See Jane Run (10 page)

Riley rolled her eyes. “Then I'd start out being Jane Elizabeth.” She sniffed. “The girl without a past.”

He slung an arm across her shoulders. “And I'm the guy who can't escape his.”

Heat flushed Riley's cheeks, but JD's smile was soft.

• • •

Everyone else on the bus was asleep except for Riley. JD was stretched across two seats, his heavy black boots sticking out into the aisle, his hands clasped behind his head. Shelby had a brand-new Hudson U sweatshirt balled up under her cheek and was quietly drooling onto the glossy satin D. Riley felt like she couldn't close her eyes even if she wanted to—like if she did, she might open them up again into a different life, a different person.

What if I am Jane?

The thought was heavy in her gut.

Do I have sisters and brothers? Would I have had a whole different life?

She thought about her parents—overprotective—but benign and sweet. Her father taught her to ride a bike. Her mother helped her paint her room.

But still the thought niggled at her.

This is crazy, Riley thought as the bus crossed the Welcome to Crescent City sign. She knew her parents. She trusted them. And she was a jerk for accusing them of being ruthless kidnappers.

But there are no pictures…

Her head lolled to the side, looking across the aisle where JD was lying, the faint light from outside casting spider-web shadows down his cheeks. He looked peaceful asleep. But suddenly, he blinked at her. Riley's heart did a little double thump and she saw his grin spread in the darkness.

“You OK?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, totally.”

JD closed his eyes again but didn't stop smiling. “Lies. I can see it with my eyes closed.”

Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion of the last two days, or that as of now, JD was just as close to Jane Elizabeth as Riley was, but she started talking. “I don't know. I just feel—”

“Silly? Crazy?” JD shrugged back at her. “Don't worry, it's no big deal. You have questions.”

Riley worried her bottom lip and slipped her hands into her sweatshirt sleeves. “Do you think they're out there looking for me? I mean, if it's true, you know?”

JD shifted in his seat so he was closer to her. “Ry, it's not that I don't believe you, but we looked. There were no missing kid reports that matched your description.”

It was like a fist to her gut.

“That's right. If my parents snatched me, then no one was looking for me. No one cared that I was missing.”

Before she knew it, Riley had slipped out of her seat and into JD's. His arm was around her and she was leaning into him, somehow comforted by the constant tick of his heart, the systematic rise and fall of his breath. She didn't consider what Shelby would say, what her parents would say—what every other person on the bus would say if they saw her curled into him, JD, the bad kid. It felt good to melt into his arms—into the arms of someone she could count on. She started.
Did
I
just
say
that
I
could
count
on
JD?
She shook herself—or tried to. She was trembling, but she refused to cry.

He looked down at her, his eyes glittering in what remained of the light. “Maybe no one kidnapped you. Maybe there's another explanation.”

“I don't want to think of my parents that way, but what other explanation is there? I have no baby pictures, no family, they keep me under lock and key. I'm willing to believe I was adopted—”

JD's eyebrows went up, slightly amused.

“—but there isn't even the slightest clue that I was adopted.”

“Ry,” JD whispered, “you don't have to figure everything out right now, OK? Give yourself another couple of hours to be Riley Spencer.”

“Why should I do that?”

JD wouldn't look at her. “Because I was just beginning to really like her.”

The bus lurched to a stop and the running lights went on. Everyone started to scramble, Riley included.

“Hey,” Shelby said, her eyes clouded with sleep. “Did you sit somewhere else?”

Riley felt her cheeks flush red. She glanced over her shoulder at JD who was gathering up his backpack. “No,” she said quickly. “I was here the whole time. You're just a heavy sleeper.” She smiled thinly, the whole time her heart beating a steady rhythm: liar. Liar. Liar.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Cassia Lohmen went into labor tonight.”

“Your neighbor?”

“Yeah. She asked me if I could come over and watch the girls overnight, so I won't be riding home with you. Her sister is going to come get me and drop me off on her way to the hospital. Do you think you could catch a ride home?”

Riley frowned. “Oh, yeah. OK.” She thought of the long stretch of highway ahead of her—there was nothing for twenty miles between the high school and Riley's new housing development. It was desolate and blank. “I can just call my parents.”

