Emily yanked away. “He can’t bring you in. He’s a fake!”
Rutger caught her arm again and clamped down.
The bus was coming. One block up the street.
The black man’s expression hardened. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“The police are coming!” called the woman at the bus stop. She held up her cell phone.
Something flashed across Rutger’s face.
“What, you don’t like that?” The man sneered at Rutger. “I thought the police and FBI were pals.”
Rutger pulled at her, hard. Emily stumbled sideways.
“Let her go.” The man shoved Rutger. “Now.”
Brakes squealed. The bus was pulling up to its stop.
“I said now.” The man smacked his hand over Rutger’s and pried the “agent’s” fingers off Emily’s arm. “Go get on the bus.” He jerked his head from Emily toward the street.
She hesitated. What would happen to this man when she left?
“Go!”
She spun around and ran. “Wait, wait!” She waved her arm at the bus.
Scuffling sounded behind her. Emily didn’t turn around. She reached the bus and threw herself up the steps.
Heart jamming, her legs like water, Emily threw two dollar bills at the driver and skidded into a seat up front. Across the aisle the mother and son looked at her, wide-eyed. The driver stared at her through the rearview mirror.
The bus door closed.
Emily bent forward, trying to breathe. Her knee pulsed with pain. As they drove away she glanced toward the parking lot. The man who’d saved her was staring after Rutger, who was running back toward her office building.
Air backed up in Emily’s throat. The agent—real or fake?—was headed for his car. And she knew what he would do.
Rutger would come after the bus.
Chapter 28
RAWLY.
I stared at the TV screen, mouth open. Could a stuffed dog be our “Raleigh”?
“Hannah!” My mother’s voice trailed from the kitchen. “Isn’t your breakfast wonderful?”
I pressed my hands to my cheeks. The TV switched from the news to commercials. The sudden loudness made my ears hurt. I punched the mute button.
“Hannah!”
“Yes, Mom.” I felt my mouth move. “It’s great.” My eyes lowered to my plate. I hadn’t eaten a bite.
What was I supposed to do now?
I started to rise from the couch—and dizziness hit. I sat back down.
Somehow I had to figure this out. Was that dog what we were looking for?
I’d never know. Because no way could I ever get close to it. Clutched in the hand of a little girl who believed I’d killed her father? Her mother wanting me dead?
My gaze landed again on the plate of food. I hadn’t eaten in a long time. Or slept. I couldn’t go on much longer without fuel.
I picked up the plate and shoved eggs into my mouth. Chewed automatically. Commercials continued to run on the screen. When they ended, the news show turned to another story. I turned off the TV.
Where was Emily? How long until she got to the FBI? When she called, she could help me think this through . . .
Like a robot, I kept eating until all my food was gone. I got up slowly, carrying my plate, and returned to the kitchen.
“There she is.” Mom had cleaned her plate as well. “Wasn’t it wonderful? Best breakfast I ever had.”
I managed a nod. Aunt Margie patted Mom’s arm, but her eyes were on me.
“I’ve been telling Margie all about my new friend Morton,” Mom said. “But it’s so sad—he died. So now we have to go to Raleigh. If we can just get away from the Bad People. Do you have Bad People here, Margie?”
“Well, I certainly hope not.” My aunt threw me a sad smile.
Mom tilted her head. “‘The fear of the Lord is this: wisdom. And to turn from evil is understanding.’”
My aunt surveyed Mom. “Is that from the Bible?”
“Yes.” Mom frowned. “But I can’t remember where . . .”
She took a slow drink of tea, as if trying to recall.
Her face cleared. “Margie, did I tell you about my other new friend? She didn’t die. Her name is . . .” Mom’s eyes grew cloudy. “What was her name, Hannah? She has six sisters. Can you believe that? Six.”
“Nance.” I walked to the sink to set down my plate.
“Oh, yes, Nance! Can you believe she had six sisters?”
“That is amazing.” Aunt Margie carried the rest of the dishes to the sink, then looked at me and lowered her voice. “See anything on the news?”
“It’s bad.” I felt my throat close. “Real bad. They think I killed three people. And they’re calling for me to turn myself in. Even the families of the men who were killed think I’m guilty.”