Page 64 of Stranger Danger

The TV on the wall cuts off what I'm going to say. The standard Breaking News music blasts through the speakers, and half of the diner looks up.

So do I.

“We interrupt your 8:00 A.M. morning news to bring you important updates on the Eunice homicides. At 5:25 A.M. today, Officer David Brown was declared dead in his home. He was found by his partner, Officer Gray Mosley, when he failed to show up for his shift and wouldn’t return calls.”

The camera switches to a prerecorded video of a man in full uniform standing outside Dave’s house in the dark, early morning light barely visible over his shoulder. “I never imagined someone would target him specifically. He’s a really great guy.”

It returns to the reporter, and Ira’s hand tightens in mine.

“Responding officers pulled footage from Officer Brown’s backdoor camera—”

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“—which showed two figures that have yet to be identified.”

Then they play the video feed.

Ira and I sneaking around the backyard. Climbing up the tree. Me crouching to open the second-story window. Even without floodlights, it’s obvious we’re both guys. Strike one. I can see Ira’s bunny mask perfectly, his bright pink parachute pants painfully obvious. Strike two.

My blood is strike three.

Chapter 17

Ira

The pink pants have to go.

Right now.

I’m barely to my car when I yank them down my legs, bouncing around as I pull my feet free. My sneakers tangle in the bottoms, and all I want to do is sob until I feel better. I don’t want to think about the news report, or finding a new car, or constantly going from diner to diner, or how I’m absolutely fucking terrified that Beckett might fall asleep and not wake up because he probably has a concussion. I hold onto his shoulder as I rip the pants off and shove them through the cracked passenger window.

My hands are shaking when I finally get in the driver’s side and touch the wheel.

“Let me drive,” Beckett says, toneless and quiet. “I saw a rest stop twenty miles back.”

“Ninety percent sure it’s infested.”

He takes my keys out of the ignition, the green alien keychain clinking against my old house key. My dorm key. “Or it’s safe.”

Yeah.

Doubt that.

But I don’t want to argue. All my bunny energy’s tapped out, lying somewhere back on I-77.

I smack my head against the headrest and let my hands fall away.

“My car veers to the right. Asher told me it has something to do with suspension…” I shrug. “Whatev.”

No answer.

For a minute, I just sit here, letting the warm sun bake my face to the perfect soft-cookie texture. My legs are tired. My arms are tired. I think my hair’s even tired. It would be so easy to drive back to the dorm, or my parents’ place, or my brother’s, but where’s that going to get us?

Caught.

I scooch forward in the seat and smack my cheeks until they hurt.

Not happening. Not today. Not tomorrow. They can cart me to jail when I’m eighty years old and living in a retirement home, teaching the nurses how to play Pokémon.