one hand propping open the screen, and waited to see if anyone else spoke.
“I’ll take care of it.” Mark sighed. “You promised I could do this my way.” There were three quick footsteps, a pause, then three footsteps again.
He’s pacing, which means he’s on the phone. Is he talking about me?
“Then let me handle it,” he snapped. “Yes, it’ll be soon. Have a little faith... I’ve got to go. She’ll be home any minute.”
The faint sound of a long sigh was followed by what possibly could’ve been Mark dropping onto the couch, but I wasn’t thinking about him on a couch. I was thinking of him in an elevator.
“Thanks for taking me to the carnival.” I grinned at Mark. My hands were sticky from cotton candy and caramel apples and my voice scratchy from hours of screaming on the rides—I’d had fun. Actual fun for the first time since the day we’d left ten months ago. “Which floor?”
“Three,” Mark replied as we stepped into the elevator. “I’ll take you back to your place before I tackle the long commute home.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, because one floor down is sooo long.”
He chuckled. “It’s too bad your dad wasn’t feeling well. I bet he would’ve had fun too.”
“Yeah.” My good mood deflated. I wasn’t sure whether Dad really hadn’t been feeling well or whether that had been an excuse not to leave the apartment. He’d had a lot of excuses lately.
The elevator dinged its arrival on the third floor. “Maybe he’ll be feeling better tomorrow and we can go back,” Mark suggested.
“Really? That would be great!” I’d make Dad come tomorrow. I’d tell him about all the fun rides and games and he’d have to want to come. “It’s too bad the carousel didn’t have rings to catch. I bet I could get more than both of you. I’ve got a secret method.”
“Oh really?” Mark knocked on my apartment door. “I’d love to see you try to beat me.”
“I’d do more than try,” I said, then laughed at his doubtful expression.
He nodded slowly. “I like seeing you smile. It looks good on you, Kid.”
I knocked again, eager to tell Dad about the carnival, but he still didn’t answer. A slight chill ran down my spine.
Mark pulled his keys out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe he’s asleep.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
A man wearing a suit and a gun on his hip was standing in my kitchen.
Fear clawed its way up my throat. I took a step back, ready to run, but Mark wrapped a hand around my arm, pulling me close.
He led me into the apartment, shoulders tense, the skin around his eyes wrinkling slightly. “What are you doing here?” he asked as the door swung shut behind us.
Despite the surprise in Mark’s voice, he obviously knew the man, and the man wore a suit like all the other Marshals I’d ever seen. An ominous feeling settled in my chest. Mouth dry, I asked, “Where’s my dad?”
The man’s gaze darted to me and back to Mark in silence.
Mark leaned closer and squeezed my arm once. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He motioned for the guy to follow him into the bathroom and closed the door.
I dragged in a few deep breaths, trying to steady my racing heart and trying not to look at the closed door to my dad’s bedroom. It didn’t work. In the time it took me to take a single breath, I was in front of the door, my eyes searching for any explanation as to where Dad was. I reached out with a shaky hand. My fingers were just about to wrap around the doorknob when the bathroom door flew open.
I jumped away from the bedroom door, my heart nearly exploding out of my chest.
The man in the suit stalked out of the apartment without even glancing at me. Mark locked the door and rested his head against it.
I moved behind him. “What’s going on?” I whispered.
Mark turned and I knew. It was like my mom all over again. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Something happened and...”
My throat felt like it was closing but I forced the words out. “He’s dead?”
Mark winced.
My heart beat as fast as the possibilities racing through my head. “Did someone find us?”
“No. He...” Mark swallowed hard. “He killed himself while we were at the carnival.”
“What?” Hot tears streamed down my face. “Why? Why would he do that?”
Mark tried to wipe my tears away. “That was an agent. Your dad called the emergency hotline before he... He wanted someone to find him before we got home. They tried to talk him out of it and get here to stop him but...it was too late.”
I shook my head.
“He told them he couldn’t take being on the run anymore. But he wanted you to know that he loved you, very much.”
“Yeah, he loved me so much he left me by myself!” I could feel something inside me breaking, shaking into loose bits.
Mark cupped my face in his hands. “No. You have me, do you hear me?” I tried to jerk away but he made me look at him. “Listen to me, Kid. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll take care of you.”
He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me as I cried. He started humming something, the sound vibrating in my chest. It wasn’t until he began to softly sing the words that I recognized the tune to “Have a Little Faith in Me” by John Hiatt. It was the song my dad always sang to my mom when she was upset.
I listened, transfixed, until the song ended. I wiped away tears that were still falling and asked, “Where’d you learn that song?”
“I used to sing it to my little sister when we were younger. I took care of her a lot.”
It was the first time he’d ever mentioned anything about his real life, but I didn’t have any trouble imagining him taking care of a little sister just like he’d often taken care of me. I realized he was right. I had to have faith in him. He was all I had left. “So what are we going to do?”
He wiped more of my tears away. “We’ll start over someplace
