She Can Hide (She Can Series) (7 page)

Brooke hustled into the room with Abby’s sheets tucked under one arm. “You know all your lights came on at four o’clock?”

“They’re set on timers to make it look like someone is home all the time. I’ll have to check the settings.” The lie burned on its way out of Abby’s dry lips. But how could she tell another adult that she was terrified of the dark? No one over the age of six would understand. “Is Haley with Luke?”

“Yes.” Brooke opened the louvered closet door in the back of the kitchen and stuffed Abby’s sheets into the washer. “He took her shopping.”

“Brave man.” Abby leaned a hip on the counter.

“He is.” Smiling, Brooke added detergent. Water rushed into the washer. Her new beau had been good for Brooke in many ways. Her friend’s tight wiring had loosened ever so slightly over the past couple of months. The fact that the serial killer who targeted her back in November had pled guilty to avoid the death penalty also helped. Neither Brooke nor her daughter would have to testify or relive their kidnappings during a trial.

“She still doesn’t remember anything?” Abby drifted to a chair and lowered her tired muscles into the seat. Brooke’s daughter had been drugged and unconscious through most of the ordeal.

“No.” Brooke closed the closet door.

Abby traced a yellow flower on her placemat. “How does she cope?”

“The therapist helps.” Brooke turned and leaned against the closed door. “Do you want her card?”

Abby recoiled. “No.”

“She’s helping me too.” Brooke tilted her head. “I can tell you firsthand that burying your issues doesn’t work in the long run. There’s no shame in needing counseling, Abby.”

“I never said there was.” Abby turned to the window. Darkness pressed on the glass. Her image reflected back on her. Shivering, she reached up to close the blinds. “I’m fine.”

Brooke’s eyes were doubtful, but she dropped the topic. “How about some orange juice?”

“No. I just want water.” Abby drained the second glass. She longed to tell Brooke about her past. Brooke was her best—make that only—friend. But Abby had been betrayed by people she’d known much longer. And frankly, talking about her past was just too painful. Before Friday’s accident, she’d been working hard to shake off the paranoia that ruled her life. But how could she do that now?

The microwave dinged.

“Sit.” Brooke waved Abby toward the table and brought her soup and crackers.

Abby inhaled the steam rising from the bowl. She dipped a spoon and took a tentative taste. Her stomach rumbled in approval.
Yay.
Her disturbing discussion with Brooke hadn’t dulled her hunger. She forced herself to eat slowly.

Brooke washed a few glasses and wiped the counter. She checked under the lid of a pizza box sitting on the stove. “There are two slices left if you want one.”

“I’ll stick with soup.” Abby spooned the last of the broth into her mouth and pushed the bowl away. “That was really good. Thanks. Did you make it?”

“Don’t be silly. I have many skills, but cooking isn’t among them.” Brooke laughed. “Luke did. Do you want more?”

“Thank him for me.” Abby sat back, sipping her water. “I think I’d better let that bowl settle.” She glanced at the clock. It was almost seven p.m. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

Brooke dropped into the opposite chair. She propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “How about I stay over tonight?”

“That’s not necessary. I feel a lo
t better now.” Abby set the glass on the table. “But thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Brooke frowned. “It’s no trouble. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t live far away. I can call if I need you.”

“Call for any reason at all, even if you just need to talk.”

“I will.” But that wasn’t likely. Despite the fresh drama in her life, Abby preferred to keep her past buried. After all, the whole reason she’d come to Westbury was to hide.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Morning was still dark when Derek crept along the hall, his ears tuned to the snoring emanating from his mom’s closed door. Joe was a heavy sleeper, but Derek didn’t want to take any chances. Except for overnight and school, he’d spent most of Sunday and Monday at Abby’s. So far, he’d successfully avoided Joe, and continued invisibility still seemed like the best plan.

On the top landing, he stepped over a creaky board. Joe choked on a snore. Derek froze, holding still until the rhythmic rumbling continued. At the bottom of the steps, his socks hit the dented wood floor.

Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table. Cigarette butts overflowed the ashtray. Derek ignored both. Such was life when Mom was in boyfriend mode. He went into the kitchen and stopped. His mom sat at the table, smoking a cigarette. Derek brightened. Mom being up this early was a good sign.

“Hey,” she said softly. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pasty. Her sweatshirt and jeans looked baggy. She glanced at the clock. “Early for you to be up.”

“Mom, it’s a school day. It’s Tuesday.” Derek filled a glass of water and handed it to her.

A confused wrinkle formed between her brows. Then shame washed across her face. A floorboard creaked overhead. Mom glanced at the ceiling. Apprehension tightened her face. When the house remained quiet, she breathed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about I make you breakfast?”

Derek opened the refrigerator. The milk and juice were gone. Butter and eggs occupied the top shelf right above a twelve-pack, but frying an egg was too noisy. They’d wake Joe.

“Nah. I’m gonna go or I’ll miss my bus.” He eased the fridge door closed. Hanging from a magnet, his last math test fluttered, the giant C circled. Mom had been proud that afternoon last month. She’d been working then, waitressing at the fast-food place on the interstate. Her last guy, Steve, had skipped out in July after Mom got fired and the money ran out. For six great months, she’d been boyfriend-free.

Then she’d met Joe.

“OK. Then I’m going to go back to bed for a while. I’m not feeling very well.” She dropped the cigarette butt into an empty beer bottle and stood. She pressed a palm to her forehead. “I have the dinner shift tonight. Want me to make macaroni and cheese tonight before I go to work?”

“Sure,” Derek answered. He figured his chances were fifty-fifty on the mac and cheese, probably lower that she’d make it to work.

She passed him, pressing a kiss on the side of his head. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Mom shuffled up the stairs.

With a last, lingering look at his math test, Derek slipped into his sneakers and jacket, then slipped his fingers through the top loop of his backpack. The front door opened with a small squeak. Cold air rushed through the opening. Freedom.

A hand grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back inside. Pain shot up his arm as it was twisted above his shoulder.

“Where’ve you been, kid?” Joe stared down at him. He was a tall guy, and Derek was downright puny. Joe’s lean body shivered in his boxers and a gray T-shirt. A combination of day-old smoke and beer, his breath smelled like something had crawled in his mouth and died—last week. Joe stuck his head out the door and scanned the street as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

“Around.” Determined to keep his cool, Derek tried to shrug, but Joe’s grip was too tight. How had Joe sneaked up on him? Derek had sharp ears and quick feet, his reflexes honed by a lifetime at the bottom of the food chain.

Maybe Joe had practice in sneaking around too.

Not good.

“Hey.” With a rough shake, Joe lifted Derek to his toes and shut the door with a bare foot. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

His skin was pale with a grayish, dry hue the color of ash, and his pupils were permanently dilated. Alcohol wasn’t Joe’s only vice. Despite his unhealthy pallor, his grip was strong. “Why are you sneaking out?”

Derek wasn’t sure which was worse, the fear streaking through his empty belly or the humiliation of knowing he was as helpless and scared as a kindergartener. Was he ever going to grow? Would he ever not be vulnerable to anyone who felt like picking on him?

“S-school.” Derek’s breath rattled with his words.

Joe’s gaze dropped to the backpack hanging from Derek’s hand. Light gleamed off his bald head. His bloodshot eyes narrowed in a mean glint. “Let’s get one thing clear. I’m not here. OK? Anyone asks about me, you lie. Got it?”

Derek nodded, fear loosening his neck muscles to bobblehead.

“Now that we understand each other.” Joe released his grip.

Derek’s heels hit the floor hard, the sudden impact slamming his molars together with a jarring snap.

