Dark Hope (43 page)

“I will never forget you,” she said, almost whispering.

“Nor I you,” I answered in response, my voice choking. “Take care of yourself, Maria.”

She took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Please call me Ana. That is my real name, what my family calls me.”

I felt the lump in my throat growing bigger.

“Ana,” I whispered, squeezing her hand back. “God speed, Ana.”

“And you, Hope. Wherever it is that you are going.” She shot a furtive glance at Michael. “God has given you a special mission, I can tell. You will not fail.”

Before I could ask her what she meant, she slipped out of my grasp and through the door, leaving me to gape after her.

Behind me, Michael cleared his throat. “Are you okay here by yourself?”

What he really wants to know is that you’re not going to run off and try to escape
, Henri sniped. My back stiffened. I turned back to Michael and eyed him warily.

“I won’t run away, if that’s what you mean,” I answered.

Michael looked at me, incredulous, the vein in his forehead throbbing to life. “That’s not at all what I meant,” he snapped as he stepped toward me, clenching and unclenching his fists. “After all that happened last night, I would expect you to know that.”

I crossed my arms, refusing to back down. “I don’t know any such thing. But you can rest easy. I’ll stay put. For now.”

His eyebrows knotted together in fury, his eyes flashing as he came face to face with me. “You child,” he spat at me as he gripped my shoulders with a ferocity I’d not yet seen from him. “You have no idea what you are saying. No idea at all the danger in which you keep putting yourself.”

I shrank back against the wall, shaking. Heat surged from my
shoulders, spreading like tendrils down my back. I gasped and tried to pull myself away, sure that I was about to erupt in flames.

Michael’s eyes widened, and as if he was waking from a dream, he looked at me, looked at his own hands where they shook me, and let go, stepping away.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. I did not respond. Instead, I watched the vein in his forehead as it throbbed. I wondered if it was because of me, or if the pain of his disobedience was worsening.

He stared at the floor and continued talking. “There is something you should know about last night.”

When I didn’t respond, he continued.

“The men in the car that chased you weren’t men. They were Fallen Ones.”

My jaw fell open in disbelief. “But I saw the car explode! I saw the fire!”

“Yes, the car exploded, but mixed in with the shrapnel was the black flock the Fallen Ones turned to as they made their escape. I’m afraid for you, Hope.” He paused, as if hesitating to tell me anything further. “I didn’t defeat them so much as they seemed to give up.”

My heart sank as I remembered hearing the fluttering of wings before I’d discovered the girls in the corridor, the way the shrapnel had seemed almost choreographed as it flew in a single direction out of the night sky.

“Your escape seems too easy to me. It was almost as if they sacrificed themselves for some reason. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I believe they have been using Ana and her sister as bait all along. To what end, I do not know. But I fear you are still in danger.”

Michael looked up, a bitter smile on his lips. His blue eyes shone as he drank in my face. “Which is worse, do you think, Hope? The
harm you’ve had at my hands, or the harm you could have had at theirs?”

I answered him impulsively. “You never hurt me deliberately.”

He pressed his lips together in a stern line. “Maybe not. But the damage was done nonetheless. And now—”

He broke off, leaving his thought unspoken as he held my gaze.

“I’d better go,” he whispered. He edged past me in the narrow hallway and swung the door open.

“Be careful,” he warned over his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

nineteen

M
ona jumped, startled awake in the chair where she’d collapsed.

That noise, what was it?

She looked around, trying to find the source. It was barely a scratch, it seemed. Maybe it was her imagination?

No. There it was again.

It was early morning, and she could barely make out the dim light of the rising sun through the slats in the shutters.

Something was behind them. Outside. Trying to get in.

She drew in a breath and rose up, clearing the space between herself and the window in a few strides.

There was a candelabra next to the window, an antique the decorator had somehow foisted upon her. She picked it up as she heard the scratching again. The candlestick was heavy, substantial. She was sure it could knock someone out if push came to shove.

Bracing herself, she raised the candlestick above her shoulder and pulled open the shutters.

“Don!” she exclaimed. “What on earth—?”

He was hiding in the shrubbery, bracing himself as if he expected her to leap through the glass and clobber him. In a second her mind took in his worn camouflage jacket and hiking boots, the obvious bulges where gear had been stuffed into countless pockets.

“Mona, please!” he half-whispered, half-shouted through the glass, his hands lifted in the air to show he meant no harm. “I need to talk to you. Let me in, please?”

She lowered the candelabra and set it down on the side table, taking the moment to look away and appraise the situation. Don would certainly have come alone. He had no friends to speak of. But that lack of friends meant that he’d have to leave Hope behind alone, and he wouldn’t do that. Maybe she was here with him, too. Her adrenaline surged at the idea that her daughter could be nearby. Maybe this was her chance.

She scanned the room, trying to remember where she’d left her cell phone. She should really call that FBI agent and have him come over and arrest her husband.

It’s too damn early for this
, she thought to herself as she rubbed the narrow bridge of her nose.

“Please,” Don said plainly. He wasn’t wheedling; he wasn’t whining. She turned back and sighed. He looked up at her with shining eyes, working his cap over and over in his hands, and she felt herself caving in, just as she always had.

“Come around to the garage,” she grunted.

He beamed at her, the smile of a man who knew his purpose and had no doubts, and he stood up to his full height. Even though the house was slightly elevated above ground level, he could look at her eye to eye when he drew himself up. That was one of the things she’d always liked about him. She could wear heels and not be embarrassed to tower over him.

