“You don’t trust me?” Mr. Poitiers asked.
“I don’t trust nobody. My mama ain’t raised no fools. I don’t get in cars with people I don’t know. Ever. You could be a pervert or psycho or something. No offense.” Mr. Poitiers laughed. “None taken. Tel you what …” He pul ed out his wal et. “I’m going to give you fifty dol ars for a taxi and write down Kyrian’s address. I’l see you at his house.
”
Nick hesitated. The offer did nothing to al eviate his suspicions. “How do I know you’re sending me to his house and not someone else’s? For al I know that’s the address where you take al your victims.”
“God, I hope my son’s as streetwise as you are.” He pul ed out a cel phone and dialed a number. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Hey, Kyrian. Sorry to bother you. I’m here with the kid, but he won’t get in the car with me. He’s even more suspicious than you told me he’d be.” He held the phone out to Nick.
Nick narrowed his eyes on the man as he placed the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Hi, Nick. Phil won’t hurt you. Get in the car and you’l be over here in a few minutes.”
Uh-huh. Nick stil wasn’t sold. The voice was familiar, but …
“How do I know you’re Mr. Hunter?”
“Because I’m the only person, besides you, who knows you were helping your friends mug those tourists when you changed your mind and saved them.”
Nick’s stomach hit the ground at those words. He hadn’t breathed a word of that to a single soul. Not even his priests.
That was a secret that was supposed to be between him and God and no one else. “How did you know that?”
“I was there longer than you suspected and I saw everything.
Now get in the car.”
Nick hung up the phone and handed it back to Mr. Poitiers.
“Okay, I believe you.” He held the money out to him too.
Phil refused to take it. “Keep it.”
Nick shook his head. “I real y can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can. Just consider it a reward for being a smart kid.”
Unused to people not being angry at him, Nick was stil reluctant to accept the money. “You’re not mad at me?”
“For protecting yourself? Not at al . I tel Kyl al the time to behave just like you did. It does me proud to see a kid with a brain. Now get in.”
Nick hesitated. How weird for someone like Phil to not look down on him. It felt real y weird.
He got into the car and buckled himself in.
Phil pul ed away from the curb then turned his radio down so that he could talk. “I should have brought Kyl with me to ease your mind.”
“It wouldn’t have eased it. My mom says pervs use other kids to lure vics too.” Not to mention Kyl didn’t exactly travel in Nick’s circle of friends. He was a stuck-up snot who annoyed him almost as much as Stone did.
That being said, his father seemed to be decent enough in spite of his perfect speech. Made him wonder where Kyl got it from.
They didn’t say anything else as Phil navigated traffic. It didn’t take them long to reach Kyrian’s house that was down in the Garden District. This was the coveted highbrow area where antebel um mansions went on row after row like hulking beasts from a bygone era of gentility and manners that most people nowadays lacked.
Nick and his mom would sometimes come walking down this way … mostly ’cause his mom’s favorite author lived here and she wanted to catch a glimpse of her whenever she could.
His jaw went slack as they pul ed up to a gate that opened into what had to be the biggest house he’d ever seen. It was a huge Grecian-style home with Doric columns supporting what seemed to be a never-ending porch. Top and bottom.
Phil pul ed around the circular drive until he got to the front steps. “We’re here.” But he didn’t turn off the engine.
Nick frowned. “Are you staying?”
“My orders were to deliver you to the door. Mission accomplished.”
Weird, but okay …
Nick had no idea why he was so intimidated, but something about the house seemed eerie and forbidding. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Kyrian had money, but knowing something and seeing such obvious proof were two different things.
What in the world would it be like to have this kind of wealth?
For that matter, he couldn’t even imagine not having to count pennies to eat at McDonald’s.
Gathering his courage, he got out of the car, grabbed his backpack, and headed up the stairs to the front door. Made of mahogany and etched glass that reminded him of cut crystal goblets, it looked like something out of a movie. He lifted his hand to ring the bel , but the door opened to show him a tiny Hispanic woman who eyed him like a warden greeting a new inmate. Dressed in a coral shirt and jeans, she had her dark hair pul ed back into a tight bun.
“Nick?” It sounded more like “Neek,” which was a much prettier version than the normal drawl he was used to.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stepped back to let him enter. “Mr. Kyrian is waiting for you upstairs in his office.” She reached for his backpack.