Guilt tumbled in his belly when he realized he was hoping the cop’s visit wasn’t about him. He was a shit. How could he wish anything bad on Abby? She was the one person who totally got him. She tried to help Derek on his terms, not like that stupid social worker who had no idea what it was like to live his life. Sure, take him from here and put him in an even worse situation.
No, thanks. He didn’t need any more of that kind of help. He could manage just fine on his own.
The cop had left without even looking at Derek’s house. Good. He didn’t want to be on any official radar. The social worker’s periodic visits were hard enough to fake his way through. With several satisfactory inspections and a heavy case load, he doubted she’d be by anytime soon without cause. So the last thing he needed was a cop poking around. Especially now.
He glanced back at his house. No blue pickup hunkered at the curb yet, but his mom’s new boyfriend would be back tonight. So Derek’s be-invisible policy was still in effect, and a home visit was on his list of things to be avoided at all cost.
He wasn’t ever going into the system again. People who had never been in the foster system had no idea how random it was. A lucky kid could end up in a nice place with people who cared. Or so he’d heard. On the other hand, look what had happened to Derek.
His stomach curled like a useless fist at the memory.
No, thank you, to anyone who wanted to save him. At twelve, Derek had already experienced enough of being saved. His foster parents had had good intentions, but they’d been clueless about what the two older boys they’d taken in were up to. The brothers had both been bigger than Derek, and there’d been two of them. If he hadn’t gotten away—
He shook off the memory and retraced his footsteps in the snow to the backyard. Cold water seeped into his sneakers. Was Abby OK? He chewed on his thumbnail. God, he was such a coward, slinking through the shadows when maybe she needed help.
Her back door opened, and Zeus padded out onto the cement patio. The giant head swiveled. The dog wagged his tail and woofed at him. Putting a toe in the chain-link, Derek hoisted himself over the fence. The big dog greeted him with a sloppy snort. Derek didn’t mind the slobber. He threw his arms around the thick neck.
“Derek?” Abby called through the open door. “You can come in. It’s clear.”
A dozen steps carried him across the yard. Zeus followed him inside. Stepping over the threshold, he closed the door behind them. He grabbed the towel hanging from the doorknob and wiped Zeus’s feet. Abby’s kitchen was warm and clean. He took off his shoes, leaving them to dry on the mat.
Abby was standing in front of the open fridge door. “Are you hungry?”
“What happened to your face?” Anger sprung up inside him, hot and sharp and shocking in its intensity. If someone had hit her…He would do what? He was a weakling, powerless to help himself let alone Abby. The only thing Derek had going for him were quick feet. Running away from trouble was what he did best. Hiding was a close second.
Abby smiled at him, but her eyes were sad and tired. “My car slid off the road into the Packman Creek yesterday.”
“Oh.” Derek hung the towel to dry. Relief flooded him. “You’re OK?”
“Just a little banged up.” She sighed. “My car didn’t fare as well.”
“That sucks.”
Abby pulled a deli bag out of a plastic drawer and closed the refrigerator. “Do you want a grilled cheese?”
“You sit.” Derek stretched a hand toward her shoulder but pulled it back at the last second. Touching people wasn’t his thing. “I got it.”
Abby eased into a chair, propped her elbows on the table, and dropped her chin into her hands. “How’s your mom?”
“Fine.” He figured Abby already knew about his mom’s latest binge, but he wasn’t supplying any details. Men and booze were Mom’s downfall. Fortunately, she didn’t fall often. But this latest boyfriend…Something was different about this guy. Something that made Derek want to steer way clear. Derek tossed a square of butter into the hot frying pan. He assembled cheese and bread and laid them in the melted butter. He glanced back at Abby. She was squinting in the bright sunlight that streamed in the window. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You could catch a nap if you want. I’ll hang out with Zeus.” He lifted a shoulder. She shouldn’t be alone right out of the hospital, and the less time he spent at his house the better. Joe was due back anytime. Luckily, his mom’s boyfriends didn’t usually last long. Once he figured out Mom didn’t have any money, he’d move on. Derek hoped.