Irritated with herself for thinking that way, she closed the
shutter on his smiling face and twitchy hands and made her way to the front hall. She looked into the mirror that hung there. Her hair was a disheveled heap on her head, one of Hope’s borrowed headbands barely managing to stay in place. She licked her teeth and felt the coating of last night’s wine. Grimacing, she rubbed her finger over her teeth and tried to smooth her hair into place.

“Futile,” she muttered to herself, before straightening her robe. It would have to do.

She marched over to the kitchen door, opening it to reach into the garage. The big button glowed in the dark as if daring her to push it.

Be cool, Mona. She might be close by. This could be your chance
. She repeated the words over and over to herself until she had regained her composure. Then her finger reached out and once, deliberately, pushed in the button. The garage door groaned to life, slowly inching up.

Don didn’t wait, but darted under the half-raised door as soon as he could.

“I brought you doughnuts,” he said, pushing a crumpled bag toward her as he came rushing in.

She caught it up in her hands. She could feel the heat of the doughnuts, just out of the oven, through the waxy paper. “I don’t eat doughnuts anymore,” she said, unsure what to do.

He brushed by her, darting a glance over his shoulder as he passed. “Sure you do. Everyone eats doughnuts. It’s not like you forget how. Look. I even brought you an apple fritter, your favorite.”

She peered into the bag and let the sugary sweetness waft toward her. Her mouth watered as she closed the door.

“You can’t ply me with sweets, Don,” she admonished, even as she started the coffee brewing.

He laughed. “You know they make them with non-saturated fat
now, or whatever it is that is supposed to be healthy. I say who cares—a doughnut is a doughnut. I don’t need the government telling me how to eat.”

He flopped into a chair at the kitchen table, looking for all the world like nothing unusual was going on; as if it were his home.

Which, once upon a time, it had been.

“Mona, we have to talk.” He’d dropped the fake cheeriness and the pliant guise he’d worn to talk his way in. His jaw was set with a determination she remembered from long ago.

She turned her back and started the coffee grinder, trying to ignore the heat that coursed through her body. How could he be here? Here, in her kitchen, with her making him coffee? She should be screaming bloody murder at him. She pulled the fuzzy robe closer about her body, wishing she could just disappear into the ground.

Instead, she poured the water from the carafe into the coffee machine, occupying her mind by watching the water level rise. Eight cups. She pushed the start button. The light flickered to red. Finally, she turned to face him, squaring her shoulders.

“Did you bring Hope, Don?”

“You know I don’t have her, Mona. That’s why I came to talk to you.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “People are watching me, Mona. I saw them. Yesterday.” He drew a heavy arm across his face, as if he was trying to wipe away the memory.

She groaned, not even bothering to try to hide her reaction.

“What are you talking about this time?”

“I was at work. You know, at the Taco Bell? And I saw the cars. They stood out, you know? Not the typical teenager type of car.
Lincoln Town Cars
,” he said, pausing dramatically between each word to underscore the significance of this detail. “The only people who have those are limo drivers and government types. And these
didn’t have any hack licenses.” He lifted his eyebrows, expecting her to realize the gravity of the situation.

“Go on,” she said, crossing her arms and sending him her best frown to show she was not amused.

With a sense of urgency, he continued, his hands gesturing wildly. “They were in with my manager,” he whispered. “I waited until they came out. I saw the whole thing.”

Her mind zoomed out for a moment. She imagined Agent Hale sending a team out to collect the time-clock records and videotape. She imagined they would question whoever was in charge. She groaned.

“What did you do then?” she asked, afraid of what Don might answer.

“I did what I had to do,” he said, pounding his fist firmly on the worn kitchen table. “I took off. Too many coincidences. Not good. Not safe. Especially while Hope is missing. I need to be mobile if we are going to find her. I had to get out of there.”

Mona began to pace, absentmindedly gnawing on a knuckle.

Don, an apparent fugitive, was sitting at her kitchen table. She darted a glance over at him and found him happily chewing away on a cruller.

“Hey, is that coffee ready yet?” he called out. Apparently even a paranoid needed his morning caffeine.

She went to the cupboard and silently pulled out a cup. “Mother of the Year,” the cup proclaimed.
How ironic
, she thought. She filled the cup almost to the top and then dashed in a tiny bit of cream to cut the bitterness.

She brought the cup to Don, who accepted it gratefully with both hands. He took in the steam, and then gulped down a hot mouthful.

“Just the way I like it, Mona. Even after all this time, you remember. Thank you,” he said.

She looked into his eyes and could tell he was sincere.

“Don, you shouldn’t have come here,” she began, bracing herself for what she knew would be an argument.

“Where else could I go?” he asked simply. He had a point, she acknowledged.

“Those men who came, they were probably with the FBI. They were probably sent to investigate you. Running away only makes you look guilty.”

Don put down his coffee cup and sighed. He looked like someone who was trying to explain something simple, like nuclear physics, to a truculent child.

“But I’m not guilty. I don’t know where Hope is. I’ve told you already.”

Mona poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.

“Don, it is not that simple. You can’t just say you don’t know and expect everyone to believe you. There will be evidence. There will be facts that can prove or disprove what you are saying. Please,” she continued, running her hand through her hair in frustration, “please try to understand. If you’re innocent, it is much better for you to stay put, to stay where they can keep track of you, and to let the evidence play itself out.”

Why are you doing this?
she screamed at herself.
Call the police. He took her; you know he did
. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She couldn’t spook him. It would be better for them all if he turned himself in—or even better, brought her to Hope.