Last Light (8 page)

“Was it worth it?” Mel said.

“Was what worth what?”

“All that. Everything you went through to disappear. Was it worth it?”

“Hey, you don’t know me.” I stubbed out my cigarette in the snow. “You don’t know what matters to me. You don’t know how fucking bad it was, with half of Denver breathing down my neck every fucking time I went out for a cup of coffee—”

“Okay, okay!”

“Yeah. Okay. Story time’s over. You need to pull
Night Owl
off the Internet. Now.”

“What? Yesterday you told me to—”

“I know what I told you.” I sneered and dug my fingers into my palm. I wasn’t mad at Melanie. Not at all. I was mad that my plan was failing. Hannah didn’t seem to care how many people read
Night Owl,
or how much they might guess about her life. She was, as far as I could tell, no closer to leaving Denver and disappearing with me. And now she knew
Night Owl
was posted on the Mystic Tavern forum. How long before she suspected me?

I relaxed my grip and sighed slowly; I felt so fucking powerless.

“Just pull the e-book,” I said. “Everywhere you’re selling it, pull the title. My brother has a lawyer looking into it. We’re both fucked if they figure it all out.”

“Oh … shit. Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” I rolled my eyes. “Hence my six
A
.
M
. wake-up call, okay? Do it now.”

“I will. I promise. I’m so sorry … if this … shit, if this comes back to you…”

I smirked and pushed myself out of the chair. I brushed snow off my pants.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, Mel. I could lie my way out of existence.”
I practically did.

Melanie was still talking when I shut my cell.

She would call again, I knew she would, when
Night Owl
was gone from the Net.

Chapter 11

HANNAH

My phone and watch alarms went off simultaneously, chiming and beeping in the dark. I groaned. It was five in the morning. I had a flight to catch at seven.

And I missed Matt.

I missed waking beside his warm body, our limbs tangled together. I missed the things he muttered in his sleep.

I told you,
he insisted once.
I told you!

And another night:
Peaches. No, a picnic. A picnic …

We laughed like crazy when he woke up and I told him. Now it was our little joke, signifying nothing. “Peaches. No, a picnic!”

I checked the packing job I did last night. Not bad, I only missed my boots and nylons.

I popped two Tylenol and showered quickly. As hangovers go, I was feeling all right.

My plan was to call a cab and be gone before Nate showed. I would text him from the cab, saying I decided to head out early.

I frowned as I rinsed shampoo from my hair. It was too bad about Nate and his
Night Owl
fixation. I actually liked Nate.

Seth, on the other hand …

I shivered and plucked a towel off the rack.
Seth
 … I felt a swirl of emotion when I thought of him. Anger, interest, confusion.

I pulled on a gray V-neck sweater, skinny jeans, boots, and my Burberry coat—a gift from Matt. He spoiled me terribly. I dried my curls and tied them back. My hair was getting long again, hanging around my shoulders. I think Matt liked it that way. I know he loved when I dragged it over his body …

My cell rang.

It was Nate, of course. I let the call go to voice mail.

He called again.
Really, Nate?

I rubbed my neck and sighed. But of course he was calling … and calling and calling. He’d committed to giving me a ride to the airport, and like the gentleman he was, he wanted to remind me. We hadn’t exactly touched base after the memorial. I rode back to Nate’s house with two of Matt’s cousins, hid in the basement, and then made my escape with Seth. (And then made my escape
from
Seth by calling a cab.)

When my phone began to ring for a third round, I peeked through the curtains.
Fuck.
Nate stood in the motel parking lot, phone to his ear, eyes aimed in my direction.

I grabbed my cell.

“Hey!” I said. “Sorry, I was drying my hair.”

“There you are. I was worried, Hannah. We should get going soon. Are you ready?”

“Yup … all ready.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

I watched Nate through the window as we talked. His posture relaxed the moment I answered. He nodded and raked a hand through his hair.

God, now I really felt like a scumbag.

Nate beamed at me in the lobby. I caught a touch of guilt in his smile.

“Hannah. Good morning.” He took my suitcase. “Did I scare you off with Shapiro yesterday? Did you get one of these?” He handed me Matt’s memorial card.