Joe scratched his belly through his T-shirt. “I guess you’d better get going. Wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

The veiled threat sent fresh panic sprinting through his veins. Derek turned and bolted out into the stinging cold. His lip trembled and his eyes brimmed with tears as he stumbled down the porch steps. Sunlight glared off the icy lawn. Derek blinked against the brightness as he crunched through the crusty snow to the sidewalk, thighs shaking, breath catching. Snow melted and seeped into his sneakers. A tremor coursed through him.

Joe was different from the other losers his mom had picked up. This guy was dangerous to more than her wallet and pride. Was he an ex-con? A wanted criminal? A drug dealer?

A wind gust pushed against his back, hurrying him along. Derek hunched his shoulders against the cold, against the frustration, against the humiliation that was his life.

This had to end.

The longer Joe stayed, the more danger he posed to Derek and his mom. He pictured the needle marks on Joe’s arm. No doubt about it. The guy had to go. Derek’s mom had enough trouble. The last thing she needed was some guy getting her hooked on hard drugs. But how could Derek get rid of him?

He rounded the corner. The wind shifted to smack him square in the face. He put his head down and trudged forward.

“Hey, look. It’s the little faggot.”

Derek’s head snapped up.

Trevor and Trent were Derek’s twin enemies. In the same grade as Derek, they looked like they’d been nursed on steroids instead of a bottle. The high school football coaches already had their eyes on the pair of them. They rarely took the bus. Usually, their dad dropped them at school. Still, Derek remained vigilant on most mornings, except this one. The interaction with Joe had sidetracked him. Kids at the bottom of the food chain couldn’t afford to get distracted.

A mean grin split Trent’s square face. “Get him.”

Derek’s feet pivoted without any instruction. He slung his backpack over both shoulders in flight as he sprinted down the block. Heavy footsteps pounded the sidewalk behind him. The twins couldn’t outrun him. They were born linebackers, not running backs. They knew it, and Derek knew it. Like all predators, they still enjoyed the chase.

Derek turned onto a lawn and vaulted over a fence into old Mr. Sheridan’s backyard, the neighbor who lived behind Abby. The nosy old man took great pride in his yard and remained on constant vigil against kids or dogs trekking on his precious grass.

Derek ducked behind a fat tree.

A door opened. “Hey, you kids. Get the hell off my lawn,” Mr. Sheridan shouted.

“Come on. Forget him. We’re gonna miss the bus, and Mom’ll be pissed.” Footsteps crunched away.

Derek waited a few seconds for Mr. Sheridan’s door to close before slinking out of his hiding spot. Thinking invisible thoughts, he crept from the cranky old guy’s property, circled around the block, and approached the bus stop from the other side. The twins were facing the other way, probably keeping watch for him. Once he was on the bus, he’d be fine. The twins were assholes, but they wouldn’t risk getting in trouble at school. Rumor had it their dad was always looking for a reason to beat the shit out of them. An engine rumbled. Derek looked ahead. A block away, the school bus was pulling away from the curb.

“Wait,” he yelled, holding up a hand and breaking into a run.

But the bus drove away. It disappeared into the glaring sunrise with the bright white reflection of sun on metal. A tear leaked out of Derek’s eye. He wished it was from the frigid wind. One more late arrival to school was another chance for the social worker to take notice of him. Slogging forward toward the main road and the long walk toward the high school, his spine and backpack sagged under the weight of his load.

Sometimes invisibility had its drawbacks.

The morning sun blazed with deceptive strength in the clear winter sky. Ethan flipped up his collar against the brutal wind. A gust sent snow dust blowing across the frozen pasture. He rolled the barn door open. The snort of a horse greeted him.

He’d missed that sound. Closing the door behind him, he crossed to the roan’s stall. The pony greeted him with an eager nose. Four days of rock-star treatment had brought out the roan’s giant-puppy disposition. Twin plumes of steam puffed from its nostrils, like the breath of a miniature dragon. He rubbed the scrawny neck with a gloved hand. Clearly enjoying the attention, the pony leaned against him. Warmth unfurled in Ethan’s chest. He fished a carrot from his pocket. The pony ate it and sniffed Ethan’s pockets for more.

