Timing, page 12
Hannah wanted out. To get away. From everything. Like never before.
But how could she? She had to finish up her last year of high school, had to walk down the aisle at graduation in order to head off to college. That meant some eightish more months here in Durango before she could flee the coop.
Geez was she ever ready.
She'd leave tonight if there were a way for it to happen without some serious consequences.
Her mom switched off the light in her office.
Hannah held her breath.
And then she finally exhaled when she heard the shower running upstairs.
Armed with a flashlight she'd found in her hiding spot, Hannah entered the Lioness' Den.
And there, charging on an end table was her mom's cell phone. She shook her head. This whole charade of her mother's was out of control. She was going to get to the bottom it.
Hannah wrapped the Bluetooth around her ear and brought up the last number called. Hmm. She recognized the area code as a DC number. Interesting.
She pushed send. The phone instantly recognized the number, and a name popped up on the screen: Paul Home.
Home? So, she's close enough to this guy that she's calling his home?
After three rings, "Paul" picked up.
While Hannah breathed heavily into the Bluetooth—she hoped it might intimidate him—she scrolled down the contacts list until she found a match: Paul Hurley.
Lovely, her mother now had a Boy Toy.
In the meantime, the man had said hello six times. Then, in a confused voice, causing every muscle in Hannah's face to contract, the man said, "Jackie, is that you?"
It took every bit of self-control not to say something really foul into the phone.
She finally just hung up on him. And then sprinted up the stairs to her room.
*
Boone was still awake. He'd been out tending to a lame horse.
Hannah was surprised to get a quick response from him. "U sure bout this?"
"Absolutely… even know his name."
"Wow… u okay?"
"Not really. Even said she loved him." Hannah couldn't stop the tears. Although this time, they came from being livid. Furious. She was angry at the whole situation and especially mad it had bothered her so much.
"Seriously?" Boone couldn't believe it. He'd always known Jackie was selfish, but this was going way too far. Especially so soon after everything that had happened.
"Yep."
"How long together?"
"Longer than I want to think about." Hannah was glad he couldn't see her crying.
"Be strong. You'll get through this like everything else." He wished he was there to hug her. Comfort her. Like he'd wanted to so many times lately. Especially since that day…
"For how much longer tho? Why all of this bad stuff?"
"Who knows? But I'll always be here. Be the same."
"Thanks. But when will things get better?" She suddenly longed to be near him. Touch him.
"Soon. I promise. Glad u texted me. Feel free to anytime. And hang in there."
As they signed off for the evening, Hannah realized that Boone wasn't calling her kiddo anymore.
CHAPTER 12—REPORT
Sicarius reported back to headquarters every other week. Sometimes, he'd actually travel to meet with them face-to-face and at other times, he'd send a runner.
If given the choice though, he much preferred to initiate the visit.
On rare occasions, members of the Sperari would drop in on him. Whenever they showed up—they never gave advance warning—he couldn't help but feel like they were spying on him.
Checking in to make sure he was competent.
It irritated him, to say the least. Inevitably, he'd go down the list of reasons for their unannounced visit in his mind… Had something given them cause to think he had compromised the objective? Had the target changed? Did they not realize these things took time?
It wasn't like you could eliminate someone completely out of the blue without serious ramifications… well, in some cases you could, but not this one.
This particular assignment was delicate, required a considerable amount of patience and careful planning. Not to mention the crucial aspect of gathering intelligence—a move which, in this case, preempted the actual assassination.
Getting proximity to the target was essential. And they knew it.
Besides, hadn't he proved time and again he was loyal and trustworthy?
He was always working for the Cause. Would always be a champion of freedom.
Never once had he given them reason to doubt him.
His report to Hans and Sophie this time was simple. Target identified. Still powerless. Mapping daily patterns. Estimated time of completion: three months.
CHAPTER 13—TROUBLE
On Monday morning during first period, the office aide delivered the referral slip.
Nothing like starting off a new week with a trip to see the principal. And even though Hannah had half expected it, she'd also wished that the episode with Miss Dialander would just blow over like bad service at a restaurant: the food would be so good that the lousy waitress who talked too much, wore too much perfume, and brought mustard instead of ketchup, would be long forgotten.
Fat chance. Not with her luck lately. The problem was, Hannah figured, she was definitely not the next Picasso, so Miss Dialander had nothing to lose by holding her to the fire.
As she entered the front office, the secretary was nowhere in sight and Principal Wayward's door was ajar. Hannah peeked inside. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and with a clap of his feet to the floor he slapped down the lid on his computer, told her to come in, and rolled away from his desk.
Button eyes in a corner of the room watched Principal Wayward's every move.
