Blindside

to unfreeze his muscles and his heart after the immense jolt of fear that had shut him down for a moment.
    “Wake up the boy, Mr. Kettering. I won’t ask twice.”
    He did, lightly stroking Sam’s cheek, speaking quietly to him, telling him not to be afraid, everything would be all right.
    Sam’s eyes opened, focused on Clancy. “You’re a bad man,” Sam said, that little voice strong.
    “Hello there, you little brat. Too bad you’re so valuable, I’d sure like to twist off your head. You got Beau killed, and I’m going to have to pay you back for that.”
    “Why do you want him so badly, Clancy?”
    “I just might tell you someday,” Clancy said. “Not that I necessarily believe it.” He took a couple of steps back to stand at the end of the bed, his gun aimed directly at Sam.
    “Don’t even think of trying anything, Mr. Kettering, or I’ll shoot the boy. Believe me on this. I ain’t got nothin’ to lose here. Both of you get up now. You might as well put some clothes on, Mr. Kettering, it’s pretty cold out there.The kid’s just fine in his pajamas.” He fell silent, watching them. “Hey, I wonder if those deputies are croaked yet. Shouldn’t be long if they aren’t already. We just might take their car, what do you think?”
    “Why would you do that? How did you get here?”
    “Never you mind about that.”
    Miles said, “Sam, I want you to get out of bed real slow. Stand over there, okay?”
    “Papa—”
    “Do as I say. Everything will be all right, I promise you that.”
    Clancy laughed under his breath. He watched Sam slide away from his father, off the side of the bed. He stood there, in his red pajamas.
    “Hey, Mickey Mouse, those are neat,” Clancy said. “Now you, Mr. Kettering. I want you to be real careful. You see where I’m aiming now? Right at the kid’s head. I’ll kill him if you force me to.”
    But would he really? Miles didn’t think so. Whoever had hired Clancy wanted Sam too badly, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. Miles eased out of the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was wearing only his boxer shorts. The air was chilly. Slowly, he stood. Clancy threw him his jeans. He pulled them on, fastened them. He held out his hand. “My sweater’s over there.”
    Clancy tossed it to him. When he had it pulled over his head, Clancy said, “No shoes. I don’t want you trying to make a break for it. Now, put your hands behind your neck.”
    Miles laced his fingers behind his head.
    “Okay, now, you walk out of here first, Mr. Kettering. Sam, you follow your dad. Do it, now. Keep walking. Kid, you behave yourself.”
    He doesn’t want Sam dead, Miles kept thinking. Everything hinges on his taking Sam alive. But why? All Miles needed was an opening, a small lapse on Clancy’s part, andhe could take him. He held himself ready, listened to every breath Clancy drew, realized he didn’t breathe easily because he was so heavy, and he was hurt. Just how badly, Miles couldn’t guess. He watched Clancy’s gun, watched how it remained aimed at Sam’s head.
    Miles walked slowly down the hall. He barely heard Sam’s steps behind him because he was wearing a nice thick pair of Katie’s socks. They were nearly to Katie’s bedroom door.
    This is easy, Clancy, so easy. You can relax a bit, can’t you now? You’ve got us.
    They reached the living room in utter silence. Moonlight showed through the front window that wasn’t boarded up. Not much, but enough so no one would trip over anything.
    Slowly, Clancy motioned Miles to move aside. He grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him toward the front door.
    “Papa—”
    “Shut up, you little varmint!”
    He held Sam with one hand, realized that he couldn’t turn the dead bolt with a gun in his other hand, and stood there a minute, wondering what to do.
    “Come here, Mr. Kettering. I want you to open that door or I’ll hurt your kid.”
    He pulled Sam back against his stomach.
    Miles walked to the front door and unfastened the locks.
    “Open it.”
    Miles opened the front door. The night wind rushed in, cool, sharp.
    “Put your hands behind your head and walk.”
    Miles stopped at the edge of the wide porch that wrapped around the house, touched his bare toe against a rocking chair leg.
    “Well, go on down. We’ll check out those cops, see if they’re dead yet. Then we’ll take their car. I still can’t believe that damned sheriff ruined my van.”
    “How did you get back here,