Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(70)

Breathing easily—or perhaps, just breathing—for the first time since they left the Ansonia, she’s fairly certain they’ve managed to shake whoever was dogging them there.

They definitely weren’t trailed as they walked over to the car rental place on West End Avenue. They made several turns—more than were necessary—and she made sure they eventually lost all the pedestrians who’d been behind them from the start.

It was surprisingly simple to rent a car—complete with a booster seat—on short notice. Or maybe not so surprising. Maybe people do it all the time in Manhattan, where so few residents own cars. Maybe that’s why the man behind the counter didn’t give her a second glance as he ran her credit card and handed her the keys.

Renny pretty much dropped off to sleep within minutes after they pulled out of the rental agency garage. Poor kid has been dragged from Boston to Groton to New York and now back again; from car to train to cab to car; up and down steps, into a dreaded elevator, along the streets in the rain…

For a fleeing moment, Elsa wonders what kind of a mother would put a child through all that.

Maybe she isn’t fit to—

Wait a minute. What are you thinking? Stop that right now!

She’s the best mother Renny could ever have because she loves her with all her heart. She’s gone to such extremes today for one reason alone: to keep Renny safe. No one in this world is going to do a better job at that.

Less than two hours to go, and they’ll be home. Then at last she’ll be able to tell Brett what’s been going on—but not while they’re inside the house. It must be bugged, like their phones. She’ll have to take him outside to talk—or write it down on paper. She’ll figure it out when she gets there.

All she wants is to get there.

Home…home…home…home…

The windshield wipers beat in time to the refrain in her head.

Taillights blur into red splotches in front of her, and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She can’t cry now. She can’t cry at all. There’s no reason to. Renny is fine, and she’s going to stay that way.

Please…please…please…please…



Caroline’s cell phone rings just as she’s telling Jake one of her best stories: the one about her top falling off while she was surfing on Long Island last summer. It’s a particularly good story because it makes her seem adventurous and sexy and funny all at the same time. Plus he must surf, too, so he’ll realize how much they really do have in common.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” he cuts into the story when she ignores the phone.

“Nah.”

It rings three more times, then bounces into voice mail.

“You know,” Jake says thoughtfully, “I’ve been kicking myself since yesterday that I didn’t stick around to get your phone number—but maybe that’s not the best way to get in touch with you?”

“Oh, I’d answer it if it was you. But obviously, it’s not, because you’re right here, so…”

“So why don’t you give me your number now?” Grinning, he reaches for his backpack.

“Right this second? You mean, before a disgusting rodent comes crawling out of your bag?”

“No rodents.” He pulls out a pen and pats the bag. “Not yet, anyway.” He writes her number on a napkin, and she does the same with his.

As she tucks it into her pocket, her phone rings again.

Again, she ignores it.

Again, it goes into voice mail.

Less than a minute later, it starts ringing again.

“You should probably get it,” Jake advises. “Maybe it’s me.”

She laughs, then reluctantly pulls out her phone and glances at the caller ID. “It’s my mother.”

“Go ahead. Pick it up.”

She rolls her eyes. “Hello?”

“Caroline!”

Her mother practically screams her name. Caroline winces and holds the phone away from her ear.

“Where are you girls?”

“I’m at Starbucks. Annie’s home.”

“No, she isn’t!”

“What?”

“I’m at home. I just got back. Where is she, Caroline?”

“I have no idea. She was there when I left.”

“When did you leave?”

“Umm…I guess around eleven-thirty.”

Her mother starts going on and on, freaking out about Annie. Shaking her head, Caroline holds the phone out away from her ear again.

“Don’t mind her,” she whispers to Jake. “She’s kind of nuts. But then, I guess, aren’t they all?”

“What?”

“Mothers. You know—they’re all crazy.”

Jake doesn’t reply.

“Well, mine is, anyway,” she mutters, wondering if he gets along great with his own mother or something. Whatever. His mother probably isn’t dealing with half of the crap that’s going on with Mom. No wonder she’s ranting and raving on the phone…not that Caroline can make out a word of it with the phone held at arm’s length from her ear.

“She sounds really upset,” Jake tells her. “Maybe you should go home and make sure everything’s all right.”