Lymas, a Scarlet Chested Parakeet, was the companion Wayward brought to work with him every day. The bird's flashy potpourri of coloring—lime green, cotton candy blue, lemon yellow, all complimented by a cherry-infused tuxedo—reminded Hannah of a rainbow snow cone mix. Every day, the critter would hitch a ride to school on the principal's shoulder and then perch from eight to five on the branch of a Ficas tree. Lymas was known to be moody, and it was rumored he had a nasty mouth.
Last spring, Eliza had been summoned to Principal Wayward's office for French-kissing her boyfriend in front of visiting elementary students in the library, and she claimed to have heard the parakeet utter the granddaddy cussword of them all—the phrase that started with an "f" and ended with "you."
"Ah, Miss Bailey," the principal said. "I've been expecting you."
Lymas chimed in. "Hannah," he said in a robotic voice, as if correcting his owner.
Principal Wayward ignored him, gesturing toward a pair of seats, one of which he plopped down into.
"Well, now," he crossed his legs, "how are things going?"
"Fine." She smiled sweetly.
He'd always liked this girl. Known her since she was little. Good kid. Tough stuff that her father had passed away. Naturally, he'd known Vance Bailey—a real big financial supporter of the school. And the fact that her mother was a Senator was also not lost on him. He knew under these circumstances he had to put Hannah Bailey in her place, but not react too harshly. It was a balancing act, something he was used to. Not once in his thirty-year career had he ever benefitted from punishing a kid from this exclusive type of background too severely.
Parents were sensitive about their ducklings, particularly when the precious darlings came from the largest pond in the swamp.
"Now, Hannah, that's not what Miss Dialander said." His golf ball eyes appeared as if they were about to completely disrobe. "And," he elongated the word, "it's not like this is the first time you've visited my humble abode."
No response.
Hannah had learned from experience that in these types of scenarios it was best to say as little as possible. For two reasons, really. First, to avoid appearing overly anxious to justify her actions. Talking like an out of control fire hose just increased, in her mind, the odds of backing herself into a corner. And second, the art of playing dumb and not saying much—which was, by the way, something she'd practically mastered—would likely conjure up feelings of pity from the opposing party and make them more lenient in their sentencing.
In her experience, more talking generally equaled more trouble.
"Tell me what happened, Hannah."
So much for the silent treatment.
He was going to force her to speak. Well, then, she'd make him wring it out of her, like squeezing water out of a drenched towel. Which was not fun. And it was practically impossible to extract everything out of it.
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"I think you do." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, a move she knew might intimidate others… but it only made her want to laugh. When he assumed his so-called serious look, his peppered brows, strung together by a thong of wayward hairs, looked like fuzzy caterpillars doing push-ups.
Hannah sucked her cheeks into her teeth to keep from giggling. Focus, she told herself, you don't want to make him more cross than he already is.
"I guess she got angry." Her lips meshed together and then released before adding, "So did I."
"Did you apologize?"
"Yes."
"Was it sincere?"
"Kind of."
"Were you disrespectful?"
"Maybe." She hesitated before adding, "A little." No point in accepting every single morsel of the blame.
"Well, you know we can't have you acting like that to a teacher. I expect a written apology submitted to her by the end of the day. And please give me a copy."
She nodded.
"And you behave from now on," he said sternly. "Let's have a nice senior year, and that way you can coast to the finish line."
"Bite me." It was Lymas from his corner.
Hannah gasped and immediately bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
Principal Wayward was not pleased.
"Hush, Lymas," he scolded, "don't talk like that."
The animal swiveled his neck toward its owner. "Bite me," he repeated.
Wayward awkwardly cleared his throat as though needing to remove some phlegm from his sinuses. "Um, yeah, well that's all for now, Hannah. Thanks for coming in." He obviously wanted her out of there before Lymas said it again. He shooed her out of the doorway like a homeowner getting rid of a stray cat. "Have a good day now. And don't you forget that apology…"
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Mr. Wayward?"
He looked up.
"I'm sorry for behaving so badly. I've just been a little on edge lately." She shrugged. "I guess with everything going on…"
Principal Wayward walked over to where she stood and briefly touched her arm. "Hannah, I hope you know how sorry we all are. I know it's been hard for you. If there's anything, anything at all I can do to help make things better for you, I'm here."
"Thanks, Mr. Wayward."
"Now you head on back to class."
She nodded.
As Hannah left, she thought she heard Lymas say "Screw You."
CHAPTER 14—DATE
The glass-paned office door etched with diagonal, crisscrossed lines slammed behind her.
Whew, was she glad to be out of there. The place had always reminded her of a prison.
Without so much as a glance back, Hannah took off down the empty hallway when all of a sudden a hand grabbed her shoulder.
It startled her, and she wheeled around so fast that Alexander didn't have time to stop before his body smacked right into hers.
It stunned them both and, for a brief moment as their bodies collided, everything shifted into slow motion. Except for his dancing eyes.