Matthew Robert Sky Jr. November 9, 1984–December 2013. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul…”

There was a picture of Matt on the back.

I skimmed the Twenty-third Psalm until I got to the “valley of the shadow of death” bit. I shoved the card in my pocket.

“Val helped me choose that. Matt liked the Psalms. Beautiful language, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I turned up my collar as we headed to the car. I decided not to mention Shapiro. Instead I said, “Matt liked the Bible? That’s news to me.”

Nate put my suitcase in the trunk and started the car. We swung smoothly into morning traffic and my eyes drifted shut.

“Oh, yes, of course. Matt always believed in God. His books are full of biblical allusions. Surely you’ve noticed.”

“Sort of…” Sort of not. My biblical background was woefully weak.

“‘The silver cord,’ that’s from Ecclesiastes 12. Matt’s with God now, of that I have no doubt. He had faith. He had principles. I’m sorry you didn’t get to know that side of him.”

Matt’s faith … Matt’s principles … more of Matt I didn’t know.

“Me too,” I said.

I dozed.

The speed bumps in the airport parking garage woke me, though Nate eased over them as gingerly as possible. He winced when he saw me waking. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Jeez, I passed out.”

“You had a long day yesterday. I’m sorry about Seth, you know. He’s bad with introductions. He thinks…” Nate waved a hand.

He thinks I wrote
Night Owl.

“I know,” I said. I was suddenly wide awake, and I did and didn’t want to talk about
Night Owl.
Now that I knew it first appeared on the Mystic Tavern, I was more confused than ever. I felt like someone was out to get me—or Matt. Or
us.
But why?

Who stood to gain by sabotaging us like that?

“I want to give you a heads-up, Hannah. Shapiro might be in touch. Also, that reporter at the service?” Nate pulled a face. “I knew his name sounded familiar. Aaron Snow. Turns out he ran that online magazine,
Fit to Print.
I’m sure you remember.”

“I remember.” I wished I could forget. Last year,
Fit to Print
exposed Matt as M. Pierce and had a field day with his personal life.

“Seems he’s part of a new online outfit,
No Stone Unturned.
I swear, some people don’t know when to give up. He thinks he’s a great investigative journalist, I’m sure. He was fixated on Matt, and now on
Night Owl.
He wanted to speak to you last night. I meant to humor him, only because he wasn’t pressing charges over Seth’s idiocy, but—”

“I snuck out.”

“Right.” Nate chuckled. “Just as well, Hannah. Snow doesn’t know about the lawsuit, and we’ll keep it that way. We don’t need his help. We surely don’t need the media’s attention, online or off. The book has done quite enough damage as is.”

I felt Nate gearing up for another
Night-Owl-
is-filth-protect-the-family-name speech and I stammered, “I’m starved. Wow, I better grab something to eat before my flight.”

“Please do. They have a lot of eating places in here.” Nate carried my suitcase into the airport. I struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride.

He stood at my side as I checked my bag and received my boarding pass.

“They have those dots. The ice cream dots. Owen loves them.” Nate was peeling bills out of his wallet. “But it’s early for that, isn’t it?” He tried to press the money into my hand.

“Nate, I—I have traveling money.”

“Hannah, please.” He stared off as he pushed the bills against my palm. He closed my fingers around them. “There. Don’t be a stranger. Aren’t you almost part of the family now? It feels that way. I know how much Matt loved you. What a mess we dragged you into.”

I blinked rapidly and took the money. Oh. Oh …

Nate was trying to say good-bye.

“It’s not a mess,” I whispered.

“You’ll come see us again? What do you think, in the spring? Or we’ll come see you. The kids love that zoo in Denver. I know Matt hated the zoo, animals in cages and all that, but the kids…” Nate frowned. He was rambling and seemed to realize it.

I clutched my purse and Nate’s cash and stared up at him, afraid I would cry if I spoke. Here was the most decent guy I knew—truly—and I was lying to him in the worst possible way.

“The kids.” He pulled me into a hug. “They love it.”

“Yeah.” My voice was barely audible.

