The Man Who Started Running
Nolan stepped out, saw the girl standing at Wade’s table, and instantly went pale.
“Maren!” he snapped, rushing forward. “What did I tell you?”
He grabbed the girl by the arm too roughly. She winced at once, more startled than hurt, but the small sound she made was enough.
Wade stood.
He didn’t slam the table or raise his voice. He simply rose to his full height, and the atmosphere in the room shifted.
“Take your hand off her,” he said.
Nolan swallowed. “She’s just a kid. She talks too much. We’re leaving.”
“Take. Your hand. Off her.”
Something in Wade’s tone made Nolan obey before he had time to think. His grip loosened.
The little girl stepped back quickly, pressing herself against the booth.
Wade kept his eyes locked on Nolan.
“She says her mother’s name is Tessa.”
Nolan forced out a laugh that sounded thin and strained. “She gets confused.”
“She says her mother has a tattoo that matches mine.”
“Kids say anything.”
“Where is her mother?”
Nolan’s gaze flicked toward the door. “Dead,” he said too quickly. “Been dead for years.”
Wade took one slow step forward.
“You’re lying.”
The little girl, Maren, suddenly looked up, urgent.
“She’s not dead,” she said. “She’s sleeping in the van.”
The room shifted all at once.
Brenda dropped the towel she had been nervously twisting in her hands.
Nolan stopped pretending.
He spun around and bolted for the front door.
Wade moved faster.
