Chapter 6 #4
Piper laughed. “Smart kid.” Her phone rang—again. She glanced at the screen, her smile fading. “Sorry. Just . . . give me a second.”
“No problem.”
Fourth call in thirty minutes. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good.
Ollie dribbled the ball, moving to the other side of the court to give Piper some privacy. Part of her wanted to listen in. Another part didn’t want to know.
She practiced her crossover, the rhythm of the ball against the hardwood oddly comforting. She stole a glance at Piper, who paced near the bleachers, her back turned, shoulders hunched forward. The conversation lasted longer this time.
Ollie took another shot. The ball hit the rim and bounced away.
How she hated this. The waiting. The not knowing.
The feeling that adults kept secrets “for her own good.” Like she hadn’t seen a man’s brains splatter across the warehouse floor.
Like she hadn’t spent nights huddled in closets or under beds, counting breaths to stay quiet when foster parents came home drunk after spending government money meant for Ollie’s care on a night at the bar.
Piper ended the call and tucked the phone in her pocket. When she turned to face Ollie, she wore that painted-on smile. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”
“Three-pointers.” Ollie lined up another shot. “Everything okay?”
“Of course.” Piper’s voice came out forced. Just like her smile. “Just work stuff.”
The ball left Ollie’s hands. Swish.
“Nice!” Piper retrieved it. “My turn.”
Ollie watched as Piper attempted a shot. It hit the backboard and bounced off the rim. “I should stick to shooting bad guys, not basketballs.” Piper laughed, but the sound fell flat.
They played for another fifteen minutes. Ollie scored point after point while Piper’s shots grew increasingly erratic. Her phone buzzed twice more with text messages Ollie pretended not to notice.
“I need a bathroom break,” Ollie said after Piper checked her phone for the third time.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right here.”
In the bathroom, Ollie splashed cold water on her face. The mirror reflected a girl she sometimes didn’t recognize—older than fourteen in the eyes.
Why did adults think kids couldn’t handle the truth? Her whole life had been one hard truth after another. No mom. No dad. No permanent home. Just a parade of social workers with pitying smiles and foster families who tried their best—or didn’t try at all.
And now she had two FBI agents who put their lives on hold to protect her. Who got shot at because of her. Who couldn’t go home because of her.
Ollie dried her hands and stepped back into the gym. Piper stood in the center of the court, phone in hand, staring at the screen. But her eyes looked vacant, like she didn’t actually see what she held. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in her cheek.
“Are you all right?” Ollie asked.
Piper’s head snapped up. “Yeah.” She shoved the phone into her pocket. “Just thinking.”
“You sure?” Ollie picked up the basketball from where it had rolled against the wall. “Because you look like someone just canceled Christmas.”
“I’m fine.” Once again, Piper’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Want to practice some defense?”
Ollie dribbled the ball slowly. “Is Sully okay?”
A flash of surprise crossed Piper’s face. “Sully’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’m fourteen, not four.”
Piper sighed. She walked to the bleachers and sat down. After a moment, Ollie joined her.
“You’re right.” Piper stared at her hands. “Something is wrong, but it has to do with work and I just can’t talk about it. Okay?”
“Sure. I didn’t mean to press you.”
“It’s okay. And part of it is, I miss Hannah.”
“Your daughter.”
“Yeah.” Piper gave her another smile. This one was sad, but at least it was real.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is. You’re here to protect me when you should be home with your daughter.”
“Again, not your fault. This is my job. It’s what I signed up for.”
“But your daughter didn’t.”
Piper paled and flinched. Then swallowed hard. “No,” she said, her voice soft. “She didn’t.”
Ollie bounced the ball once, twice. “You could go. I’d be okay with Sully.”
“That’s not how this works. We stay in pairs. Protocol.”
The word “protocol” hung in the air between them. Rules. Procedures. The things that kept Ollie alive but trapped everyone around her. “You could get a different agent to take your place.”
“Not happening.”
“Why don’t you call her then?” Ollie pointed to the three-point line. “I’ll just practice my shots.”
“I’m not sure you need much practice, but yeah, I’ll call her. Thanks.”
As Piper pulled out her phone once more, Ollie moved across the court to give them some privacy. She approached the basket, and the numbers flowed through her mind—distance, angle, force. The ball arced through the air.
Swish.
Some problems had solutions as clean and precise as a perfect shot. Others—like family, safety, belonging—those were messier. But maybe, just maybe, this ranch offered a chance to figure some of them out. If she could stay alive long enough to do so.