For Leo, that was the most frightening moment. He had expected Hank to be cruel, but some small piece of him had hoped a person wearing a badge might behave differently once the accusation was spoken aloud. Higgins's indifference made the desert seem even emptier. Leo looked down at the dust between his shoes and understood how easy it would be for the official report to say he had been recovered without incident.
"You're frightening him," Higgins said eventually, though he sounded irritated rather than concerned. Hank responded by grabbing Leo harder, as if the comment were a challenge. The boy stumbled against the abandoned pump, and pain flashed through his side. He bit down on a cry because he knew Hank enjoyed hearing it.
When Leo's old backpack fell from his shoulder, Hank knelt to rummage through it. He found the two shirts, the photograph of Daniel, a handful of tools, and Mae's napkin with the youth advocate's telephone number. He read the number twice, then crushed the napkin in his fist. "You've been talking to people," he said, and the new softness in his voice terrified Leo more than shouting.
"I asked for food," Leo answered. "That's all."
Hank did not believe him. He searched the boy's pockets and discovered the heavy silver Zippo, turning it in the sunlight until the skull engraving caught the light. His expression changed from suspicion to delighted accusation. "So this is what you've been doing," he said. "Stealing valuables while everybody else looks for you."
"I didn't steal it," Leo protested. "A man gave it to me. I fixed his motorcycle."
Hank laughed. "You expect me to believe a motorcycle club handed a kid like you something worth keeping?" He slid the lighter into his pocket. "Consider it confiscated. You'll be lucky if I don't add theft to the complaint." Leo moved toward him before remembering that this was a man who would use any sudden movement as an excuse.
"Please give it back," Leo said. "It was a gift."
Hank slapped his hand aside and shoved him down. Leo landed badly, the breath leaving his chest in one painful rush. The lighter was suddenly less important than the familiar terror of being helpless on the ground while adults discussed what would happen to him. He heard Higgins say something about getting the boy into the truck and imagined the long drive to Flagstaff, the basement door, the hallway outside Molly's room.
"Get up," Hank ordered. "You're done playing games."
Leo forced himself upright on one elbow. He could hear the dry clicking of insects in the brush and the engine of Higgins's SUV idling nearby. He searched the open road for headlights and found none. The horizon trembled in the heat, a vast empty line where nothing arrived unless it had a reason.
Then something began to vibrate beneath his hand. At first Leo thought his head was spinning from dehydration and pain. A second later the vibration became a faint rolling sound, too even to be thunder and too large to be a single truck. The deputy turned toward the road with an expression of mild annoyance that sharpened quickly into uncertainty.