Tam slept late on Saturday. He was vaguely aware of voices - Mom and the Bug - before dreaming pulled him under again. When he finally woke, the house was quiet. Too quiet. No smell of coffee. No clacking of tools as the Bug messed with his hard-drive.
He kicked off his sleeping bag and scrambled to his feet. Mom had only been home a few days. Surely she hadn’t run off already? Worry clenched through him, but he forced it back. Maybe she left a note.
He checked the table three times, but there was nothing. With fear crawling up his throat, he stepped into Mom’s tiny bedroom. It was painted a soothing blue that did nothing to stop the worry hammering through him.
The inlaid box on the bookshelf, where Mom kept the money, was empty. God, she was gone again. But why did she take Peter? Or
