Son of the Enemy (28 page)

Afterward, they lay wrapped together, sharing soft kisses, while the first tentative rays of sun slipped between the curtains. John had never known the kind of deep-down contentment he felt with Hannah in his arms. He prayed that someday she would understand and forgive his deception.

“John?”

He smiled at her sleepy voice.

“You know what hurt the most? I mean, yesterday.”

He kissed the top of her head. “No. What was it?”

“It was when Avery looked up at my father—her father—and called him Daddy.”

John stroked her hair, his chest aching for her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“And he called her ‘honey’. I have no memory of him calling me honey or sweetie or anything like that. Even though he’s still a selfish, cold, hard-hearted bastard, at least she can convince herself…that he loves her.” By the end her voice was a harsh whisper.

John lifted her face to his and kissed the sides of her eyes, where a thin stream of tears was winding a path down her cheeks. When she looked at him he said, “It’s never been your fault, you know. Your father is a narcissist. He doesn’t possess the ability to love anyone but himself.”

“I know that,” she whispered.

“He doesn’t,” he repeated softly, and kissed her mouth. “But I do.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ty was dreaming that roofers were pounding in shingles overhead.
Bang, bang, bang.

One of them started calling his name, over and over, like it was life or death.

“Ty, you in there? You’re going to be late for school.”

He jerked awake and instantly banged his head. “Fuck!” It took a couple of seconds to remember he’d slept under his bed last night. Last night…
Oh, shit
.

Philip.

The friggin’ shrine in the bathtub.

He grabbed the carving knife and crawled out from under the bed, relieved to see that the desk chair was still wedged under the door. Maria was still pounding away.

“I’m getting up,” he shouted. “Stop the damn banging.”

“It’s after eight thirty, Ty. Why’d you lock this door?”

“So I can keep you and all the other psychos out of here,” he mumbled. He sat up, yawning, and rubbed his eyes. Christ, he felt like shit. He must’ve dozed off sometime after five, because that’s the last time he’d checked his watch. But he was sure as hell going to school today.

He walked on his knees to the window and lifted the shade just enough to see what the day looked like. The sky was overcast, which pleased him. Sunny days annoyed the shit out of him. He cast his gaze downward—and just about jumped out of his skin.

Philip was standing beneath his window, looking up at him with that creepy little smile of his plastered to his ugly mug.

“Shit!” He dropped the shade and scrambled to his feet.

“Ty, you swearin’ in there?”

He rushed to the door and wedged the chair a little more securely under the knob. “Is my father home?”

“No, no, he’s gone. Philip’s all ready to take you.”

Philip was going to drive him to school?

No fucking way.

But he didn’t want to stay home.
Christ
, no. He needed to talk to John Emerson immediately.

Ty coughed. “I’m feeling really sick, Maria,” he said in his best hoarse voice. “I need some medicine.”

“What medicine?” Her voice dripped with skepticism.

He coughed again and kept it up until he started to gag. “Ugh, I feel so shitty. Can’t you send Philip out to the drug store for something?”

“Like what?”

“How the hell do I know? Some strong cough medicine.”

“Open this door and I take your temperature.”

Damn woman.

“I’ve got the chills so bad. Jesus, I’m freezing.” He put on a huge coughing fit until he heard her say something about sending Philip out for Robitussin.

“Yeah, Robitussin. That’s what I need.”

He was already dressed, so he didn’t need any time to get ready. He stood next to the window, his back to the wall, one finger holding the shade aside just a sliver, enough so he could see whether Philip was still down there. Damn it, he was! Ty couldn’t have been more scared if the guy was looking up at him with a bib around his neck and a fork and knife in his hands.

A few minutes later, though, he saw Maria handing Philip money and saying something. Philip glanced up at Ty’s window quickly, then walked around the side of the house. Just to be sure he actually left, Ty waited until he saw the car Philip always drove head down the driveway. Then he let go of the shade and sagged against the wall, feeling like a death-row prisoner who’d just gotten a reprieve.

