The Boy from the Woods(25)



“Are you one of those kids, Matthew?”

Wilde put his hand up. “Okay, that’s it. This conversation is over.”

“Like hell—”

Wilde restarted the car.

“Turn that engine off right now,” Oren snapped.

“You charging us with something?”

“No.”

“Then we are on our way. You can follow us to Matthew’s house if you’d like.”

*



But Oren didn’t follow them.

As Wilde pulled the car into Laila’s driveway, the front door opened. It was dark now, but with the light behind her, Wilde could make out Laila’s silhouette standing in the doorway. She held her hand up high and awkwardly waved. When Wilde and Matthew got closer, he could see that she was holding her mobile phone.

“There’s a call for you,” she said to Wilde. Then she added: “On my phone.”

He nodded, and she handed it to him. He put the phone to his ear.

“We good?”

It was Gray Hair. Wilde wasn’t surprised. They would have seen the license plate. Guys with his kind of juice would have no trouble getting a registration, a name, an address, phone numbers both home and mobile. Laila was the car’s owner. That would be the number they’d try.

“I guess,” Wilde said.

“Crash may have acted inappropriately.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But the boy is under a lot of pressure. We hope you’ll understand.”

“There’s a missing girl,” Wilde said.

“He doesn’t know anything about her.”

“So why’s he under a lot of pressure?”

“Other things.”

“Can I ask your name?” Wilde said.

“Why?”

“Because you know mine.”

There was a pause. “Gavin Chambers.”

“As in Chambers Security? As in Colonel Chambers?”

“Retired colonel, yes.”

Whoa, Wilde thought. The Maynards were not messing around when it came to security. He was tempted to move away so Laila wouldn’t hear, but from the look on her face, that would only get him in hot water.

“Do you know what Crash did to Matthew, Colonel?”

Laila’s eyes widened when she heard that.

“We have CCTV in the basement area,” Gavin replied.

“So you saw it?”

“I did. Sadly, that particular footage no longer exists. Accidental deletion. You know how it is.”

“I do.”

“Will you accept our apologies?”

“I wasn’t the one assaulted.”

“Will you please pass them to young Matthew then?”

Wilde said nothing.

“It’s my job to keep the Maynards safe, Mr. Wilde. There is much more at stake here than a teenage brawl.”

“Like what?”

But Chambers didn’t answer. “I know you’re good at what you do. But I’m good too. And I have vast resources. If there is conflict between us, it probably won’t end well. There will be collateral damage. Do I make myself clear?”

Wilde looked at Laila and Matthew. The collateral damage.

“I’m not a big fan of threats, Colonel.”

“Neither one of us wants to spend our lives looking over our shoulders, correct?”

“Correct.”

“That’s why I’m extending a hand of friendship.”

“Friendship seems a bit strong.”

“I agree. More like, to quote the French, détente. You can keep the gun, by the way. We have plenty of others. Good night, Mr. Wilde.”

He hung up. Laila said, “What the hell was that?”

Wilde handed her phone back. His mind was working overtime. The immediate threat—the one he’d worried most about—was that Maynard’s guys would come after them. That threat seemed to be neutralized for now. Matthew was home. He was safe. So now Wilde turned his attention back to Naomi Pine.

The father had told Hester that Naomi was with the mother. That was a lie. It seemed obvious that Naomi’s father was thus the place to start.

Laila asked, “Did that call have something to do with Naomi Pine?”

Matthew let out a small groan. “You know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that. After your grandmother’s report, the school sent out an emergency text. All the parent boards on social media are lighting up. Do you want to tell me what’s going on, please?”

“Matthew will,” Wilde said, tossing her the car keys. “I have to go.”

“Wait, go where?”

It would take too long to explain. “I’ll try to come back, if that’s okay.”

“Wilde?”

“Matthew will explain.”

He turned and ran toward the woods.





CHAPTER

TEN



There is a theory, introduced by psychologist Anders Ericsson and made popular by Malcolm Gladwell, that ten thousand hours of practice makes you an expert in a given field. Wilde didn’t buy it, though he understood the appeal in the simplicity of such encouraging pop slogans.

He sped now through the woods, his eyes already accustomed to the dark. Theories like Ericsson’s didn’t take into account intensity and immersion. Wilde had run through woods like these since before he could remember. Alone. Adapting. Surviving. It wasn’t practice. It was life. It was ingrained. It was survival. Yes, the hours mattered. But intensity matters more. Imagine if you have no choice. If you hike through the forest for fun or because your dad likes it, it isn’t the same as being forcibly immersed, of knowing the woods well or dying. You can’t fake that. A man does an experiment, tries to see what it’s like to be blind, so he covers his eyes—no, sorry, that isn’t the same thing as being blind. You can always take the blindfold off. It’s voluntary and controlled and safe. Some coaches tell kids to play like their life depends on it. That’s probably sound motivational advice, but if your life doesn’t depend on it—and it doesn’t—the intensity will pale compared to the real thing.

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