Abby fed the dog a corner of her grilled cheese. Indecision clouded her face. “Maybe I will. Thanks.” She stood up and walked toward the doorway. A quick flash of apprehension in her eyes set Derek on edge. “Would you wake me if anything unusual happens? Anything at all.”
“Sure.”
Their gazes locked. Abby never talked about her past, but he recognized wariness. He bet Abby knew plenty about running and hiding.
“I appreciate it.” Smoothing her features, Abby picked at the sleeve of her sweater. “Wake me before you leave, OK?”
Derek’s nerves stirred. Something was wrong. Abby was afraid. Usually fear was his territory.
He went into the living room and switched on the TV. The extent of her injuries wasn’t the only thing Abby wasn’t sharing. Derek checked the locks on the front and back doors, then each window on the first floor. Satisfied the house was as secure as possible, he settled on the sofa. He turned the volume down low.
Zeus stretched out on the floor next to the couch. Derek flipped channels until he found an action movie. He settled in to keep watch.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The late-morning sun was thin and weak as Ethan pulled up to the garage where Abby’s car was impounded. Parking next to the chief’s SUV, Ethan grabbed a cardboard box from the backseat of his patrol car and went inside. Chief O’Connell was walking around Abby’s Subaru. The vehicle hadn’t been submerged long, but mud, scratches, and small dents coated its exterior.
The chief stopped and snapped pictures from every angle. Wind whipped through the wide-open garage door. Ethan turned his collar up against it and tugged his cap down lower on his forehead. Inside the metal and concrete building, the temperature felt colder than outside. Since yesterday’s polar plunge, he couldn’t get warm.
“No major dents to indicate she hit a deer or other animal.” Chief O’Connell circled the waterlogged Subaru. He took a photo of the front bumper. “Most of the damage is from river rocks.”
“I checked her phone records. No texts or calls at the time of her accident. She could have swerved to avoid an animal,” Ethan suggested. “The ice on the road could account for lack of skid marks.”
The chief sent him an assessing glance. “It’s possible, but I wish she remembered.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Ethan brought the chief up to speed on Abby’s case. “I’m coming up empty so far. No one saw her yesterday after school.”
“I don’t like it.” The chief bent low, turned the camera, and snapped a close-up of the Subaru’s tire.
Ethan opened the driver’s side door with a latex-gloved hand and stuck his upper body inside. Jammed under the dashboard was a black leather woman’s purse. He grabbed it by the shoulder strap. He set it in the box he’d placed on the cement floor. “Wonder what’s salvageable in here.”
The chief moved to the back of the vehicle. “Pop the trunk.”
Ethan pulled a tarp from his box and draped it over the driver’s seat. He leaned across the vehicle and opened the glove compartment. The trunk released with a push of the button. He emptied the glove compartment item by item. A black vinyl envelope contained the vehicle’s documents and owner’s manual. Crammed beneath it were a tire pressure gauge, a flashlight, and a silver emergency blanket. The center console
held another assortment of innocuous items: a small container of hand sanitizer, a soggy travel pack of tissues, an MP3 player the size of a stick of gum, and a tube of cherry lip balm. He blinked at the immediate mental image of Abby’s lips, and before he could stop his brain, he was wondering if they tasted like cherry.
Shaking off the image, he sifted through the items again. No receipts.
“Anything?” The chief opened the passenger door and stuck his head into the car.
“Nothing.” Ethan’s foot struck an item on the floor. He reached down and picked up a bottle of sports drink, half full of orange liquid.
“Did you get the results of her blood alcohol test yet?”
“She was completely clean.” Ethan stared at the dashboard. Seemed far away. He reached a foot toward the gas pedal. “Check out the position of the seat. I have to stretch for the pedals.”
“How tall is Ms. Foster?”
“Five-foot-six.”
