Excerpt from Rust & Stardust by T Greenwood, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"I'm gonna need for you to come with me," he said, tugging at her arm to pull her along.

"But my friends…" The word seemed to mock her. Where were these friends now? "I can't, please…"

"The courthouse is across the street, you know," he said. "They'll know what to do with a juvenile delinquent like you."

"No, please, sir."

They were walking together now toward the front of the store. She tripped, and he tugged at her arm, righting her. He tossed the composition book down on a display case and wordlessly guided her to the front door, holding it open with his free hand for an old woman who was coming in.

Outside, they stood on the street; across the way, the courthouse loomed before her. Was that where the jail was?

He still clutched her arm, standing close to her before gently nudging her down the street and around the corner into an alleyway. It smelled of garbage and motor oil.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice like gravel. "I'll need it for my report."

"Florence Horner, sir. But I'm called Sally for short. Are you taking me to jail?" She wondered if it was even possible for her to go to jail. She was just a little girl. Her stepfather had spent the night in jail more than once, put in the drunk tank. She'd heard her mother whispering into the phone. Sally had been little the first time, thought her mother had said "dunk tank," and imagined her stepfather sitting happily waiting for someone to throw a bean bag at the target and send him plummeting into a tub of cold water. When she asked her mother why he had gone to the carnival without her, her mother had shaken her head. "He ain't at no circus. Fool's got himself locked up in jail again." The only other things Sally knew about jail she learned from the pictures she saw at The Savar: Abbott and Costello, black-and-white-striped uniforms, limbs tethered to heavy balls and chains.

Suddenly, a policeman came strolling down the alley, and her heart jumped to her throat. Would the FBI man hand her over? Would the policeman put her in handcuffs right there?

"Afternoon, Officer," the FBI man said, tipping his hat as the policeman passed the entrance to the alleyway and spotted them.

Sally's eyes filled with tears.

"Everything okay here?" the officer said, stopping.

"Sure thing, sir," the FBI man said.

"What's the matter, little girl?"

Sally shook her head.

"My daughter's just upset I won't buy her an ice cream. Spoil her dinner. Her mother would string me up."

The officer chuckled, and nodded. "I see." He came over, bent down so he was eye level with Sally, and wagged his meaty finger in her face. "You do as your daddy says, you hear?"

Sally nodded, tears escaping and rolling down her cheeks. Why was this man lying?

The officer stood upright again. "Got three of my own," he said to the FBI man. "Got me wrapped right around their little fingers."

The FBI man threw his head back, and his laughter sounded like a gunshot.

"You two have a nice afternoon," the policeman said, and walked back to the street, whistling.

"Listen up, Sally," the FBI man said, watching the officer walk away. He smiled a little, and she noticed his crowded teeth, like long thin tombstones.

"Yes, sir?" Sally said, blood pounding in her temples.

"You are a lucky girl," he said, peering in the direction the officer had gone before looking back at her. "Very lucky indeed that it was me who caught you instead of another G-man."

Lucky? This was one thing she knew she was not.

"Anybody else would have handed you right over to the law. But I like you, Sally," he said, still grinning. "And I'm pretty sure you're usually a good girl. So I'm willing to strike a deal with you."

She nodded. She was a good girl. Anything. She'd do anything at all if he'd just let her go home. He didn't loosen his grip on her arm, though.

Excerpted from Rust & Stardust by T Greenwood. Copyright © 2018 by T Greenwood. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.