She needed to go to the bathroom. She needed a drink of water. She needed to
leave
.
Carla pushed herself up, swung her legs to the floor. The left ankle immediately throbbed. She winced.
Jaw set, she stood up, refusing to make a single sound in her pain. She rested on her right foot, left one barely touching the floor. Hobbled a step toward the end of the bed, then a second and a third.
The ring of the hotel phone shattered the silence.
Mrs. My-Husband is pregnant.
I heard it on the news tonight. How she and “State Senator Hanley” are ecstatic. How they’ve been wanting to be parents for a long time. The news said a “source” from Bryson’s office confirmed the report. The source — obviously Jilke — explained this is why Catherine Hanley hasn’t been seen in public for the past two months. She’d had infertility problems, he said, and the Hanleys didn’t want to announce the pregnancy until she was well into it.
Her due date is in April. The baby is a girl.
April
.
She got pregnant almost the same time I did.
Maybe they didn’t know right away. Probably not, since Bryson told me her periods weren’t regular. Still, they’ve probably known for at least three months.
Now it all makes sense. They’ve known for some time they didn’t need my baby. Bryson needed to get rid of me. Jilke found a way.
What I wonder is — does Bryson believe Jilke’s story about my stealing? Or was Bryson in on that setup from the very beginning?
I can’t bear to think that’s true. That he would lie to me, and act so betrayed and everything when we talked on the phone.
If you say one word about Bryson Hanley, we’ll press charges
. That was Jilke’s final word to me. I
f I ever tried to get back at Bryson, like tell anyone I’m carrying his baby, they’d put me in jail. Tell the poli
ce and everyone I’m just trying to cause trouble because I got fired. And who would ever believe me over Bryson Hanley? Especially now that everyone’s so happy for Mrs. My-Husband’s pregnancy? Washington’s favorite son — going to be a father at last. The whole state’s grinning.
I’d be squashed like an ant.
What they can’t possibly understand is, I would never tell anyway.
I do think Bryson was in on the setup. I think this is his way of protecting himself.
Don’t you worry, Bryson Hanley. I can protect myself too.
And
my baby. You don’t know everything. You can’t keep me down. I’m going to have this baby. I’ve named her Rebecca. (Somehow I know it’s a girl.) And Scott and I will raise her, just like it should have been in the first place.
I don’t need you, Senator Hanley. Mr. Golden Boy. We both know you’re not all that golden, don’t we?
Someday I hope the rest of the world knows too.
Carla jerked to a halt, heart knocking against her ribs. Who could be calling? Thornby?
Maybe it was the front desk.
Brandon
.
No one else knew she was here. It had to be Brandon, checking up on her.
She hoped.
Carla stared daggers at the phone, as if her will alone would silence it. A second ring, and a third. Her nerves jangled. She limped to the bed stand and snatched up the receiver just to stop the noise. Slowly she brought it to her ear, then stilled.
She heard voices in the background. Felt a presence holding the phone, waiting for her to talk.
Seconds ticked by. Carla closed her eyes. It was Thornby.
“Carla?”
A voice she recognized. Not Thornby.
Carla bent over, feeling weak, then sat down hard on the bed. “Brandon.”
“Yeah. You okay? Didn’t think you were going to answer for a minute.”
“I’m . . . fine.”
“How’s your ankle?”
“Not good.” Carla mouthed rote answers, her mind still trying to wrap itself around her relief.
“Oh, sorry. Listen up, though, I gotta tell you something. I had a little visit from your friend Thornby.” He told Carla about the gun, the fight, Thornby running off.
Carla brought a hand to her face, thoughts whirling. If she hadn’t fled that car dealership, she could have been caught. Brandon could have been killed.
Any friend who helps you is
dead
. All the more reason now why she couldn’t call
anyone
. Why she was truly, completely
on her own
. . .
“Brandon” — her throat cramped — “I’m so sorry. I never should have gone to you for help. I knew better; I just . . . had nowhere else to go.”
“Hey, don’t be worrying about that. I’m not calling to make you feel bad. I just want you to know this guy’s still after you. Don’t think he’ll come back here, though. My manager’s called the police, and they’re on their way over here. I’m going to give a full report and a description of the guy. The cops’ll be looking for him. Plus we need the report for our insurance claim on the dented car.”
