her son taken away from her. But the police weren’t her only concern. That maniac was still out there, stalking her, and last night she’d seen what he was capable of.
She stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the phone. Her stomach was in knots.
Joyce was unloading a small bag of groceries. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked, a bottle of Children’s Tylenol in her hand.
Hannah shook her head. “I’m screening.”
The answering machine picked up. Hannah anxiously waited for the beep.
Despite her relief, Hannah still couldn’t move. She tried to get her breathing right again.
Finally, she grabbed the phone. “Britt?”
“Oh, hi. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you—”
“No. It’s okay. You’re a doll to fill in for a couple of hours. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, Hannah. See you soon.”
Hannah hung up the phone. She crept back to Guy’s room, and poked her head in the doorway. The shades were drawn, and in the darkness Hannah couldn’t see the rash on his face and hands. He was asleep. She longed to hug him good-bye, but couldn’t. She kept thinking this might be the last time she’d see her little boy before the authorities came to take him away.
The knots tightened in her stomach, and she wandered back toward the living room.
“You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.” Joyce handed Hannah her coat and purse. “Would you relax? He’ll be fine. I’ve seen all my kids through the chicken pox—and a lot worse. He’s in good hands.”
Hannah hesitated in the doorway. “You’ll call if anything happens?”
“Yes.” Joyce nodded. “Now, get out of here. You’re driving me crazy with all your worrying.”
“Don’t answer the phone unless it’s me. And don’t answer the door, either. I’ll call you in an hour.”
“I’m sure you will,” Joyce said, giving her a gentle shove. “Now scram!”
Hannah turned and hugged her. Then she started off to work.
She wore a black pullover, black jeans, and her hair was swept back in a loose ponytail. She didn’t have on any makeup, and knew she looked terrible. Plus, her back ached. She’d gotten only three hours of sleep last night, curled up on the beanbag chair in the corner of Guy’s room.
It had started around two-thirty in the morning. She’d just finished packing when she heard Guy coughing. She went to him.
“Mom, I feel kind of cruddy,” he whimpered.
Guy had a fever of 100.9, as well as a rash all over his face and hands. Hannah unbuttoned his Spider-Man pajama top, and gasped at the sight of the little red welts on his stomach and chest.
“Sounds like chicken pox,” Joyce told her over the phone at six in the morning. Hannah had known she’d be up. “I have a dental appointment at nine, but I can be over there by eleven if you need me to baby-sit. In the meantime, you’d better call the doctor.”
An hour later, Hannah got Dr. Donnellan at his home. “If it’s chicken pox, I’d rather you not bring him in. Chicken pox is awfully contagious. I’m on my way to the office; I’ll swing by. What’s your address again, Hannah?”
Dr. Donnellan always struck Hannah as one of those guys who was considered a nerd throughout high school and college—and maybe even medical school. But there was something very cute about him, too. Tall and skinny, he had glasses and curly, receding brown hair. Hannah guessed he was in his early thirties. Having him in the apartment, making a good old-fashioned house call, gave Hannah a sense of relief.
Then came the bad news: Guy did indeed have the chicken pox. He’d have to remain in bed for at least ten days. Dr. Donnellan asked Hannah if she’d had chicken pox as a child.
Hannah remembered that she had.
“Um, listen, my aunt wants Guy and me to visit,” she lied, wringing her hands. She and Dr. Donnellan were standing in the hallway. “My aunt has an extra room. She’d be a lot of help with Guy. I was wondering if it would be okay to move him. Her place is just a couple of hours away by bus. I’d keep him warm—”
Dr. Donnellan was shaking his head. “You might as well take a bomb aboard that bus, Hannah. Chicken pox is highly contagious. Exposure to adults is serious. It can lead to he-patitis, encephalitis, and pneumonitis. Exposure to pregnant women often causes birth defects.” He shook his head again. “You don’t want to take Guy on any bus rides. Just keep him in bed. There’s a risk he could develop scarlet fever if you’re not careful. Guy needs to take it easy. No trips or outings, Hannah.”
Nodding, Hannah tried to smile. So much for her great escape.
She phoned Britt and got her to fill in at work for a couple of hours.
When Joyce arrived, Hannah asked if she and Guy could possibly stay at her place. It was a stupid idea—right up there with wanting her doctor’s permission to infect a bus-load of people. But Hannah didn’t feel safe at home. How soon before the police or her stalker or some goon the Woodleys had hired showed up at her door? Hiding out at Joyce’s apartment seemed like the only option. No one would be looking for her and Guy there.
“Guy could sleep on your sofa,” Hannah heard herself babbling. “I’d be fine on the floor. It would just be a couple of days—until I feel okay about everything. I know it sounds silly, but—”
“It sounds nuttier than a fruitcake is how it sounds, hon,” Joyce broke in. “He’s better off in his own bed. You really shouldn’t move him. If anybody sleeps on a sofa, it’s me. I’ll stay here as long as you want.”
Hannah gave Joyce her purse and sent her to the supermarket for some calamine lotion, coloring books, and other last-minute essentials. “I don’t have any cash,” Hannah said, handing her the shopping list. “The ATM card is the silver one in my wallet, and the code is 1963. Just remember the year Kennedy was assassinated. And get yourself some cookies.”
While Joyce was out, Hannah quickly showered and changed her clothes.
In a strange way, work was probably the best thing for her right now. She could carry on as if nothing was wrong—total denial.
As Hannah stepped into the store, the anti-theft alarm went off.
The loud beeping gave her such a start, she almost lost what little composure she had. Scott and Britt looked up from their registers, and several customers stared at her. Hannah hurried past the sensors. “What was that about?” she managed to ask.
“Probably that metal plate in your head again,” Scott replied. Then he went back to waiting on his customer.
Hannah moved behind the counter. Scott glanced back over his shoulder at her. “How’s Guy doing?”
“I think he’ll be okay,” Hannah muttered. “It’s me I’m not so sure about.”
Britt ducked into the break room, then came out again with her sweater and purse. Sometime within the last couple of days, she must have changed her maroon hair color. It was black again, but she’d added two blue streaks on one side. The ring in her eyebrow now had a blue stone that matched the hair dye.
“This was in my cereal,” Britt said, pulling a cellophane packet from her bag. She handed it to Hannah. “They’re Cap’n Crunch decals and stamps. I saved them for Guy. I figured he could play with them in bed.”
Hannah thanked her. Once Britt hurried out of the store, Scott leaned against the back counter. He plucked the cereal prize from Hannah’s hand, then studied it. “Wish
“No,” she said. “I didn’t even have a chance to look.” Hannah stashed her purse in the drawer below her register.
“Did that good-looking blond guy from last night ever call you? What’s his name again?”
“Ben,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, he called. Apparently, someone broke into Craig’s hotel room and car. They cleaned out everything. So the police don’t know much about Craig or what he was after here—at least, they didn’t late last night.”
“What do you think?” Scott asked. “How does this Ben character fit in? What’s his angle?”
