Faith kicked her feet and twisted.
“Can I let her down?” Hannah scanned the room. Everything appeared to be barricaded except the kitchen and hall.
“Sure. The kitchen is babyproof.” Grant picked up the dog’s bowl and set it on the counter. “Are you hungry?”
“No, just tired.” Hannah mopped at her drenched sweater with a dish towel.
“Let’s get you settled, then.” Upstairs, he led her into a guest room that smelled faintly of fresh paint. A white iron bed faced the window. White curtains framed a view of the dark woods behind the house. The soft green walls and white linens looked serene. “I’ll bring your luggage up. Ellie took your clothes from the trunks in Lee’s attic and put them in the closet and drawers.” Grant headed for the door.
She ran a finger across the glossy white window trim. “What?”
After she and her brothers had moved their father to a nursing home, Lee had convinced her to keep her few belongings, mostly off-season clothes, at his house. The cost of living in New York City is outrageous. Save your money, and you’ll be able to purchase a unit with less debt later, he’d said. At the time, she hadn’t known his anti-debt spiel was coming from personal experience, but he’d been right. She had a nice down payment in her brokerage account. After Lee’s death, Grant offered her his new place as her official address. But she’d never asked for a room of her own.
Her protest had to wait for him to return with her luggage. A few minutes later he lined her bags up in front of the closet.
“Ellie didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Hannah said. Having her personal belongings in the dresser and closet felt . . . permanent. Her brother was playing hardball. He knew how much she feared attachment, and he was forcing her hand.
“You don’t have that much stuff. This is your room. You might not be here very often, but it’s yours whenever you want to be here.” Grant dug into his front pocket and pulled out a key. “I had a house key made for you, too.” He put it on the dresser. Pointing to a doorway, he said, “You have your own bathroom, too.”
“Really? How did you get all this done since I was here last?”
“Two months is a long time, and we want you to feel at home.”
The address on her license was a formality. She’d never intended to actually live in Scarlet Falls again. She floated from city to city, with no permanent ties to any particular place. In the beginning, she’d liked the feeling of freedom. But Lee’s death had changed everything. Hannah’s world was tilted. Instead of free, she now felt lost. As soon as her promotion came through, she’d start looking for an apartment. It would be in the city, not her hometown, but she couldn’t hurt Grant’s feelings. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to help Ellie get the kids back to bed. You should try to sleep, too.” Grant left the room.
Had it really been two months since she’d visited? How could she let that happen? She stared up at the freshly painted ceiling for a minute, then got up and went into the new bathroom. Grant and Ellie had kept the vintage feel of the house with a modern pedestal sink and a mosaic tile floor in the same pale green and white they’d used in the bedroom. A deep, modern freestanding tub invited her for a soak, and the shower had more jets than an airport. Had this been a bedroom or a closet before her brother had reallocated the space for her? Guilt lay in a thick layer on her skin. She needed to visit more, no matter how painful it was to leave.
As much as she resisted, Grant’s house felt like home. It felt too good. Almost good enough to blot out the image of a frightened teenager Hannah had left behind in Vegas. Almost.
Suddenly, she needed to wash the trip from her skin. She took a hot shower. The clothes in her suitcase were dirty, but she found her battered Syracuse University sweatshirt in one of the dresser drawers. She tugged it on with a pair of yoga pants and thick socks. After the warmth of the desert, the damp of autumn in New York State chilled her to the marrow.
Tired but restless, she fluffed up the pillows and settled in bed with her laptop. Her e-mail account was full, as usual. There were several messages from concerned coworkers and clients who’d heard about the attack in Vegas. She sent quick thank-you notes back.
Her mouse hovered over an e-mail from
[email protected]. The subject line read Jewel. Hannah’s hands froze. A wave of cold swept over her skin. Only the police and Royce had been present when Hannah had given her statement. No one else would know the girl’s name—except the girl and the men who took her.
Hannah clicked on the e-mail. The message was short: Help. The end comes Tuesday.