were hard and steep. But Hannah was so scared she didn’t realize how much of a struggle it was carrying him until she stopped at the door to the third-floor balcony. She put Guy down, then leaned against the door frame. She tried to get a breath.
“Mom?” Guy said, his voice echoing in the stairwell.
“Shhhh.” Hannah shook her head at him.
“Why are we stopping here?” he whispered.
“Just a second, okay?” Hannah opened the door a crack, and peeked out to a small alcove. No one. Taking Guy’s hand, she stepped outside, then peered around the corner down the long balcony walkway. Again, she didn’t see anyone.
At a brisk clip, Hannah headed toward her door, dragging Guy the whole way. He had to run to keep up with her. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said under her breath. “I need you to stick by me.”
With her hand shaking, it took Hannah a moment to unlock her door. She pulled Guy inside, then closed the door behind him. “Good boy,” she muttered.
The intercom buzzed—twice. Hannah knew it was the police. She stared at the four suitcases and shook her head. She could maybe manage three, tops.
“Honey, pick two toys you can carry back to the taxi,” she told Guy. “They’ll have to last you a couple of days.”
She could hear the intercom next door. They were going for her neighbors now.
Guy started rummaging through the box of toys. Hannah checked her answering machine. The message light was blinking. She played back her messages, cutting short each old one until she came to Tish’s call this morning. She skipped that one too, and listened to the next.
Then he hung up.
She felt a little pang in her gut as she erased the message. She didn’t want the police to hear it.
“C’mon, Guy,” she announced. He’d picked out his new Etch A Sketch and a toy fire engine. Hannah slipped them in a bag. “Now, hold on to these and don’t drop them. You have to keep up with me, and I can’t hold your hand. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he muttered, looking a bit scared.
Hannah smiled bravely and touched his cheek.
She decided to leave behind a suitcase full of clothes. There was enough for them to wear in the other three suitcases. One of the bags had a shoulder strap, and the other two had wheels and pull handles.
Hannah opened the door an inch, glanced up and down the balcony, then nudged Guy outside. “The back stairs, honey,” she whispered. “Same way we came up.”
Taking giant steps on his tiptoes, Guy swayed back and forth as he moved toward the rear stairwell. Tussling with her purse and three bags, Hannah followed him. The wheels on her suitcases made a loud, scraping noise on the cement walkway.
Hannah heard a siren in the distance, and she wondered if it had something to do with her. She wasn’t really certain the squad car parked outside was for her, either. Still, she hurried toward the back stairs. At the end of the balcony, she headed into the stairwell. She heard voices—behind her, outside. She put her finger to her lips and stared at Guy.
He nodded, and put his finger to his lips.
Hannah took a step back and peeked around the corner. One of the cops and a man in a raincoat were coming from the other stairwell—with the building manager. Hannah was too far away to hear what they were saying. But the three of them headed toward her door. The manager was brandishing a large key ring. The three men stopped at her door. The one wearing the trench coat knocked.
Hannah ducked back into the stairwell. Lugging the three heavy suitcases, she straggled half a flight behind Guy as they fled down the stairs. The suitcases weighed her down, throwing off her balance. After the first flight, the bag handles pinched and tore at her palms. Her arms ached. The valise with the strap seemed to be dislocating her shoulder. She teetered down another flight, certain at any minute she’d hear the stairwell door up on the third floor open. For all she knew, someone could now be posted outside the back exit, and she’d bump right into him.
“Guy, please,” she gasped. “Hold the…door open…”
She watched him push at the door, and a dim patch of light filled the dark alcove at the bottom of the stairs. Her lungs burning, Hannah made it down the last few steps. Guy was braced against the open door. She didn’t see anyone outside, and she wondered if they were hiding.
The cold air felt invigorating. The rain had stopped—for the time being. Hannah set down her luggage and readjusted the shoulder strap on the one bag. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said to Guy, between breaths. “You’re— you’re being so good. Just a short—little walk to the cab. Come on….”
She couldn’t pull the suitcases. The wheels made too much noise on the pavement. Her arms felt numb. The palms of her hands were raw. But Hannah hauled the suitcases along the narrow walk and down the steps. Guy ran ahead of her.
The cab driver popped open his trunk, then stepped out of the taxi to help her with the bags. Hannah kept thanking him between gasps for air. She prodded Guy into the backseat, then practically collapsed in after him.
The cab driver climbed behind the wheel. Hannah straightened up, and thought to glance around for a burgundy Volvo that could be idling nearby.
“Just to let you know,” the driver said. “We’ve driven one-point-eight miles, and so far, this ride has cost you fifty-one bucks. Minus the twenty you gave me, of course. Where to now?”
Hannah didn’t see a burgundy Volvo in the vicinity.
“Pacific Place downtown, please,” she said. There was a hotel practically across the street from the chic shopping center. She could catch another cab there. She couldn’t let this driver take them to their destination for the night. The police could track him down too easily.
He started to pull out of the lot. “I think someone might be trying to follow me,” Hannah said. “I want to lose this guy. Can you help me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a glance at her in the rearview mirror.
“Thank you.” She sat back, then gave Guy’s shoulder a squeeze.
Twenty-three
Ben found 1313 East Republican Street just a few blocks uphill from the video store. The little two-story cedar cottage was at the end of four houses in a row just like it. They were squeezed close together on one lot. Ben figured it took some big bucks to live in one of those cozy, individual homes. He remembered what Hannah had said about Richard Kidd possibly being independently wealthy.
From across the street, Ben studied the house. He stepped back into a narrow alley beside a tall, brick apartment building. The weather had taken another turn, and it was drizzling again. He took cover under a carport canopy, and hid behind some recycling bins.
Ben wasn’t sure if anyone was home across the way. He wasn’t even sure if Richard Kidd still lived there.
After several minutes, he noticed a mail carrier on his route, working his way up the block. Ben glanced at