He raced down the steps and out the front door before Maria could see him and try to stop him. One of his father’s “bodyguards” was leaning against the porch rail, having a smoke.

“Hey, man,” Ty said. “I need a ride to school quick. I’m real late and I got a big exam.”

The man, Angelo or something, took another drag of his cigarette and stared at Ty blankly. “I don’t take you to school.”

No shit, Einstein.

“I know, I know, but my usual driver left and—oh, man, you’ll be doing me the biggest favor, and my dad’ll be real grateful. I’ll tell him he should give you a raise.” He was ready to go down on his friggin’ knees if that’s what it took, but the guy just stared at him like he couldn’t understand English. “I’m begging you here. Please just drive me to school. It’ll take ten minutes.” It would actually take closer to thirty, but the guy probably couldn’t tell time anyway, so why discourage him?

“Where’s fish face?”

“Maria sent him out, okay? I saw him go. Could you please—?”

“What the hell,” the guy said, flicking his cigarette off the porch. “Let’s go.”

It took them twenty-five minutes to get to school, and Angelo apparently did know how to tell time because he bitched for the last fifteen. Ty just kept telling him they were almost there, and thanked him profusely for doing him such a big favor. By the time he got out of the car, his mouth hurt from so much ass kissing.

He ran from the car up the steps of Grange Hall, through the foyer, into the teachers’ lounge and down the steps to the basement. He grabbed the doorknob to John’s office—but it wouldn’t turn.

“Damn it!” He banged on the door. “John! It’s me, Ty!”

No answer.
Shit.

He tried a couple more times but John obviously wasn’t in there, so there was no point in keeping it up. He ran back up the stairs, through the teachers’ lounge—and nearly mowed Larissa down in the foyer.

“Slow down before you kill someone, Ty,” she said.

“Where’s John?”

“He’s out today.”

“Out! He can’t be out. I have to talk to him, like right now.”

“Sorry, honey.” Larissa gave him a once-over. “You don’t look so good. Did you go to sleep last night?”

Ty didn’t have time for this. Panic squeezed his gut. “I’ve been trying his cell phone. Do you have another number for him?”

“Is there somebody else you can talk to? Because I can’t give you his home number, and I don’t know where he is. And what class are you supposed be in?”

Ty squeezed the sides of his head. This was terrible. Well, he had to do something, so he might as well bite the bullet. “I guess I’ll go up and talk to Hannah.”

Larissa shook her head. “No, hon, sorry, but she’s out too. Death in the family.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“She’ll be in tomorrow or the next day.”

“What about John?”

Larissa was so damn easy to read it was ridiculous. She gave a little half smile and then tried to look all serious, like he was a little kid who didn’t know about sex. Now that he thought about it, it made sense. John and Hannah. Yeah. A whole lot more sense than Hannah and his Dad. At least for her.

“I’m not sure when he’ll be back,” Larissa said. “Probably tomorrow.”

“Or the next day, yeah, I get it.”

“Hey, that’s how rumors start. And I don’t have any idea—”

“—where he is, I know.” Ty rubbed his eyes. “Do you think I could go hang out up in Hannah’s office for a little while? ’Cause, like, I’m exhausted and I feel kind of sick.”

Larissa gave him a look. “Yeah, right, Ty. If you’re sick, go home.” Then she reached out and rubbed his hair, like he was a dog or something. “I guess you are tired. Now get to class.”

He left and headed across the lawn. He turned back once to check, but sure enough, Larissa was watching him go, just like Hannah would have.
Jeez
, nobody trusted him anymore. He reached into his pocket to see if he had any change for the vending machine. A couple of ones and a few dimes and nickels. Somebody had to have some food or money they could lend him, because one thing was for sure—he wasn’t leaving school until John and Hannah got back from wherever the hell they were.

Hannah clicked off her cell phone and took a sip of the Starbucks coffee sitting in the cup holder of the Taurus. Mrs. Farnum had offered to fix them breakfast this morning when they finally made it downstairs at ten fifteen, but they’d declined. Making love again when they woke up had taken a big bite out of their morning. She sighed.

“What’s that big sigh about?” John asked.