They shuffled off the bus.

“OK, I'm off to Cassia's.” Shelby blew an air kiss. “And I still hate you for not telling me everything on the bus.” She pulled Riley close, her fingers wrapping around Riley's upper arm. “You're calling me first thing in the morning, right?”

Riley nodded, little pricks of heat going up her spine. She couldn't tell Shelby about JD—she kind of didn't want to. But she whispered, “Sure,” anyway.

Shelby ran off and Riley fumbled in her purse, looking for her cell phone. She yanked out her makeup bag, her notebook, and was going for the phone when a folded piece of paper popped out of the depths of the bag and flopped onto the ground. She snatched it up and frowned. Another black-and-white postcard. This one was even more random—a little kid, maybe ten or so—blowing out birthday candles. There were other kids in the picture, most in profile, and a woman leaning toward the birthday boy. Her long hair shadowed most of her face. That was it.

Riley turned the card over, her breath hitching.

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

The words were carefully written in all capitals, same as the other postcard. Her fingers began to tremble.

She wanted to crumple the card. She wanted to tear it up and toss it in the garbage right behind the birth certificate and the first postcard and go back to believing that there was nothing extraordinary about her life. She wished she had never known Jane O'Leary.

Riley didn't know how long she stood there, staring, examining the note. There were no identifying marks on it, nothing else except the ominous message. She looked up, hoping that someone would take credit, would tell her it was a joke. She waited for Shelby to pop out from somewhere, laughing.

But Riley was alone.

A couple kids had moved to the benches across the lot to wait for their rides. Someone was smoking out against the back forty, the curls of cigarette smoke catching on the overhead lights.

Riley's heart started to thud.

Numbly, she dug into her purse, this time refusing to look down. Her eyes scanned the parking lot until her fingers closed around her phone.

“Riley!”

Riley whirled, the phone sliding out of her hand and skittering across the concrete. Someone was parked in the darkness.

And now that someone was running toward her.

Adrenaline poured through her, and every synapse was on high alert:
move-run-stop-scream
. Her chest tightened and everything about the weekend—every dead-end search, every time she saw the strange man in her peripheral vision—came crashing back over her, and Riley willed her legs to move, to turn, to run, but they wouldn't. Her mind splintered, telling her to go for the phone, to turn around and run.

“Riley!”

The man was coming closer. She tried to make him out, but the night fuzzed out anything recognizable.

“Who's there?” She was surprised by her own voice.

“Aw, turnip!”

Her dad popped over the curb and gathered her into a tight hug, completely oblivious to Riley's terror.

“Geez! I can feel your heart practically popping into my chest!” he said jovially.

“That's because you scared me half to death!” Riley snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“Mama Webber called Mama Spencer and let her know that Cassia was in labor and that Shelby was going to stay with the girls, so here I am.”

Riley followed her father to the car, tossing her backpack over the front seat and settling in. She blew out a breath, hoping to stave off a heart attack as everything churned inside her head: who sent her the note? Was this her real father? She stole a glance, examining her dad's profile.

Ask
them,
JD's voice echoed in her head.
Ask
to
see
your
birth
certificate.

As quickly as the thought appeared, it was stamped out by another, more pressing one:
leave
it
alone.
Riley got into the car, slamming the door behind her.

Her teeth had barely stopped chattering, and she refused to look into her purse, knowing the postcard was there. She couldn't bring herself to throw it away, and now she couldn't bring herself to touch it. Any connection to Jane O'Leary—or the mysterious postcards—would keep her tethered here, jumping at every breath.

Leave
it
alone.

“You're awfully quiet tonight, turnip.”

“I'm just tired, that's all.” Riley pressed her head against the cool window glass and closed her eyes, as much to trick herself that she was tired as to trick her father. But she felt every bump in the road, heard her father every time he took a deep breath or rumbled a few lines from whatever song was playing on the oldies station.

Through lowered lashes, Riley watched her father's hand as it reached across the console, settling on the stereo.

