She Can Hide (She Can #4)(21)

“Don’t be silly. I have many skills, but cooking isn’t among them.” Brooke laughed. “Luke did. Do you want more?”

“Thank him for me.” Abby sat back, sipping her water. “I think I’d better let that bowl settle.” She glanced at the clock. It was almost seven p.m. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

Brooke dropped into the opposite chair. She propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “How about I stay over tonight?”

“That’s not necessary. I feel a lot better now.” Abby set the glass on the table. “But thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Brooke frowned. “It’s no trouble. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t live far away. I can call if I need you.”

“Call for any reason at all, even if you just need to talk.”

“I will.” But that wasn’t likely. Despite the fresh drama in her life, Abby preferred to keep her past buried. After all, the whole reason she’d come to Westbury was to hide.





CHAPTER EIGHT

Morning was still dark when Derek crept along the hall, his ears tuned to the snoring emanating from his mom’s closed door. Joe was a heavy sleeper, but Derek didn’t want to take any chances. Except for overnight and school, he’d spent most of Sunday and Monday at Abby’s. So far, he’d successfully avoided Joe, and continued invisibility still seemed like the best plan.

On the top landing, he stepped over a creaky board. Joe choked on a snore. Derek froze, holding still until the rhythmic rumbling continued. At the bottom of the steps, his socks hit the dented wood floor.

Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table. Cigarette butts overflowed the ashtray. Derek ignored both. Such was life when Mom was in boyfriend mode. He went into the kitchen and stopped. His mom sat at the table, smoking a cigarette. Derek brightened. Mom being up this early was a good sign.

“Hey,” she said softly. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pasty. Her sweatshirt and jeans looked baggy. She glanced at the clock. “Early for you to be up.”

“Mom, it’s a school day. It’s Tuesday.” Derek filled a glass of water and handed it to her.

A confused wrinkle formed between her brows. Then shame washed across her face. A floorboard creaked overhead. Mom glanced at the ceiling. Apprehension tightened her face. When the house remained quiet, she breathed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about I make you breakfast?”

Derek opened the refrigerator. The milk and juice were gone. Butter and eggs occupied the top shelf right above a twelve-pack, but frying an egg was too noisy. They’d wake Joe.

“Nah. I’m gonna go or I’ll miss my bus.” He eased the fridge door closed. Hanging from a magnet, his last math test fluttered, the giant C circled. Mom had been proud that afternoon last month. She’d been working then, waitressing at the fast-food place on the interstate. Her last guy, Steve, had skipped out in July after Mom got fired and the money ran out. For six great months, she’d been boyfriend-free.

Then she’d met Joe.

“OK. Then I’m going to go back to bed for a while. I’m not feeling very well.” She dropped the cigarette butt into an empty beer bottle and stood. She pressed a palm to her forehead. “I have the dinner shift tonight. Want me to make macaroni and cheese tonight before I go to work?”

“Sure,” Derek answered. He figured his chances were fifty-fifty on the mac and cheese, probably lower that she’d make it to work.

She passed him, pressing a kiss on the side of his head. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Mom shuffled up the stairs.

With a last, lingering look at his math test, Derek slipped into his sneakers and jacket, then slipped his fingers through the top loop of his backpack. The front door opened with a small squeak. Cold air rushed through the opening. Freedom.

A hand grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back inside. Pain shot up his arm as it was twisted above his shoulder.

“Where’ve you been, kid?” Joe stared down at him. He was a tall guy, and Derek was downright puny. Joe’s lean body shivered in his boxers and a gray T-shirt. A combination of day-old smoke and beer, his breath smelled like something had crawled in his mouth and died—last week. Joe stuck his head out the door and scanned the street as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

“Around.” Determined to keep his cool, Derek tried to shrug, but Joe’s grip was too tight. How had Joe sneaked up on him? Derek had sharp ears and quick feet, his reflexes honed by a lifetime at the bottom of the food chain.

Maybe Joe had practice in sneaking around too.

Not good.

“Hey.” With a rough shake, Joe lifted Derek to his toes and shut the door with a bare foot. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

His skin was pale with a grayish, dry hue the color of ash, and his pupils were permanently dilated. Alcohol wasn’t Joe’s only vice. Despite his unhealthy pallor, his grip was strong. “Why are you sneaking out?”

Derek wasn’t sure which was worse, the fear streaking through his empty belly or the humiliation of knowing he was as helpless and scared as a kindergartener. Was he ever going to grow? Would he ever not be vulnerable to anyone who felt like picking on him?