Even at o’dark thirty, the July heat pressed in close, making it hard to breathe. Harder than it was already. Mikey stood when the train stopped, only distantly hearing the cheerful automated voice as she announced their arrival at the airport. The doors whooshed open, and Mikey followed the handful of other passengers out and down the stairs to the exit gates. Mikey knew he’d been sheltered, knew he was naïve—about a lot of things—but he wasn’t stupid. It only took him two hours on his laptop the night before to get his plans together. Riley and Evan had been off at another of the fund-raisers given by one of the Yeats family charities, and they didn’t get back until late. By the time they woke up, Mikey would be halfway to his destination. After swiping his card to exit the station into the terminal, Mikey turned left like the airport map he’d studied had said to do.