She knew those hands. The long, thin fingers, the half-moon of white on his nails. They wouldn't hurt her. They wouldn't hurt anyone else.

They wouldn't steal a child.

She sat up when her father turned into the opening of the Blackwood Hills Estates. Everything was manicured and tended to outside the gate, and big spotlights illuminated bunches of petunias and sweet alyssum as they flourished out of their spots and nipped at the edge of the grass. The grass was large and sprawling, so green it looked almost cartoonish and fake. But there was a man in a grey jumpsuit crouched behind a dribbling sprinkler. He had an ill-fitting trucker's hat with the words STAR LANDSCAPING printed on it, and he looked up as Riley's father's car passed through the gates.

“Isn't it weird to have a guy doing landscaping in the middle of the night?”

“It's not that late. And to his credit, the guy was out here when I left to get you too. Hard worker. Besides, the floodlights make it look like daytime out there.”

• • •

Riley dropped the plug in her bathtub and nudged on the faucet. She gave it a moment before she sunk into the extra-hot suds. Thoughts of Jane Elizabeth pricked at her peripheral.

I
will
not
think
about
her. I'm done with that, done with
stupid “adventures.”

But even when she pulled her iPad into the bathroom and turned her favorite playlist way up, her thoughts went back to Jane. And every time she closed her eyes, it was a slide show—the plain, boring images on the postcards, the ominous notes on the other side, and the face of the man, smiling down at her from the train platform.

• • •

“You know what? You never finish anything. I'm not going to let you be my Lamaze coach because halfway through, you'll wimp out and leave me there, half a baby coming out of my—”

“I get it, Shelbs.”

Shelby held the folded certificate and waved it at Riley as if she'd never seen it before.

“I just—I'm done with it, Shelbs. I checked everything. There is no information on any of these people. I'm telling you, it came with the baby book.”

“Right.” Shelby pushed her yogurt away and smoothed the certificate on the table. “They totally use a real sticker seal and actual stamped baby feet to make those throwaway inserts. You think I haven't seen a thousand baby books? I swear my mom bought an eighty pack after my first brother was born.”

Riley tossed her a look.

“I know, Ry, you're totally right. You exhausted all available search options. If only there were some other way.” She stroked a long, imaginary chin beard. “Or someone we could ask. You know, like, maybe the people who hid the baby book? If only there were some way to contact them…”

“Fine, Shelby.”

“You don't even have to mention Jane's birth certificate. Just ask them to show you yours. That's all I'm asking.”

“That's it? You'll drop this whole thing if I show you my birth certificate?”

“Totally. That way I know that you have one and I won't be under civic obligation to turn you in to the police. I'll totally drop the Jane thing. But the postcard…”

Riley felt her eyes widen. She hadn't told Shelby about the second one, and sitting with her now, Riley wasn't sure she wanted to. She wanted to pretend they were nothing, but
someone
sent them. Someone knew her—maybe better than she knew herself. The thought sent icy fingers of fear up Riley's neck and she shivered. “I'm going to toss my stuff,” she said, standing.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Riley looked up to see JD smiling at her. Her heart did a double pump, but it was because of Jane, not JD.

“So, you're at school today.”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”

JD pushed his hands in his back pockets. “I don't know. Thought maybe if you found out your parents had snatched you or that you were Jane O'Leary, some sort of super spy, you'd ditch this place.” He was grinning, his tone light, but the comment weighed on her.

“No, I'm just plain old Riley Spencer, daughter of Glen and Nadine Spencer.” She said it as much for her benefit as for his. “I'm giving up on Jane. It was stupid anyway.”

JD shrugged. “I thought it was kind of cool—trying to track down this mysterious girl.”

Riley felt herself smile. “It was until I came to a hundred dead ends.”

JD cocked an eyebrow. “Well, what mystery chick would let herself be found the first time someone goes looking for her?”

• • •

Riley was shoving her Spanish book into her backpack when Shelby approached her.

“Need a ride, toots?”

Riley shook her head. “My dad is picking me up on his way home from work.”

“You know what you have to do tonight, right?”

“Um, conjugate irregular verbs until my eyes bleed?”

