PART 3 — THE BOY THEY WERE HUNTING

The footsteps grew louder.

One.

Two.

Three people.

Maybe more.

Noah’s fingers tightened around mine.

“Mom, who are they?”

“I don’t know.”

But I knew one thing.

They weren’t here for me.

They weren’t here for Michael.

They were here for Noah.

Michael pushed us toward the pantry.

“Get inside.”

“What about you?”

“Just go.”

I pulled Noah behind me, but before we reached the door, a flashlight swept across the kitchen.

A man’s voice called out.

“Michael!”

Michael froze.

“Come out.”

The voice was calm.

Almost friendly.

That frightened me more than shouting would have.

Michael looked at me.

“Whatever you hear, don’t let Noah answer them.”

The pantry door closed.

Through the narrow gap, I could see three men enter the kitchen.

The first was tall and dressed in a black coat.

The second carried a briefcase.

The third stood near the doorway and watched Michael.