Lost Boys (Slateview High 1)

Okay. Time to put all my cards on the table.

“I’m trying to help my father,” I said. “You know he’s in jail… you know what for. But I think there’s more to it.”

Flint chuckled, obviously not taking me too seriously.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I mean, my father’s a good man. But more than that, he’s a smart businessman. He wouldn’t risk his entire future to just make a quick buck in the short term—he thinks long-term, he strategizes.”

“You might be barkin’ up the wrong tree. You might be thinking a little too highly of your old man, if ya ask me.”

“I don’t think so, though.” I bit my lip. “It’s why I wanted to talk to you. I know you must hear things…”

Flint’s brow rose more. “Must I?”

“Yeah… You know, in your line of work. Have you heard anything about my father?”

There was a slight pause as he regarded me across the small table of the booth, drumming his fingers lightly on its surface. Then he shook his head.

“Can’t say I have, cupcake.”

Liar.

But I forced a smile to my face, moving on smoothly. I wasn’t going to let this go so fast. “Okay. That’s okay. What… what about an Abraham? An Abraham Shaw? I’ve heard some things—”

Flint’s back straightened. He sat up a little straighter, opening his mouth like he was about to say something. Then he stopped, and a second later, he settled back against the faded leather of the booth seat, affecting a lazy, nonchalant attitude again.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of him either.”

Liar!

Dammit. He was making shit up, refusing to answer now that we were face-to-face. But as much as I hadn’t wanted to come to the diner, I

was glad I’d agreed to an in-person meeting. Because if I hadn’t been staring into his eyes as he spoke, maybe I would’ve missed the lie.

But I hadn’t.

He knew Abraham Shaw. And he knew at least something about my father.

I had to get him to tell me something. I scooted forward, leaning against the table that separated us.

“Please. Surely someone like you—”

“Not here.” He cut me off.

His burger hadn’t even been delivered by the waitress yet, but he didn’t hesitate before standing up. I glanced up at him, confusion and worry making my chest feel too tight.

“I said, not here,” Flint repeated, his voice sharp as his gaze darted around the diner.

Shifting in my seat, I glanced around at the other patrons, nervousness flooding me. Was Flint afraid someone could be listening? What did he have to say that he didn’t want anyone to overhear?

Before I could ask him any other questions, he turned, walking toward the diner’s front door. He didn’t pause to make sure I was following him, and I was certain that if I didn’t follow, he’d keep going, disappearing into the night like a ghost. And that would be it. My last chance would be gone.

Follow, or get none of the answers you need.

Before I could think, I was sliding out of the booth, rising to my feet. The waitress was returning with Flint’s burger, and I nearly plowed into her as I made a beeline for the door.

“Hey, hon, you want this to go or somethin’?” she asked, arching a brow.