The chief rounded the car and squatted next to the open door. “Maybe she put the seat back when she was trying to get out?”
“Possible but unlikely. I’ll ask her.” Ethan was thinking about Abby’s memory gap. No doubt the chief was too.
“It’s probably nothing.” O’Connell stared at the orange liquid. “But let’s get that tested.”
Ethan extended his foot and touched the brake pedal with the toe of his boot. There was no way Abby could’ve driven her car with the seat in that position. The chief handed him an evidence bag. Ethan slid the bottle of sports drink inside and sealed the top. He climbed out of the car.
A mechanic in winter coveralls and a watch cap came out of the tiny corner office and walked across the garage. “Do you want me to do anything with the car?”
Ethan glanced at the chief. “Not yet. Can you just ignore it for now?”
The mechanic stamped his boots on the cold concrete and shoved greasy hands into his front pockets. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Ethan closed the door of Abby’s sedan. It had to be an accident. Why would anyone want to hurt a schoolteacher?
Krista eyed the clear bottle Joe pulled from a narrow paper bag. Guilt twisted her insides. She shouldn’t be doing this. She’d broken her promise to Derek—again. The beer had been bad enough, but at least it took some time and effort to get wasted on it. Empty bottles lined the counter like schoolkids in a fire drill. What was wrong with her? Other single mothers managed. They didn’t wallow in self-pity. Derek should be enough motivation to get up in the morning. Unfortunately, he wasn’t, but if it weren’t for her son, she’d probably have called it quits years ago.
“This is a whole lot better than the horse piss you were drinking last night.” Joe poured an inch of vodka into a glass of ice and handed it to her.
She sipped. The fiery liquid burned a path down her throat and warmed her belly, loosening the knot of shame. Another couple of swallows wiped her disgrace away like an eraser. Her sadness floated, and the pain in her heart eased a little. She finished the shot.
Joe tossed his back and gave his head a shake. He refilled both glasses and tapped his against hers.
The look he gave her was full of expectation and lust and drove the heat simmering inside her lower. Krista drained her glass.
“Hey, babe.” Joe leaned over her neck. His hands came around her body and cupped her breasts.
She didn’t pretend he really liked her or that she felt anything for him. They were using each other. The loneliness of the last six months had eaten away at her until she’d felt hollow inside. She ate, worked, ate, slept, and then got up and did it all over again, day after day. Her life was the same shitty song stuck on repeat.
All she wanted was a little break.
Joe’s hands slid under her shirt. His fingers found her nipples and pinched. If she wasn’t half-numb from alcohol, it probably would’ve hurt. But Krista turned to him.
Yes, he was cruel. She could sense it under the amiable facade. But his body was warm, young, and hard under her hands. For the next hour or so, she could forget the crushing hopelessness that overshadowed every waking moment of her life. Misery was a physical ache, a bone-deep exhaustion no amount of sleep could cure.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
Why not?
Derek was next door. A stab of jealousy pierced Krista’s heart. Abby Foster would make a far better mother than Krista. But then, Abby hadn’t gotten pregnant and tossed out of her parents’ house at fifteen. Krista’s parents had been right. She’d ruined her own life just to feel affection for a few hours.
The same as she was likely doing now, minus the affection. She was sliding farther over the edge. Eventually, there’d be no climbing out of the hole she was digging for herself.
Krista followed Joe upstairs. Excitement and fear quickened her pulse. A mean glint shone from his eyes. He ripped off her shirt with rough hands and shoved her pants down. Before Joe, she had no idea that pain and humiliation could be erotic, so satisfying. Being punished was exactly what her soul craved. She’d screwed up her life and Derek’s both so badly. She’d suppressed the secret desire to hurt herself. She’d never had the courage to follow through. It was so easy to let Joe do it for her. Could she get any more fucked up?
“On your knees.” Joe pushed her to the floor, moved behind her, and sank his fingers into her hair. He yanked her head back. Pain roared through her scalp as a moan escaped from her lips. Liquid heat raced deep through her belly.