Nate kept me in his arms, and I felt fine there. Nate wasn’t sleazy like Seth. He wasn’t impulsive like Matt. He was responsible. He was good. I trusted him.

Just before I got in line to go through security, Nate drew an envelope from his inner coat pocket. He handed it to me and nodded. I narrowed my eyes.

“What—”

“Read it on the plane,” he said. He walked away before I could return the envelope. I watched his dark head disappear around a corner.
Typical.

Chapter 12

MATT

Melanie didn’t call. One hour turned to two, turned to six, and when my phone finally rang, I recognized the number of Hannah’s prepaid cell. I smiled and closed my notebook.

“Hannah. Hey.”

“Hi. I just got home.” Something thumped, a door closing or a suitcase hitting the floor. Hannah exhaled. “You won’t believe your brother.”

“Which one?”

“Nate. He drove me to the airport, and—”

“Of course he did.” I scowled.

“Matt, relax. This is Nate we’re talking about. You know, married Nate with a medical practice and kids, who probably goes to church every week.”

“He does. You underestimate your charms.”

“My charms?” Hannah giggled. She only giggled for me.

“Yes, your charms. You know, the charms I threw over my whole life for.”

Hannah got quiet.

“Hey, I’m kidding,” I said. “But I wouldn’t put it past anyone to fall for you, all right? Even Saint Nate. So what happened?”

“He … he gave me this letter. Before I got on my plane. It’s all technical and … well, listen.” She began to read. “‘It will be some time before the court orders a death certificate for Matt, months possibly, though I have Shapiro working on it. In a case of imminent peril such as this, presumption of death is typical. I apologize if this is’—”

She skipped something.

I already knew what was coming.

“Here. Okay. ‘As I was last aware, Matt willed his estate to myself and Seth, and secondarily to any living nephews and nieces. I know, however, that if Matt had reason to anticipate his death, he would have willed his estate to you. I know how he felt about you, Hannah. We spoke about you more than once. I want to give you my portion of Matt’s estate and I won’t hear no about this.’ So, he goes on like that…”

“Mm.” I lowered my head and rubbed my temple. “He’s right,” I said after a while. “I would have given it to you. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know, Matt. You mean besides lying to your brother about your death and taking your money,
his
money? I don’t think I can do it.”

“Hannah, he won’t take no for an answer. Trust me. Anyway, this is what I want and you’ll do it. Think of it as me giving my money to you. I would have, and you know that, but I couldn’t rewrite my will and then disappear the way I did. This is perfect. This is better than I could have hoped.” I forced some enthusiasm into my voice.

All told, I left Hannah with fifty thousand dollars in cash. I kept fifty thousand at the cabin with me. It was my rainy day fund, which I held first at my Denver apartment and then in the wall safe I had installed in Hannah’s condo.

“Always have some cash on hand,” my uncle used to say, “because you never know.”

Maybe my uncle didn’t mean one hundred grand, but I’m an overachiever.

“I have to think about it,” Hannah said.

“Fine, think about it.” I flipped open my notebook and began to doodle. I drew a fat little bird on a branch. “We’ll talk about it. You’re coming out, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I was thinking … Friday night.” Hannah’s voice lightened and I smiled.

Yes, here was a good thought: Hannah at the cabin with me all weekend.
Finally.

“Great,” I said. “Perfect. I can’t wait…”

“Me either,” she murmured.

“I
can’t
wait, Hannah.” I pressed the point of my pen against the page. Black ink bled out. “You’re home. I’m glad.”

“Me too. I don’t … want to wait.” Whenever Hannah got embarrassed, which happened often and easily, her voice softened. I grinned and tilted my head. Mm, Hannah’s shy side delighted me. It made me feel like a devil.

“Let’s not wait. A week is a long time. Do you need to get settled?”

“Yeah … let me go get Laurence. I might grab a shower, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Shave.”

Hannah took a moment to process my imperative.

“Oh … yeah, okay. Yeah.”

I could barely hear her, she spoke so softly.

“Take your time, Hannah. I’ll wait for your call. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I won’t be long.”

We said our good-byes—my good-bye involving anything but the word “good-bye”—and I left the desk and headed toward the bedroom.