Shelby let out an exasperated groan. “No, you're going to get your birth certificate.”

“Right.”

“That's all I ask.”

“Fine, Shelbs, whatever. Bye.”

Shelby took a few steps backward and waved. “Good-bye, mysterious stranger.”

Riley hiked up her backpack and grumbled. So she would ask her parents to see her birth certificate. They would show it to her. And Riley would know that
she
wasn't adopted or kidnapped. She would know that she wasn't Jane Elizabeth O'Leary.

But who was the real Jane Elizabeth?

“Hey, Riley!” Trevor Gallagher was making a beeline toward her.

Riley waved. “Hey, Trevor. What's up?”

“Just wanted to make sure you got the card.”

The hairs on Riley's arms stood upright. “The card?”

“I put it on your purse after the carnival. Just wanted to make sure you got yours.”

Riley nodded, dumbfounded, even as Trevor walked away.

Trevor
Gallagher
gave
her
the
postcards? But why?

By the time Riley snapped back to reality, Trevor had been swallowed into the crowd of Hawthorne High students on their way out, and Riley couldn't find him.

“Hey, turnip!”

Riley spun to find her father leaning out the driver's side window.

“Oh, hey, Dad.”

“Well, are you going to stand out there or get in the car?”

“I'm coming, sorry.”

She closed the door behind her and her father hit the gas. But her mind was still processing Trevor and the postcards. She vowed to ask Trevor about them tomorrow.

“One mystery solved,” she muttered under her breath.

“What's that, hon?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

They were just approaching the Blackwood Hills highway by the time the general post-school catch-up—
How
was
school? Do you have homework?—
was finished. Riley was quiet for a bit. She had filed away Trevor and the postcards—now it was time to appease her best friend.

Riley played with the seat belt crossing her chest. “So, I was thinking about taking driver's ed next semester.”

She could see her father's cheeks push up into a grin. “And here I thought you weren't interested in getting your license.”

“Well, I wasn't because I had Shelby, but now that we live all the way out here…” Riley swallowed. “So, you think it's a good idea?”

“Of course.”

“The thing is, I need to bring my birth certificate to register.” Riley cut her eyes to her father, working hard to track his every movement.

“You know, we've still got a lot of unpacking to do. I'm not even sure I know where your mother has your birth certificate, turnip. Maybe you'd better wait on the driving stuff until we're all settled.”

Tears pricked at the back of Riley's eyes.

“No, I want to take it next semester. And wouldn't Mom have all our important records in a safe deposit box or something? Since we lost all our pictures and stuff at the other house.”

Riley thought she saw a look of relief skitter over her father's face. “That old place! Do you remember that house? We had the most beautiful hydrangeas.”

“I kind of remember. Why were all my baby pictures ruined again?”

“The roof leaked.”

Riley worried her bottom lip. “But my birth certificate was fine. I'll bet Mom knows exactly where it is.”

Riley watched her father nod slowly and swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Sure. But you know that you won't be able to drive much next semester. Your mother and I both need our cars. She'll be off for summer when you are, so then you would be able to get a lot of practice time in. Take driver's education then and concentrate on school in between.”

“But I can get my birth certificate, right? So I can be prepared?”

“No need to jump the gun, turnip. Mom and I can take care of it.”

He turned and grinned at her, but Riley felt like she had been punched in the stomach.

• • •

Riley lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The glint from the streetlight outside cut a yellow diagonal stripe from end to end that shifted with every howling screech of the wind.

She wasn't going to fall asleep.

Her mind was a constant churn of the past days' events, but tonight it always came back to the same thing: the postcards. She knew how Trevor had gotten the first one in her purse—it must have fallen in when Shelby grabbed the bag—but what about the next one?

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

He hadn't been on the college tour and the two didn't have any classes together this year. They were just casual friends—so casual Riley didn't even have his phone number or email address. Why send someone you hardly know postcards with weird, creepy messages?

Riley kicked off her covers and sat on the floor, pulling her purse into her lap. She yanked out everything—whatever she needed always seemed to migrate to the bottom—and pulled the postcards out of the depths. Only now, there was something wedged in between them.