“My father worked for a power company.”
“Oh.” Dave’s father had died a year ago. “Didn’t know that.”
“I’ve seen these machines up close. This kind of machine controls an entire power station. But something’s made this generator go out of control.”
Right. Just like she’d seen in that CNN video. “Would that . . . so what would happen?”
“The station goes out. Which means millions of people lose power.”
Emily rubbed her arms. “Could it be fixed quickly?”
Dave stared at the monitor. “This doesn’t look good. Where’d you get this, Emily?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“If this is real, it wouldn’t be like some wire going down. It could cause what my dad called a cascade effect. If a central power station goes dark, it can take another one down nearby. Which takes another one down, and on and on. A whole region could go black.”
Emily sucked in her bottom lip.
Dave turned to look her in the eye. “Where’d you get this?”
“I . . . someone gave it to my mom.”
“Your mom. Why?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Dave’s gaze would not waver. “You look scared to death.”
No kidding.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Emily swallowed. Her mom hadn’t wanted her pulled into this. Now she understood. She felt the same about Dave. “Please. For now, can you just . . . Did you see the static at the beginning?”
Dave gave her another long look. “Yes. At the left side, bottom, about three seconds in.”
Emily’s nerves wavered. “I need to know what it says.”
Dave nodded. “So do I. Then you’re going to tell me what this is all about.”
Chapter 19
Back in the hotel I could not sleep. Mom had crawled beneath the covers of her bed, still clothed, and dozed off right away. I lay on top of my bed staring at the ceiling.
What should I do?
The question spun around inside me until I thought I would go mad. The wrong decision could cost us our lives.
And meanwhile terrorists just might be planning to attack the electrical grid somewhere in America. If that was true, how long from now? How could they be stopped?
I might have killed a man.
The thought hit me like a rogue wave. What if I did? Me, who worked with a doctor. We saved lives.
But that man could have killed my mother. I’d do anything to protect her.
I didn’t have to shoot him in the chest.
What had I done? He could be somebody’s husband. Father. Had I taken away a woman’s husband?
Tears filled my eyes and ran down my temples. Jeff wouldn’t have wanted me to kill someone. Not really. Just protect myself.
Thou shalt not kill. One of the Ten Commandments I’d never expected to break. How did I even ask for forgiveness for something as terrible as that?
I rolled over on my side, sick in my stomach. God, forgive me. I didn’t want to kill him! Please let him live. Let the police find him and take him to jail, away from me and Mom. But let him live.
How could I have done all this? In one day I’d lied to a sheriff’s deputy, then tried—maybe succeeded—to kill a man. How could the honest, peaceful person I’d been all my life cross such a line, just like that?
Guilt poured over me, glazed with fear of the unknown. What would I have to do next? What might I descend to?
I tried to pray again but couldn’t do much more than plead for help. And demand answers. God, why are You doing this to me? Isn’t it enough that I lost Jeff?
What little energy I had drained out with the tears. Despite the grief, after some time I found myself drifting off to sleep . . .
Out of nowhere I thought of Mom’s caretaker, Dorothy. My eyes dragged open. I checked the digital clock. Almost 8:00. She would be arriving at the house any minute now. When I didn’t answer the door, she’d use her key. What would she think, going through the empty house? Would she call the police to report us missing?
Or would police already be there? The surveillance deputy must have told them I was long gone.
What about my coworker, Sonja, and Dr. Nicholson? What would they think when I didn’t show up at the office? I’d never failed to be at work on time.
Hard as these questions were, they were better than wondering if I’d killed a man.
Thickness spread through my limbs again, weighing me down. My body wanted to sleep from sheer exhaustion. But my mind could not rest.
The news. I should turn on the TV and see if I could find anything more about Morton Leringer’s death. Or the break-in at my house.
What if there was news about the man I’d shot? And he was dead?
I hesitated.
Scraping up bits of courage, I forced myself off the bed to pick up the remote near the TV. I hit the power button and found the channel for ABC’s Good Morning America. That show would cut to local news numerous times. I kept the volume low while Mom slept.
Hands fisted, I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the screen with bleary eyes.
God, please forgive me if I killed him.
The show dragged on. I had to use the restroom. I headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open, ears still cocked toward the TV. Still my tired mind managed to wander—until I was washing my hands and heard Morton Leringer’s name.
I locked eyes with myself in the mirror, then smacked off the water. My feet took me out to the room. The reporter who’d shown up at Morton’s accident stood in a field.
“. . . happened here yesterday on Tunitas Creek Road in Half Moon Bay.” She swept out her arm. “The sheriff’s department has confirmed that Leringer died not from injuries sustained in the accident, but from a stab wound in the back. The so-called ‘accident’ was called into 911 by Hannah Shire, age fifty-five, of San Carlos.”
My driver’s license picture appeared on the screen. I sank onto the bed.
“When police later searched Leringer’s home last night, they found a second victim, Nathan Eddington, an employee of Leringer’s security company, StarrCom, in Menlo Park.”