She decided to tell him the truth. “I’m such a pushover where you’re concerned. It’s ridiculous.”

“Do you regret making love to me last night? Or should I say, this morning?”

Did she? “I suppose I do. But then again, you’re a good lay, so why not?” His silence told her he wasn’t pleased with her answer.
Good.

“Larissa told me Ty came in today desperate to talk to you,” she said. “Looking bad, like he was sick or something. I’m kind of worried about him.”

“Did he give her any idea what it was about?”

“No, but maybe one of us should call the school and talk to him.”

“I’ll try him later,” John said. There was something about his tone that made Hannah suspicious.

“Is there something going on with Ty that I don’t know about?” She watched John’s face carefully.
Is he going to lie to me now?

A group of tourists was waiting to cross, and John stopped the car. Turning to his side window, he said, “Yeah. He left me a message on my cell phone. I just haven’t called him back yet.”

“What did he say in the message?”

The tourists had crossed and John drove on. “It was pretty cryptic. Said he’d done something really stupid and he needed to talk to me about it.”

“That was it?”

“Pretty much.”

They drove on in silence until they parked in front of the inn, and then John turned to her. “Whatever Ty did has something to do with you.”

“Me? Seriously?”

He looked down for a moment as though getting his thoughts together. “He said he didn’t mean any harm and he felt like a fool.”

Hannah was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She could see by the look on his face that he was holding something back, and it made her furious. “Goddamn it, John. How can you expect me to trust you when you keep things like this from me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was afraid you’d start thinking he was your stalker, and I know he isn’t.”

“Do you really give me so little credit? You think I can’t do the math and come to the same conclusion?”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“The right thing for who?”

He didn’t answer.

John walked around to the passenger side and held the door open for her. She brushed past him and up to the front door without another word, or even a look. He didn’t blame her for being upset, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to deal with her rejection.

Eleanor greeted them at the door and led the way to the attic steps. “If I’d ever imagined you’d come back, I would have saved more of her things for you, Hannah,” she said. “I asked your father several times if he wanted anything, but he was so broken up…”

Hannah snorted. “My father? Broken up?”

Eleanor seemed taken aback by Hannah’s sarcasm but recovered quickly. “More angry, maybe. Like his whole life was ruined. Got a little snippy with me, if you want the truth.”

“That I can believe.”

“Let’s go on up,” John said, knowing Hannah was not in the mood to discuss her father and wanting to do something to get back in her good graces. He took her hand and pulled her gently up the steps. “Thanks, Eleanor.”

“I don’t think I ever caught your last name, John.”

“Uh, Emerson,” he said, pulling Hannah a little harder.

“Emerson. Hmm. Well, now,
that’s
a coincidence—”

“We’ll let you know when we’re done,” he called down.

The attic had dormer windows, which let in enough natural light for them to work their way through the boxes and trunks and odd pieces of furniture to the back corner where Eleanor had stowed the two medium-sized boxes holding all that remained of Sharon Duncan’s worldly possessions. As she stood there staring down at the boxes, Hannah started rubbing her arms. She was warmly dressed in jeans, running shoes and a sheepskin vest over a thick cotton turtleneck, but appeared to be freezing.

“Are you cold?” John asked.

“I remember coming up here. Around Christmas, I guess, because my father was carrying down boxes of ornaments.”

“Did you come up any other time?”

“I try to get away over the holidays.” As though she hadn’t heard the question. “If I stick around I get depressed.”

He wanted to tell her how hard Christmas was for him, too, but he didn’t think she’d want to hear it. “Where do you go?”

She shrugged. “Anyplace where it doesn’t seem like Christmas. Like Florida or New Mexico. Luckily I have friends in warm places.” She squatted in front of the boxes, but kept rubbing at her arms.

“How about Hawaii this year? I’ve wanted to go there for a long time. Or St. Lucia. I hear it’s beautiful in December.”

She answered without looking at him. “I’ve already got plans, thanks anyway.”

Jealousy speared through his chest. “With who?”

“With friends in Santa Fe. Want to pull open that other box?”