“That’s a big statement to make. Things can’t be that bad.”
His lips started trembling. “Look, I… I need to get back home.”
“Is that where you ran away from?”
He nodded.
“And where you got the gun?”
“It belonged to my dad.”
Michelle pulled her wet hair out of her eyes. “We can give you a ride there. Just tell us where it is.”
“No, I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“That’s not a good idea. Not in a storm like this. You might get hit by a car or have a tree fall on you, both of which have already almost happened. What’s your name?”
He hesitated.
“My name is Michelle. Michelle Maxwell.”
“Are you really a cop?”
“Used to work for the Secret Service. Guarded the vice president for a while.”
“For real?” Now he sounded like a teenager. An awed teenager.
“Yep.”
“And you’re a cop now?”
“Well, I used to be. I’m actually a private investigator now. But I still act like a cop sometimes. Now what’s your name? I told you mine.”
“Tyler, Tyler Wingo,” he said.
“Okay, Tyler Wingo, that’s a good start. Now let’s go to my car, get in and—” She glanced behind him but had no time to say anything.
Sean grabbed Tyler from behind, knocked the pistol from his grip, kicked it away, and twirled him around.
Staggering, Tyler started to run off again, but Sean clamped a hand around his wrist. At six-two and more than two hundred pounds, he had the size to keep the kid from going anywhere.
“Let me go!” yelled Tyler.
“Sean, it’s okay,” said Michelle. “Let him go.”
Sean reluctantly released his grip, bent down, and picked up the gun. He looked at it. “What the hell is this?”
“A German Mauser,” said Tyler, scowling up at him.
“Without a trigger,” pointed out Michelle. “Saw that in the headlights. Makes it a little hard to use as a weapon unless you throw it at somebody.”
Sean checked the gun’s magazine. “Empty,” he said.
“Tyler was just going to tell me where he lives so we can drive him there,” said Michelle.
“Tyler?” said Sean.
“Tyler Wingo,” said Tyler sulkily. “And you better not have damaged my dad’s gun. It’s a collectible.”