aside the fragrant cedar branches and took in the frightened face before him.
    “Ben?”
    The kid bit his lip in a gesture that seemed all too familiar. His eyes were bigger than J.T. remembered. And he was crouching, as if he couldn’t quite bear his own weight.
    “Come on, Ben. I know it’s you. J. T. Delaney, remember? I talked to you guys at the cemetery the other day.”
    Ben’s brave expression did a slow crumple.
    “You hurt yourself?”
    A nod. At least it was a response.
    “Okay. Let’s call your mom and get you home. Think you can walk?”
    There was a crackle of twigs and dry leaves as the boy moved—then a small yip as he lurched forward and landed heavily against J.T.’s side.
    “Whoa, buddy. Is it your ankle?”
    “Yeah.”
    All of a sudden, Downton Abbey was looking a lot more appealing.
    Ten minutes later, J.T. pulled into the Brewster driveway. Ben spoke only to give directions that J.T. didn’t need, but pretended otherwise just to haul a few words out of the kid. There was a story here and he was pretty sure he understood it. Too bad he couldn’t get a little corroboration.
    As he killed the engine he saw a figure hurrying down the porch steps. Lydia probably started watching out the window the minute he called. The leap of pleasure he felt when he saw her was a welcome surprise. The fact that she smelled like vanilla and made his heart beat a little faster was a bonus.
    She beat him to the passenger side of the car.
    “Oh, Benjie. What happened?”
    The boy mumbled halfheartedly. “Nothing.”
    She frowned. J.T. felt oddly jubilant, glad that she wasn’t taking the attitude in stride.
    “Let’s get you inside and have a look at the ankle.” Her tone shifted. “Then we’ll talk.”
    He helped Ben out of the car. Lydia braced the boy on the other side. It seemed like a good system until their hands met somewhere in the middle of Ben’s rigid back, sending a zing straight down his arm.
    “Sorry.” Lydia curled her fingers away from his, but he wasn’t ready to lose that touch yet.
    “Actually, it will probably work better if we hold hands. Or at least grab wrists. We’ll be more stable that way.”
    “Oh. Okay.” She extended her hand and he circled her wrist with his fingers.
    She felt... He wasn’t sure how to describe her. Soft, but strong. Pliant, but not something he could shove around.
    Holding Lydia’s wrist, he decided, was probably a sneak preview of how it would be to hold her in his arms.
    “Ready?” She sounded slightly breathy, the way she had in the boathouse. Damn. Did she feel it, too?
    Good.
    Soon they deposited the boy on a sofa in an exceedingly cluttered family room. Here in the light, J.T. could clearly see the paleness of Ben’s face. He was one hurting puppy.
    “Let’s have a look.” Lydia kneeled on the floor and tugged on the lace of Ben’s sneaker.
    The slump of her shoulders made him frown. It must get damned tiring, being the only parent 24/7.
    “Here. Let me have a look.” He moved in and probed the ankle with experienced