A second murder?
Wait. Nathan Eddington. Wade had asked if I knew that man.
“. . . in this quickly escalating case, a third victim was discovered early this morning—a sheriff’s deputy who was surveilling the home of Hannah Shire. His name has not yet been released to the media.”
What? The deputy who’d been watching my house was also dead?
“Police now view Mrs. Shire as a person of interest in all three murders and seek to question her. Mrs. Shire fled her home in the night, taking along her elderly mother, who suffers from dementia. The sheriff’s department is asking your help in locating Hannah Shire. She is driving a dark blue Ford Escort—”
I lunged for the remote and punched off the TV. Couldn’t bear to listen any longer. For a moment I stared at the wall, trying to breathe. Three homicides. Three. That deputy was dead because he’d been trying to protect me. I couldn’t bear the thought.
And they thought I killed him.
We had to get out of the hotel. Now. How long until Tina, the young woman behind the counter, saw the news?
What if she’d already seen it? The TV in the back office had been on when I checked in.
My head jerked toward Mom. Sleeping so soundly. She’d be almost impossible to move.
I had to check out first. Which was a real gamble, showing my face. Or should we just flee? But I’d be leaving all that deposit money behind. We’d need that money.
A minute passed, indecision twisting around my throat.
Next thing I knew, I was on my feet. I grabbed my purse and the door key, and eased out into the hallway. Twice I almost turne
d around. The minute Tina saw my face, I’d know if she’d heard the news. I reached the front counter, heart slamming in my chest. Tina looked up at me and smiled. My tongue fought to form words. “We need to check out now.”
We. I’d said we.
“So soon?” She raised her eyebrows. “You couldn’t have gotten much sleep.”
“I know. But I’ve got a long way to go yet.”
Tina keyed her computer to bring up my account. “Where are you going?”
A natural question anyone may have asked. But the words clawed at me. In an instant I could picture a false FBI badge flashed, demands to know what I’d said, where I might be headed.
“Michigan.” The name popped out of my mouth. I didn’t even know anyone in Michigan.
“Oh. That is a long way.”
She slid me the bill. “I have to charge you for a full day. But I can give you back the cash for the second and third days.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you.” I slipped the money into my wallet, hoping she wouldn’t see my hands shake. “I’ll leave the key in the room, okay? I’ll be out in just a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
My knees felt like Jell-O as I walked away.
In the room I threw back the bedcovers and shook Mom hard to wake her. She fought me, arms waving. “No,” she slurred, “I don’t wanna get up.”
“Mom. We have to go. Now.”
“I don’t want. Too tired. And hungry. I want to go home.”
I pulled her into a sitting position. Her white hair stood out in all directions, her mouth turned down. Her clothes were wrinkled. “I’ll feed you, okay? Let’s just get in the car first.”
And go where, Hannah? Wouldn’t we be more vulnerable in my car, with everyone looking for it?
“No. I . . .” Mom looked around the room, confounded. “Where are we? Where’s my bed?”
“Come on. I’ll tell you when we’re on our way.”
“I’m not coming.”
“Yes, you are!”
Forcefully, I swung her feet toward the floor.
“Stop it, Hannah!” Mom tried to push me away.
“Shhhh.” I gripped her hands, forcing them together. Stood over her, breathing hard, my throat closing. Mom in another screaming fit would attract a lot of attention. And she’d take her own time calming down. By then it would be too late.
“Listen, Mom.” I felt myself sway, too tired, too overwrought. How would I even drive? “Remember the Bad People? Remember how they’re chasing us? That’s why we have to go. They could be here any minute.”
Mom’s head tilted, her confused eyes finding mine. “How do you know?”
“It was on the TV news. Remember that reporter? Now everyone’s looking for us.”
Three men—dead.
“That reporter knows the Bad People?”
“No. But she’s not helping us either.”
“I never liked her.” Mom listed to one side, her eyelids drooping. “I want to sleep.”
“You can’t.” I looked around the room wildly. How to persuade her? “How about if I get you a donut? Remember, I bought some at the store.”
Mom scratched her temple. “I want tea.”
On the dresser sat a coffee maker. Where were the tea bags? But we had no time for that. We were sitting ducks in this room.
“I’ll get you some tea as soon as I can. Promise. But we’ve got to get moving now. Please.”
I pulled a glazed donut from its white sack and forced it into Mom’s hand. “Here. Eat this while I get our stuff.”
Mom blinked at the donut as if she’d never seen one before. “I have to go to the bathroom.” She set the donut on her bed.
Now I wanted to scream. “Okay. Go. Hurry!”
With both hands I pulled her to her feet.
While she was in the bathroom I gathered our things, including the tote bag with Samuelson’s gun. Every sound of footsteps in the hall brought me to a halt. Had someone seen the TV? Was a policeman coming for us?
By the time Mom emerged, I was trembling all over. “Come on, Mom, we have to go now.”
“Where’s my donut?”