He gave the roan’s head a gentle nudge. “Sorry, this one’s for your buddy.”

“Morning.” Cam emerged from the other stall. “Can you give me a hand? I can’t get a rope on him.”

“Sure.” Ethan went into the stall. The horse was in the back, head in the corner, hindquarters—and sharp hooves—facing Ethan. The horse’s ears twitched. Ethan stepped sideways, so he was in the animal’s field of vision. Startling a flight animal in close quarters wasn’t a good idea.

The animal turned its head toward Ethan and blew air from its nostrils. Ethan moved slowly, extending a hand, reading the animal’s body language until he was at the horse’s head. He snapped the rope to the halter and walked out of the stall. The skittish bay followed, tentatively stepping its front feet into the aisle and stopping.

“Easy there, big boy.” Ethan stopped, patiently waiting for the horse to settle. The bay blew hard and gave Cam a nervous eye roll.

“Thanks.” Cam took Ethan’s place at the horse’s head. “The farrier will be here in a few minutes. Poor guy’s feet haven’t been trimmed in so long, his hooves are curling up in front.”

“Maybe his attitude will change when he can walk right.” Ethan dug the second carrot out of his pocket. After a cautious sniff, the bay crunched it down. “Where’s Bryce?”

“Lumberyard.” Cam removed the bay’s blanket in slow motion and hung it over the stall door. Picking up a soft brush, he swept it over the horse’s side. With proper nutrition, the scraggly coat would shed out into healthy fur over the next month or so. “We’re going to start repairs on the pasture fence today.”

“Cold day for fixing fences.”

Cam sighed. “Yes, it is, but these guys have been cooped up too long, and we have to go back to school soon.”

“Thanks.” Ethan rubbed the bay’s neck. “You and Bryce were a big help this weekend.”

Cam glanced over. “I know we were a pain in your ass in high school, but we’re not kids anymore. You can depend on us.”

“You weren’t a pain in the ass.” Ethan examined the rub mark on the bay’s nose. It was scabbing over nicely.

Cam snorted. “Yes, we were.”

“OK, you were, but it wasn’t your fault.” At sixteen, his younger brothers hadn’t been emotionally equipped to deal with their father’s sudden death. Ethan had worked hard to get them both through high school and into college.

The next five minutes passed in silence as Cam picked out the horse’s hooves and spread the blanket back over the bony body. “You’re welcome to help with the fence today.”

“As appealing as that sounds, I have to work.” Ethan had more questions for Abby Foster today. Warmth spread through his chest. He should not be looking forward to interviewing her with this much enthusiasm.

“Sure you do.”

“I actually do.” Ethan gestured to his uniform with both hands.

Cam secured the blanket straps. He brushed past Ethan and entered the roan’s stall. The animal shoved its nose deep into his brother’s coat pocket. Giving the pony’s forelock a playful tousle, Cam ducked out of reach. “You already ate it, greedball.”

“That guy has a great disposition.” Ethan braced himself as the bay horse rubbed its head up and down his body. “He’ll get adopted no problem.”

Ethan gave the bay a worried look. That one would be hard to place. “Yeah. The pony’s like a big dog.”

“He is.” The thought of big dogs brought Abby and Zeus to Ethan’s mind. How was she feeling four days after the accident? Had she remembered anything? “We’re not keeping them.”

Cam held up a hand in surrender. “I know. No time. No money.”

The farrier arrived, and Ethan handed the horse off to him with a final pat. “I’m going to take off then. See you later.”

He stopped at the house to wash the horse smell from his hands. He reached for his truck key on the rack. The hook was empty. He glanced out the window. His pickup was gone. The shiny red MINI Cooper Cam and Bryce shared mocked Ethan from the driveway. Of course Bryce had taken his truck. There was no way to stuff lumber into a car the size of a mailbox.