Carla’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Please don’t tell the police about me!”
“Why? You’re obviously in trouble, and you need help. Plus, how am I going to explain what happened? I have to tell my manager where your car came from.”
She rubbed her forehead, trying to work coherent thought into her brain. Her stomach felt so empty, her body so tired, and her ankle throbbed. She couldn’t begin to
think
.
“Wait.” Carla edged back to rest against the headboard and lifted both feet up on the bed. The ankle pain eased off a little. “Okay. Tell them you took a crazy woman for a test drive if you have to. But don’t tell them where I am. I can’t trust the police, Brandon! Remember it was a state trooper who helped Thornby find me.”
“So what am I supposed to say?”
“That you dropped me off on the street and have no idea where I went.”
Brandon hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to lie to the police. And Shawn — that’s my manager — I sure can’t lie to him.”
Fear edged Carla’s voice. “Listen to me — you tell them where I am, it won’t do any good. I’ll just leave. Be gone before any policeman gets here. I’ll have to do that, don’t you understand? I
can’t
trust the police!”
Brandon sighed. “Yeah, okay, I hear you. There’s been a few times in my life I wondered about the police myself. I’ll tell them I let you out, and I don’t know where you went.”
Carla’s body went limp. She sank her chin toward her chest. “Thank you.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Look,” Brandon said, “I’m going to get this suitcase to you if it’s the last thing I do. I get off work at eight. I’ll bring it over then. So
don’t
leave, okay?”
“You’re staying at work? Haven’t you had enough for one day?”
He gave a little snort. “Thought so for a while there, but hey, I haven’t sold a car yet. Besides, I’m thinking this huge Band-Aid on my chin’s going to make people feel sorry for me. Somebody’ll buy from me for sure.”
Carla smiled. Then checked the clock: 4:30. It would be a long time until he arrived. “You have to be careful when you come. Keep an eye out for a black Durango.”
“Oh, I’ll be watching, all right.” Disgust tinged Brandon’s voice. “I see it, I’m leading the guy straight to the police station. I’ve had
enough
of him.”
Carla’s stomach growled. “Brandon, when you come — do you think you could bring me something to eat?”
“Sure. What do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter. Anything. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I don’t want to show myself in the restaurant here.”
“You got it.”
Carla heard muffled words in the background. Brandon’s voice dimmed, as if he’d turned his mouth from the phone. “Okay, be right there.” He came back, louder. “I gotta go, the cops are here.”
Apprehension spiraled through Carla. “Remember what you promised.”
“Hey, listen, no worries. You think I want anything happening to you? I got a bit invested now, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, guess so. Thanks. Call me when you’re on your way over, okay?”
“All right.”
They clicked off the call, Carla staring at the receiver in her hand. Not sixty seconds passed before reality hit. She couldn’t stay here now. She dared not trust anyone, including Brandon. His manager, the police, coworkers — someone was liable to pull from him the whole story. And who knew how the information could spread from there?
Tears bit her eyes. She was so very tired. But she had to rouse herself, call a cab, go to a car rental agency — and drive off again. To some unknown destination, full of unknown people and an unknown life.
The receiver began to beep. She leaned over and smashed it down, wishing it were her fist in Bryson Hanley’s face. This was never, ever going to end. Not unless she told everything and exposed him. And that, for her own sake, and the sake of Han-ley’s children, and for Scott, she would not do.
Carla blinked back the tears. No time to cry now. She had more important things to do. Like save herself.
I am so huge. I look like a barn. I feel like a barn. I have to go to the bathroom all the time.
Worst of all, I keep having these early contractions, called Brax-ton Hicks. Dr. Hughes says they’re not real contractions and the baby’s not really ready to come yet. But they sure feel real. They
hurt.
I had a doctor’s appointment today. Dr. Hughes says everything looks good. I had an ultrasound again — and the results are the same as last time, no question. It’s a girl. I
knew
it! Scott and I are getting excited! I can’t wait to finally hold Rebecca. Touch those tiny hands and fingernails. See the color of her eyes and hair.
