Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

here?”
    Will turned around. There was a little boy standing in thedoorway. His hair was a mess. His pajamas were too big for his spindly body. He clutched a picture book to his chest. The material seemed a little young for him, but Will was hardly an expert.
    “Shit,” Cayla cursed. “What did I tell you about staying upstairs?”
    The boy opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him answer.
    “I told you you’d get hungry.” She got up from the table to fix another plate. She introduced the kid to Will: “This’n’s Benji, my sister’s kid. Benji, this is Mr. Black.”
    “Her
real
sister,” Tony amended. He pushed his chair back until it touched the counter. Benji wouldn’t go near him. He took the long way around, sitting opposite Will with the book in his lap.
    “Here.” Cayla plopped down a plate that was considerably less generous than the portions she gave Will. She asked Tony, “I guess I gotta feed you, too?”
    “Gimme one a them breasts.” He grabbed at her, giggling like it was a game.
    Cayla slapped away his hands. “Jesus, Tony.” She turned back to the stove, muttering to herself.
    Will looked at Benji, who was staring down at his lap. Will tried not to be too obvious as he studied the boy. He had a familiar look about him, like he expected at any moment that something bad was going to happen. His shoulders were rolled inward. He kept his head bowed. His ears practically rotated as he listened for a change in tone, an indication of danger. Will recognized the survival tactic. When adults got mad, kids usually ended up being collateral damage.
    Will asked Benji, “Are you from Macon?”
    Rather than answering, the kid looked at his aunt.
    Cayla supplied, “Baton Rouge. At least that’s where they were this last time. His mama’s on the pipe. Can’t break the habit. The po-po found ’em livin’ in her car.” She rested her hand on Benji’sbony shoulder. Will would’ve missed the flinch if he hadn’t been watching.
    Cayla said, “I couldn’t let ’em put Benji in a home again. Last time, he near about got killed. And I mean real killed, not just pushed around.”
    Will guessed Benji knew all of this, but he didn’t like that the kid was hearing it again. He asked Benji, “How old are you?”
    This time, he answered himself, showing Will nine fingers.
    “What’s that book you’re reading?”
    Benji held up the book. Will couldn’t read the cursive letters, but the
C
at the beginning and the smiling monkey told him he was looking at Curious George. The book had obviously been read a lot. The pages were dog-eared. The cover was worn. Will wondered if something was wrong with the boy. “Which school do you go to?”
    Benji returned the book to his lap. He stared down at his hands.
    Cayla blew out a put-upon sigh. “What’s gotten into you, child? Tell him where you go to school.”
    Benji’s voice was squeaky. “I’m in Miss Ward’s fourth-grade class at Barden Elementary School on Anderson Drive.”
    Will gave a low whistle, as if he was impressed. “That sounds like a nice school. Do you like it there?”
    The boy’s slender shoulders went up in a shrug.
    “What’s your favorite subject?”
    He glanced at Cayla, but before she could answer for him, Benji said, “Math.”
    “I like math, too,” Will said, which was actually true. Numbers had offered a respite, some sort of weird proof that despite Will’s inability to read like the other kids, there was at least one thing he could do right.
    “Fractions,” Benji whispered. “My mom does them with me.” He looked up at Will, his eyes moist with tears. The fluorescent bulbs made the corners glow. He looked so desperate that Will couldn’t meet his gaze.
    “Eat up, hon.” Cayla pushed Benji’s plate closer. She’d given him a spoonful of peas, a biscuit, and a chicken leg. The meal didn’t seem like enough, but Benji didn’t complain. He didn’t start eating, either. He seemed to be waiting for permission.
    Will picked up the large piece of fried chicken Cayla had smothered in gravy. She was right about her scalding skills. The crispy skin practically melted in his mouth. Too bad he wasn’t hungry anymore.
    Will had seen a lot of shell-shocked kids passing through the Atlanta Children’s Home, but Benji was the loneliest child he’d ever shared a table with. He resonated at a different frequency. His movements were stilted. His expression was a mask of neutrality, but his eyes—there