She Can Hide (She Can #4)(13)

“No, thanks.” Abby dropped into a chair. Small aches in her body transmitted faint warnings of developing bruises. Her head still pounded. “I’m not hungry. I’d love some coffee, though.”

“That I can do.” Brooke reached for the canister.

Zeus padded to his bowl. He looked back at them and cocked his head hopefully.

“I fed you breakfast earlier, buddy.” Brooke filled his sink-sized stainless steel water bowl and set it in front of him. Zeus drank endlessly. With a sloppy snort, he wiped his mouth against Abby’s leg and lay down on the rug next to her feet with a grunt, a sigh, and the thunk of dense bones hitting hardwood. He rested his broad chin on her foot and closed his eyes. His head was as big as a Thanksgiving turkey. The weight of it would put Abby’s foot to sleep within fifteen minutes, but she found the dog’s touch comforting. For his uncomplicated companionship, she could deal with the lack of blood flow to her toes.

Brooke flipped the coffeepot switch. Turning, she leveled Abby with a hard stare. “Now, you want to tell me what the doctor said this morning?”

“The gap in my memory is probably a symptom of the concussion. The CAT scan and blood work all came back normal.” Fear and helplessness spread cold through Abby’s belly. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Her lack of emotional control and impulsive sharing were nearly as disturbing as the memory loss. “I don’t understand. What did I do all afternoon?”

“Ethan will figure it out.” Brooke grabbed mugs from the cabinet.

“I hope so.” The neurologist had also said it was possible she’d remember everything with rest and time. Or she wouldn’t.

The coffee machine beeped, and Brooke poured. She dumped a packet of sweetener in each mug, gave them a quick stir, and carried them to the table. She set one in front of Abby. “It’ll be all right.”

Abby sipped her coffee, hoping the hot brew would wash away the haze of helplessness she couldn’t shake.

Zeus’s head popped up. He leaped to his feet and trotted out of the room with a deep woof. Either someone was at the door, or the cat from up the street was taunting him at the window again.

Panic inched up Abby’s throat. “The cop said he’d be here this morning. He keeps asking questions I can’t answer.”

“It’ll be fine,” Brooke soothed. “Just be honest. The police are there to help.”

“How do I know I can trust them?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Brooke gave her a quizzical look. She opened the fridge and shook a quart of milk.

Abby glanced out the back window. Zeus’s giant paw prints already obliterated the clean layer of snow. The yard was small, the house old, and the neighborhood not the best, but the place was hers. She’d bought it cheaply and renovated it with her own sweat. There were no bad memories here. Not yet.

She’d moved to Westbury for a fresh start. She was no doubt just being paranoid. Yesterday’s accident was just that. An accident. Why did she have to make it complicated?

“What’s wrong?” Brooke’s voice went serious. “Talk to me, Abby.”

But Abby couldn’t share her horror story. Talking about it brought on a panic attack every time. Plus, there were other aspects about her that no one in her new life knew, and she wanted to keep it that way. Her fresh start depended on a blank slate. She’d scraped the scars from her life with the same ruthlessness she’d applied to the wood floors and molding. Every inch was stripped to its core and refinished until it barely resembled its original state. But lying to Brooke gave her a lump behind her solar plexus. “You’re right. The concussion must be affecting my mood. The neurologist said it could do that.”

Brooke smiled, but her eyes weren’t convinced. Fifteen years of teaching high school math had honed Brooke’s bullshit detector. “I’ve known Ethan for years. You can trust him.”

“I don’t know.” Abby’s experience with the police wasn’t as rosy. Her rushing nerves drove her to her feet. Zeus raised his head and watched her pace the kitchen. The blood alcohol request made her leery.

“Honey, I’m sure you haven’t done anything wrong, but you don’t remember what happened. The police have to cover their bases. They don’t know you like I do.”

“How do you know?” Abby whirled, the sudden motion jarring her head. Pain spiked across her temples. “I can’t even say that for sure. I don’t know what I did.”

“I know you.”

Guilt welled inside Abby. Brooke only thought she knew her.

She walked across the kitchen and took Abby by the shoulders. “You could never do anything illegal. You never speed. You count to three at stop signs. Remember that time the clerk at the mall gave you an extra five dollars in change? You made me drive all the way back so she wouldn’t get in trouble. You are probably the most law-abiding person in the state of Pennsylvania.”

“I’m scared.” The statement slipped out before Abby could stop it.

“I know,” Brooke said.

Zeus barked again. Abby went to the front of the house. She separated the mini blinds with a forefinger. A police cruiser pulled up to the curb and parked.




Ethan parked his cruiser in front of Abby Foster’s narrow house. She had obviously put some work into her home. Wooden clapboards were painted a gleaming, clean white. Bright sunshine reflected off glossy maroon shutters and sparkling windows. The harsh winter sun highlighted her well-kept home but emphasized the sad condition of the house next door. Overgrown shrubs and peeling paint gave the place a vacant look.