Scott and I have decided I’ll live with Mom for another year. Somehow I’ll try to finish my senior year while taking care of a baby. There are agencies to help me. Then after we graduate, we’ll get married.
Sometimes I feel so guilty for what I’ve done to Scott. I just have to shove it back down. No way can I let myself think about it. I just have to go on and make a life for the three of us. This is really, finally going to work out. Just like I never went to Bryson in the first place. Just like it should have been.
Lisa, the nurse in Dr. Hughes’s office, is still so nice. The first time I had an appointment after hearing about Mrs. M
y-Husband’s pregnancy, Lisa was all worried for me. She could tell I was upset, even though I tried to hide it. After my appointment was don
e, she came outside in the hall and hugged me. Told me she was proud of me, and that I’d make a good mother. She promised she’d be my friend after the baby comes. Not just a nurse but my friend.
I need someone like her.
My old friends have all fallen away. I hardly even talk to Mary Kay anymore. It’s my fault, I know. I can’t tell anyone the truth about what happened, and all the lies make me pull away from people. I just have to try hard not to pull away from Scott too. I
need
Scott. Rebecca needs a father. And he’s still been so wonderful to me. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.
As for my mom — forget it. She tolerates me, that’s all. I think she hates my baby already. She’ll never lay a hand on Rebecca, that’s a promise.
Not that many more weeks, and I’ll have my baby. She’s all that matters anymore. If I can be a good mom, maybe I can make it up to God for all the lies I’ve told. For everything I’ve done. And maybe He’ll stop punishing me.
Just a few weeks. I
can’t wait
to hold Rebecca. She’ll be the one good thing to come from all of this. And she’ll get all the love from her mother that I never got from mine. All she deserves and more.
Hurry up, April, and come!
It took twenty minutes for Brandon to tell his story to the cop — a tall, broad-shouldered guy with suspicious brown eyes named Officer Criggen. Brandon had to be careful what he said. Tricky thing, remembering what you told the police if it all wasn’t on the level. Twice, he almost blurted out the truth about where he’d taken Carla. Worry tugged at him. Carla had no one to help but him, and he was stuck here for hours.
The entire time he walked the new car aisle with the policeman and Shawn, as he pointed out the dents in the Chrysler and reconstructed the events, Brandon thought about Carla. One thing he could honestly tell the police — he had
no idea
why she was in trouble. “I asked, and all she’d say is, ‘It’s a long story.’ ”
He told Criggen his attacker’s name was supposedly Thorn-by — at least that’s what the guy told Carla. And that he was driving a rented black Durango.
The policeman wrote it down. “We’ll check that out with local car rental agencies. Just may lead us to him.”
“All
right
.” Vengeance beat in Brandon’s chest. Thornby wasn’t going to get away with this. No way.
Officer Criggen pulled on gloves and went through Carla’s car, checking her papers. From there he confirmed her full name. That much Brandon had told him, knowing he’d soon discover it anyway.
Before the officer left, he radioed into headquarters to run Carla’s name. He came back to Brandon and Shawn with the news — a missing person’s bulletin had recently been filed on her.
Missing person
. Brandon stared out the showroom window. He imagined family and friends who missed her. How scared they must be —
Leslie Brymes
.
The name echoed in his brain.
Leslie.
Carla’s friend. And a reporter. Sounded like Carla trusted her. Still, Carla refused to call her, for fear of bringing her trouble.
But he could.
Brandon smiled.
Yeah, he could. He should. If ever Carla needed a friend, it was now.
And, of course, there was that other part Brandon had to admit. He wouldn’t mind introducing himself to the hot Leslie Brymes. Nope, he wouldn’t mind that at all.
Leslie hung up from talking to another of Carla’s friends — who like the rest knew big, fat
zero
— and dropped her head in her hands. It was almost five o’clock. Her interview with the developer of the new hotel was supposed to happen two hours ago. Of course she’d cancelled it, on the fast track to find Carla. Instead she’d found
nothing.
Every hour that passed only made her feel sicker. She knew Carla was dead. Knew it as surely as she’d found Vesta Johnson’s body last March in her car.