The thin line between bliss and agony blurred. Pressing against him, she arched her back and welcomed the punishment.
Tires crunched on ice as Abby pulled away from the community mailbox. She pressed a button on her visor to raise her garage door, then turned into the narrow driveway of her one-bedroom unit. Pulling the car forward until the suspended tennis ball touched her windshield, she shifted into park. Good thing she drove a small sedan. The builder had been stingy with garage space.
She tucked her mail under her arm and pushed into her condo. Her hand swiped the wall switch. When light flooded the small laundry room, she reached back and closed the garage door. Stepping out of her low pumps, she left them in the corner and tugged her blouse out of her skirt. Walking barefoot into the kitchen, she rifled through the letters. Junk. Junk. Bill. She opened the cabinet and threw the ads and credit card offers into the paper recycling container. She tossed the electric bill into a basket on the counter.
She opened the freezer and selected a frozen dinner. The school board meeting had run into overtime, as usual. Her stomach rumbled as she popped the plastic film with a fork before sliding it into her microwave. She left the machine humming and headed down the hall to change out of her conservative suit. Hello, pajamas.
She walked into her dark bedroom. Abby turned the switch on the dresser lamp. Nothing happened. The bulb must have blown, but the hair on her nape prickled. She shook it off. She turned to return to the hall. Spare bulbs were in the linen closet.
Fabric rustled. Abby startled. A hand clamped over her mouth, and she was jerked against a large, hard body. Her heart slammed against her sternum. The smell of his leather gloves flooded her sinuses.
He breathed in her ear. “Hello, Abigail.”
No! It was him.
Abby sat up to darkness, both familiar and terrifying. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her yoga pants and sweater. Her heart pumped in her chest like a piston. Her lungs tightened, her breath heaving in and out with an asthmatic wheeze.
Her pupils expanded. The shapes of furniture solidified. She was in her bedroom. Here and now. Not there and then.
She snapped on the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room. A glance at the clock told her she’d slept all afternoon. Darkness had fallen outside. But her house should be bright as day.
Soft voices murmured from the doorway that led into
the hall. A scant amount of light eased through the door, ajar barely an inch, and slanted on the wood floor. Abby had left her door wide open. Who had been in her bedroom? Derek? It didn’t seem likely.
Wooziness flooded her head as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, but her head settled in a few seconds. She stood, satisfied when the room remained still and steady. She padded to the doorway and stuck her head into the hall. Brooke’s voice floated up the stairs.
Relief eased her breathing.
Abby withdrew to the bathroom, flipping on every light switch she passed. She started the shower and stripped off her sweaty clothes as the water warmed. She stepped under the spray, and hot water cascaded over her head and body. She soaped and shampooed, then stood with her back to the pounding heat until the water began to cool. Afterward, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a heavy sweatshirt, Abby emerged into the hall and opened the linen closet.
“There you are.”
She jumped.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.” Brooke put a hand on Abby’s arm. She glanced down at the clean sheets in Abby’s arms. “Rough nap?”
Abby pressed a hand to her forehead, where heaviness lurked. “Feels more like the flu than a concussion.”
“Go downstairs.” Brooke took the linens from her. “I’ll get this.”
“But—”
Brooke was already attacking the sheets on the bed. “There’s soup in the kitchen,” her friend called over her shoulder in a voice that allowed no argument.
Abby descended the stairs. In the living room, Derek and Brooke’s fifteen-year-old son, Chris, were watching hockey and eating pizza. Zeus sat in front of the boys, an intense gaze riveted on Derek’s slice as it moved from his plate to his mouth. Abby forgot about her fuzzy head for a second. Derek didn’t relax with many people, but Brooke and her kids were the exceptions.
Derek’s head swiveled. Relief passed over his face as he spied her stepping off the landing. He jumped to his feet and gestured to his spot on the sofa. “Here, sit down.”
She Can Hide (She Can Series) Page 6
