Alez Kava - One False Move

She had to admit it looked brand new. Probably taken from another dealers' lot, although it didn't have dealer plates. She didn't need to ask. She knew he had already taken care of them, switching the stolen car's license plates with a pair he would have taken from the airport's long-term parking or from one of the apartment complexes in West Omaha. Someplace where the switch wouldn't be noticed for a few days, maybe even weeks. How many people would recognize their license plates were different? The boy was good. Fast. Efficient. But predictable. She tried to drill into his thick skull that it was the common, small mistakes that usually tripped up the best of the best. A speeding ticket, an unpaid tax bill or one too many stolen Saturns.

"Where's Jared?" she asked. "I thought you were picking him up."

"He had an errand. We'll pick him up on our way. You're supposed to be wearing your coveralls." Charlie had his hands on his hips, assessing her blue jeans and T-shirt.

"It's too fucking hot for coveralls. Besides, I'm gonna be in the car. You already said nobody'll even see me behind those tinted windows."

He didn't look convinced. She pulled the baseball cap down over her forehead and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. "This is all the disguise I'm agreeing to."

"Okay," he said, giving in too easily. "Do we have anything good to eat that I can take with me?" And he headed to the kitchen, not waiting for an answer. He opened the fridge, pulling out the makings for a sandwich.

"Jesus, Charlie! We're on our way to rob a bank and you're packing a picnic?"

"Just a sandwich." He swiped gobs of Miracle Whip on the bread and began building a pile of deli meat and cheese, layering one after another. "Unless you got some chips, too?" He looked up at her and grinned, that stupid, lopsided grin. She hesitated but only for a second. It had always been hard to deny him anything. Almost six feet tall, but he was still her baby. She began rummaging through the pantry, pulling out an unopened bag of Ruffles. She tossed it on the counter where he already had a Ziploc bag waiting and another grin to get her to fill it for him. She opened the bag, wondering if there were any cold sodas for them to take, too.

3:15 p.m.

Peony Park HyVee

Grace Wenninghoff wrinkled her nose as Emily dropped the Hostess Cupcakes into their shopping cart.

"Emily…"

"They're so yummy. And you said-"

"I said you could have them as long as you picked out some fruit, too."

She pointed to the produce section, expecting a protest. The truth was, Grace probably would have given in without her daughter's compliance. She was feeling enough guilt to let Emily have a whole carton of Hostess Cupcakes. In the last month Emily had been a trouper, adjusting to their crosstown move better than either Grace or Vince. And now her dad was gone for over a week.

Grace had left work early and picked up Emily from Grandma Wenny's in the hopes that the two of them could spend some girl time together. Something they hadn't done much of since the move. Maybe Grace needed a break from their routine, an escape from the stress, more than Emily did. In fact, Emily had taken everything all in stride. She had made a fort out of the boxes in her room and decorated the antique dresser and mirror left by the previous owner with pictures of Disney characters. She had even created a new imaginary friend to share the adventure with.

"Bitsy likes Hostess Cupcakes, too," Emily said, mentioning her imaginary friend as though she had read Grace's mind.

At first Grace hadn't liked the idea of her daughter spending so much time and effort with someone who didn't exist. It seemed a bit odd. She worried Emily wouldn't be able to relate to real kids after spending so much time with one who did and said anything she wanted. However, Vince insisted that make-believe friends for four-year-olds were just a normal part of growing up. It had certainly not been a part of Grace's childhood. She tried to imagine what her logical and practical Grandma Wenny would have said had Grace dared to introduce an invisible friend. She probably would have blamed it on Grace's addiction to Nancy Drew novels and Batman comic books.

Vince, on the other hand, claimed to have spent a good portion of kindergarten with an imaginary friend named Rocco. It still made Grace smile just thinking about it. Leave it to the scrawny Italian kid to invent some little ma-fioso to protect him. Sometimes she looked at pictures of him as a child and saw Emily, tiny and so vulnerable looking but with a spirit as tough as nails.

"What are these, Mommy?" Emily had picked up a kiwi in each of her small hands and was trying to hold them carefully without squeezing.

"They're called kiwi. They're sweet and good. You wanna try 'em?"

Emily looked them over, turning them first one way then another, gently rubbing her fingers over their fuzzy surface. Then, with a serious, furrowed look, she shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. They look like monkey heads."

"Monkey heads?" Grace laughed.

"Little green monkey heads." And Emily began giggling, too. She was soon laughing so hard that, when she went to put the two kiwis back on top of the stack, she set off an avalanche. "Oh, no, there go all the monkey heads."

Emily stood still, watching helplessly, her lower lip starting to pucker in what Grace recognized as a four-year-old's fine line of not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"Come on, Em. Help me pick up these monkey heads before we both get into trouble."

The two of them began scrambling to pick up the rolling fruit. Soon Emily was giggling again. Grace's arms were full of kiwi when she noticed Emily on her hands and knees, staring at the last kiwi captured under the toe of a scuffed tennis shoe.

Grace looked up and almost dropped the fruit in her arms. Jared Barnett smiled down at her, his dark eyes like hollow-point bullets, empty but dangerous. He stood there with his toe holding the last piece of fruit hostage, as if there was nothing unusual about him being here, as if it were a mere coincidence.

"I didn't know you had such a beautiful little girl, Counselor," he said casually, but his tone injected ice-cold liquid into her veins.

"Emily, come here." Grace kept her own voice calm, trying not to alarm her daughter, yet unable to move. Somehow her knees had decided to go spongy. Emily, however, was focused on retrieving the last kiwi, waiting with fingers ready to grab it when the shoe was lifted.

"Emily." This time it sounded like a scold and she regretted it even before Barnett grinned. He stooped down and retrieved the fruit himself, handing it to Emily.

Grace held her breath, wanting to tell her child not to take it, not to touch it. As if to do so would contaminate her, would burn her with his evil. But, instead, she waited while Emily took the last kiwi and put it on the pile. Then Grace grabbed Emily's hand and shoved the shopping cart forward, moving them away from Jared Barnett as quickly as she could, feeling his stare like pinpricks on the back of her neck.

"Who is that man, Mommy? Do I know him?"

"No. He's nobody." She pushed the cart to a free checkout counter. "Why don't you watch the man bag our groceries. You like doing that, right?" Grace helped her squeeze past the cart to the end of the conveyor belt, and immediately Emily's attention transferred to the boy carelessly tossing items into the plastic bags.

Grace glanced around the store, checking to see where he might be, then pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number, needing to redo it because her fingers kept hitting the wrong numbers.

"Pakula here."

"I just ran into him again." She tried to whisper but the anger made her sound a little like Elmer Fudd.