I snatched up the donut and thrust it in her hand. “Let’s go.”
She frowned at her feet. “Where are my shoes?”
“In the suitcase. You can put them on in the car.”
Mom’s voice rose to a shriek. “I want my shoes!”
My throat cinched tight. We’d never get out of here. I yanked the shoes out and threw them at her feet. “There!”
Mom leaned over, steadying herself against the nightstand. Her left foot inched out and sought its shoe.
My heart pounded and my mouth went dry. I wanted to shake Mom into action. I wanted to keep her alive. Come on, come on!
How far would we get before a cop pulled us over? A person of interest!? Harcroft and Wade knew I didn’t kill Morton. No question now one of them—or both—was working with the terrorists. This was their way of using all of law enforcement to find me.
Mom’s right foot slid into a shoe. She straightened. “I want to eat my donut first.”
“In the car, Mom.”
“No, now.”
I stuck my face in hers. “Do you want us caught? Do you want me to go to jail?”
Her face blanched. “They want to put you in jail?”
“They’re saying I killed Morton.”
She drew back her head. “You?”
“Yes.”
“The Bad People say that?”
A half-crazed laugh sputtered out of me. Bad People, Good People—they were all the same.
“Mom.” I swallowed hard. “If we don’t get out of here now, they will take me away. And you will be alone. Do you understand?”
Her nostrils flared in fright. She turned and clumped toward the door, back hunched.
The trip down the hallway to the outside exit seemed endless. Twice we passed people. I looked down each time, my chest on fire.
At the door, I struggled to open it with my hands so full. A man stepped out of his room, spotted my predicament, and came over to help. My legs turned to water.
He pushed open the door and held it wide. “There you go, ladies.”
“Thank you,” I managed, my face averted.
By the time we reached the car I couldn’t get enough oxygen. Somehow I managed to unlock the doors and toss our things in the backseat. Mom’s purple hat still sat on the floor in the front.
I buckled Mom into her seat belt and threw myself behind the wheel. Started the engine with clumsy fingers. My foot wanted to press to the floor. Just get us away from the hotel, on the road.
As if we’d be any safer there.
As I drove out of the parking lot, an epiphany hit. My one remaining aunt lived somewhere in Fresno, about an hour away. I had little contact with her other than exchanging Christmas letters. Still, we were on good terms. Aunt Margie was a widow, spunky and a bit on the rebellious side, even in her eighties. Maybe she would help us.
On the road I forced myself to drive the speed limit, glancing all directions for a police car.
We hit I-5. I turned north to backtrack a little before we could head east toward Fresno. My back was like steel. I hunched forward, spine not touching the seat.
Mere minutes passed before Mom declared she had to use the bathroom again. She sat with her arms crossed, a beleaguered expression on her face. Confused and scared. An elderly woman who’d been driven from her own home and bed. Rage flew around inside me. It was one thing to do this to me. But to my mother.
I patted her arm, forcing my voice to sound even. “I’ll stop soon. I promise.”
“Why are we in the car?”
“The Bad People. Remember?”
“Oh.” She looked around. “Why
are they bad?”
“Mom. They tried to kill us.”
She blinked at that. “Where are we going?”
“You remember Margie, Dad’s brother’s wife?”
“She smells like roses.”
I almost smiled. “That’s the one.”
Two exits up I spotted a sign for a McDonalds. A fast-food place would be less likely to have a television. I craned my neck toward the restaurant. How many cars in the parking lot?
Maybe five. No police.
“Mom, I’m going to stop for you in just a minute. But you’ll have to move fast, can you do that? It’s dangerous.”
“Because of the Bad People?”
“Yes.”
She pressed her lips together, her head wagging. “I can move fast when I have to.”
We pulled into a parking spot toward the back of the restaurant. I hustled Mom inside and back out in under five minutes. Had to be some kind of record.
A short time later we turned off I-5 onto Highway 152. A much smaller road with fewer cars. My lungs expanded a little.
Mom rubbed her belly. “I want another donut.”
“They’re in the backseat. Can you reach them?”
“No.” She sounded petulant. “I need water.”
“In the backseat too.” Why in the world hadn’t I left them up front?
She turned to look at me. Her face looked so worn. “I need them now.”
Tears of frustration bit my eyes. I stopped on the side of the road and pulled the donuts and water from the backseat. Crackers and cheese too. “Here.” I placed it all at Mom’s feet. “Sorry the water won’t be real cold.”
Mom sighed. “I never got my tea.”
“Maybe Aunt Margie will have some for you.” Please, God, let the woman be home.
“That would be nice.” Mom seemed to perk up at the thought. She took a drink from a water bottle. “I had a friend named Margie when I was young. She had bright red hair and three brothers. We used to play jacks.”
Amazing, how Mom could remember things from the distant past. “Really? Who won?”
“She did. All the time. That girl had the nimblest fingers you ever saw.”
A dark car was gaining behind us. My eyes flicked back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror. Was it a cop?
Dark Justice Page 12
