The kid continued to ask a million questions without ever waiting for an answer. “Don’t deputies go home? Don’t their families miss them? Why does Dad send them here?”
“You’ll have to ask him for a change, buddy,” she said, her voice weary. “I don’t know what to tell you anymore.”
“Please, Mom? Can we play? I promise to be faster than ever, and I’ll take a bath and go right to bed, no bedtime story.”
“Promises, promises,” she murmured, then sighed and caved. “Fine. I guess we should.”
The boy whooped, and his footsteps pounded through the house as he ran into the front room.
“What’s happening?” Sam asked.
“Bugs in place,” Ian said even as he pulled another one from his pocket and applied it to the back of the alarm clock by Savannah’s bed. Unlike the single unit in the hallway placed by an unknown entity, these bugs would get a clear signal in every room. “Waiting for an exit.”
When the boy returned to his room, the light went out, drenching the house in darkness again, along with a sudden silence. Ian eased to the open doorway, listening for their conversation, but he couldn’t make out the hushed words. Then creaking underfoot in the hallway sent Ian back into the shadows of the bedroom.
“Going dark,” he told the team to let them know he couldn’t talk as he stepped into the closet. The space was empty but for three sundresses, one pair of sandals, and one pair of tennis shoes, everything lined up in an oddly precise manner. The woman would shine in basic training.
She crossed the room and paused at the window. The moonlight illuminated a radio in her hand. “Wait for my signal.”
“Roger that,” the boy’s voice returned.
Anticipation tingled along Ian’s spine. What in the hell was this?
Savannah tucked her radio beneath her chin, snapped the front of her parka, then pulled her hair into a short ponytail. She stood in front of the window on the far side of her bed, head bent as if she were deep in prayer. She was eerily still, and Ian swore a thread of desperation joined the electricity in the air.
Finally, she pressed her free hand to the window sash and her thumb to the lock. She used the other to speak into the radio. “Pumpernickel!”
The whisper held such urgency, such raspy seriousness, Ian had to reassess what he’d heard. But Jamison’s laugh trickled in from the other room, confirming his mother had said something completely absurd.
“This is serious,” she murmured.
His laughter cut off abruptly.
Another moment. Another word. “Go!”
Ian tensed, expecting a flurry of movement, but the kid didn’t laugh. The mother didn’t move.
“That was good,” she praised the boy. “I thought you’d jump at that.”
“Nope,” he returned with pride in his voice.
“Batman.”
A snicker came from the kid, but ended almost before it began. Followed by the mother’s now-obvious attempt to catch her son in a false start. “Now.” “Daffodil.” “Peanut Butter.”
Ian rolled his eyes.
“What’s taking so long?” Sam wanted to know.
Ian ignored him.
“Eagle.” “Run.” Savannah continued, all followed by nothing. Then she said, “To the moon and back.”
“I love you,” the boy answered.
Savannah pushed against the window lock and lifted the sash with one hand. She dropped the radio into her pocket with the other. Then she was out the window head-first in a tuck and roll that happened so fast, Ian almost missed it. Somewhere else in the house, a thump touched his ears—the kid opening his own window.
Ian rushed to the opening in time to watch mother and son race off into the darkness of a thickly wooded greenbelt stretching behind the house. He stared at the footprints in the snow reflected in moonlight with his heart hammering and his mind spinning.