White Space Season 2

shadow. He might be hiding just beyond the trees, waiting to see if Houser would follow.
    Houser didn’t care if he’d been made. If he was busted, so be it. He’d figure out what to say once the kid confronted him. Hell, he might even tell the truth. Sometimes, people were surprisingly forthcoming once you laid your cards face up on the table. Sometimes, they were even willing to help.
    Houser parked and got out, deciding to follow Milo on foot, hoping the kid wasn’t going too fast to keep up with. He traded concrete for dirt, then stepped into the thick woods, moving cautiously along the uneven, leaf-littered ground, going slower than he wanted since he was afraid to make the slightest misstep and risk injuring his right knee. Despite his caution, Houser’s knee felt surprisingly stable, muscles and ligaments supporting his weight and working effortlessly with the prosthetic leg and foot, as if he was born with it.
    Houser scanned the forest, growing quickly dark as the noonday sun sought harbor behind the clouds and foliage thickened above. Three hundred yards ahead, he saw Milo, no longer riding, but walking alongside his bike. Houser followed, surprised by the stability he felt from both his right knee and leg. As Milo crossed a hill, Houser picked up his pace, not wanting to lose sight for too long and risk the kid disappearing completely.
    He stopped at the top of the hill and looked down, catching sight of Milo, who had stopped moving.
    Houser’s heart leapt in his throat, certain Milo stopped and saw him. Houser ducked behind a tree, his right leg slipping and nearly surrendering under his shifting weight. He managed to right himself, but not without a twitch of pain hammering his right knee, maybe suggesting a sprain or tear to his MCL or ACL.
    Shit.
    Houser stopped, his back to the tree, and tested the weight on his leg to make sure his knee would support it. It did. He waited through another moment, then peeked out around the tree to see Milo still standing in his spot, seemingly oblivious to his tail.
    Then Houser saw why.
    Milo wasn’t alone. He was standing with a disheveled looking guy, so rail-thin it was even obvious beneath his oversized brown coat. He wore a dark blue cap with long, unkempt, blond hair sticking out from the sides and back. The guy looked like the crazy vagrants Houser sometimes ran into back when he was a cop — people who had fallen so far off the grid they no longer even pretended to try fitting in.
    Who the hell is this guy?
    Houser lifted his cell and started taking pictures, thinking it fitting that the only reason he spotted Milo was because he saw the kid taking pictures of Jon.
    Houser watched as the crazy looking man reached into his jacket and retrieved something too small for Houser to identify from so far away. Milo pocketed the item quickly, as if it were drugs or some other contraband.
    Well, what the fuck do we have here?

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Milo Anderson

    Milo hated riding out to the woods to meet Don, but the man was paranoid about the closed circuit cameras littering the island. Given all that had happened, Milo couldn’t blame him. Don was particularly eager to see him today, following the Heller funeral. He said he had “something very important” to tell him.
    When they met up, Don looked more frazzled than usual. He was wearing a large, brown coat, jeans, and a dark blue Mariners hat. His hair looked like he’d not washed it for days.
    “I need you to do something,” he said immediately, the second Milo stepped into the clearing.
    “What?” Milo asked.
    “I need you to get into Alex Heller’s house.”
    “What?”
    “Your friend, Alex Heller. Did he ever give you a key or anything?”
    “No,” Milo said. “Why do you need to get into his house?”
    “I need you to find something: a flash drive.”
    Milo took a step back, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    Don looked around, as if he expected someone to be watching, or for a squad of cops or Paladin officers to rush them at any moment.
    “Roger Heller said he had a flash drive for me to see, something that would blow my mind. A day before the shootings.”
    “Wait, you knew Alex’s dad? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
    “I didn’t want you telling Alex. Now,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t a horrible thing to say, “it doesn’t matter.”
    “Why not? You think Alex would’ve ratted me out?”
    “I don’t know what he would’ve done. I