“What’s your name, son?” Jack’s voice was low, stripped of its usual grit.
“Paulie.” The boy wiped his nose and huddled into Eleanor’s scarf, which smelled of her perfume.
“Let’s get you inside, Paulie. The ice isn’t going anywhere, but you’re freezing.”
Jack held out his large, calloused hand. The boy hesitated, looking at the scar, but the cold won out. His small, icy fingers slid into Jack’s palm. Eleanor followed, feeling a surge of protectiveness for this abandoned child. Her own house was sterile and quiet; the idea of a child there suddenly felt like a necessity rather than a dream.
Inside the cottage, Silas didn’t ask questions. He just pulled out a chipped bowl and served a heap of steaming potatoes with a thick pat of butter. The smell of real food filled the room, pushing out the scent of old books.
Paulie ate ravenously, burning his tongue in his haste. Jack sat on a stool by the stove, the heat helping the ache in his leg. He didn’t take his eyes off the boy.
Three years. For three years, Jack had woken up smelling smoke, hearing the screams of the woman he couldn’t reach under the collapsed roof of that warehouse. He’d been sending anonymous money orders to a local orphanage ever since, trying to buy off his conscience. And here was the living consequence of that night, sitting right in front of him.
“Tough kid,” Jack muttered to no one in particular. “Growing up without a mother is like walking on broken glass. And with a guy like ‘Uncle Joe,’ it’s a minefield.”
“He’s not going back there. I’m taking Paulie home with me,” Eleanor said. Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Steve, the laborer, sat up on the sofa, rubbing his face.
“The doctor’s right,” Steve rasped. “I’ve seen guys like Joe in my town. They’d sell their own soul for a bottle. Take the kid. As for me… I think I’ll catch a freight train tonight. I need to get back to my family. Those guys in the SUV won’t stop looking if they find out I’m not in the ground.”
“You’re not going anywhere yet, Steve,” Eleanor countered. She stood tall, the authority of her profession returning. “If you disappear, Robert Sterling wins. He’ll keep destroying lives. His mother is dead because of him. You almost suffocated. I was thrown out of my career. We have to stop him.”
Silas polished his glasses with his shirt hem.
“Tolstoy said that all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow. But Mr. Sterling chose only darkness. Eleanor is right. Unchecked evil multiplies. But how do we fight him? We’re a fired doctor, a limping cabbie, a runaway laborer, and an old caretaker. Not exactly the Avengers.”
Jack stood up, his cane thudding on the floor.
“Sterling didn’t just vanish. A man with that kind of money leaves a trail. Before he ‘died,’ he had to move assets, sell property, and set up a landing pad. In 2004, you don’t just carry millions across the border in a suitcase.”
“How do we find the trail?” Eleanor asked.
“I’ve got a friend at the taxi dispatch, Susan. She used to work in the county records office. She knows everyone who buys or sells property in this town. I’ll go see her. If Sterling was liquidating assets, Susan will find the paperwork.”
“And what about me?” Eleanor asked.
“You take Paulie and go home. Keep him safe. I’ll drop you off, then I’m going to pay a visit to ‘Uncle Joe.’ I’ll explain to him why Paulie is staying with a nice lady for a while and why he shouldn’t call the police.”
“Are you going to threaten him?” Eleanor frowned.