Alexander hadn't meant to scare her, but he was nevertheless pleased with the close encounter. The mounds of her breasts against his chest had quickened his heartbeat and shortened his breaths. She enamored him, engrossed him. Enticed him.
Hannah felt it too. His taut body sent shivers along her spine, and his smell reminded her of the men's perfume counter at Macys. She couldn't help but feel small and vulnerable standing next to all six and a half feet of him.
But his grin quickly faded when she pushed hard up against his chest. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
Although she'd enjoyed being so near to him, she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
"I could ask the same of you," he said. My goodness, this girl is moody, he thought.
"Well, that's an easy one. I've—" she had to catch her breath, "—been to see the principal."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, I visit him to get weekly updates on his parakeet."
"That's funny," Alexander replied, "I thought the referral said you were in trouble."
Color rushed into her cheeks. "You sure have nerve, Russia."
"About as much nerve as you have attitude," he countered.
He loved this battle of wits they seemed to play every time they ran into each other.
"Actually," he said self-assuredly, "I came to find you. To ask you out." He stepped toward her, and then added, "On a date."
Hannah folded her arms and puffed out air between her lips in a "Pffh" sound. "That's not going to happen," she said, retreating away from him. But after only a few steps, her back slammed against a wall of lockers, and the sudden realization that she had nowhere to escape to made her feel like a teapot on a burner left on high.
"What, are you afraid?" He moved in.
"Most certainly not. And, just for the record," she glared, "I'm not afraid of anything. I just don't date guys like you."
"And guys like me are…?"
"Arrogant. Self-absorbed. They think every girl on Earth is madly in love with them."
"Really." He smiled. He'd raised one arm and propped it up against the wall above her, so that his body was kitty-corner to hers and their hips were almost touching.
God, he was like a magnet. And for some reason, the closer he got, the closer she wanted him.
"Yes, really," she said, with a little less defiance than she intended.
"Well, I think it's just a cover."
"A cover?"
"Because you're too scared."
"That's absurd and you know it." She straightened her posture and played chicken with his stealthy gaze. "Nothing scares me."
"Then go out with me."
"No."
"You're afraid."
"I am not."
"Then do it."
"Maybe I will."
"Good. I'll call you."
"I said maybe."
"Maybe means yes in my book."
"Fine. Have it your way. Do you want my number?"
"Don't bother," he said nonchalantly. "I'll look it up in the office."
Hannah stood there half-stunned and half-excited, and still not entirely sure about what just happened.
But as Alexander walked away, she realized, with an unexpected surge of satisfaction, that she was actually looking forward to the face-off.
CHAPTER 15—MYSTERY
It was the weirdest thing. Hannah thought she was just seeing things, but it wasn't like she had bad eyesight. She had perfect vision—better than twenty-twenty, in fact—at least with her contacts in. Not that she wasn't blind as a bat without them, but hey, she knew what she saw when she saw it.
And nothing could quite convince her that she had imagined it…
Without question, she most definitely didn't believe in paranormal experiences. She was a practical, normal, God-fearing girl who believed in heaven and hell, but not anything crazy like ghosts or witches or tiny leprechauns that hung out at the end of rainbows.
At least that's what she always had believed about herself, and what she always liked to think was true.
But after the latest incident, she wasn't sure what she believed anymore.
It was a week after she'd agreed to go on a date with Alexander. Marie had texted Hannah to stop by the grocery store after school and pick up some ingredients for dinner. When Hannah pulled into the parking lot, she noticed Alexander's car already there. A twitter of excitement swirled in her belly. She had talked to him a few times since they'd agreed to go on the date, but he had a different class schedule than hers, and their paths rarely intersected during the course of a normal school day. Unless, of course, he filled out an office referral slip—which he'd already done a couple of times just to get a few minutes alone with her.
Hannah pulled her vehicle into an empty spot next to his and rushed inside the supermarket to see if she could find him, ignoring the people panhandling for food and money outside the store.
Inside, white-tiled floors were filled with metal carts, commandeered by women whose hands juggled between driving the thing and containing three-year-old escape artists, all while clutching a smoothed-out grocery list rescued from the gum-riddled bottom of a purse. Determined—almost pained—looks were carved across many of their faces as they attempted to locate items for the evening's dinner while wrestling with Johnny-Snot-Nose. One little boy Hannah passed by was balling his eyes out with a half-eaten, half-melted candy bar in his chubby little hand.
For once, Hannah was glad she didn't have any siblings.
The scene was a rat race, everyone anxious to get the goods and get the hell out.
Basket in tote, Hannah clipped along at a fast pace, glancing up and down each aisle in an attempt to locate Alexander. She covered the whole store twice—even knocked on the door of the men's restroom—but she still couldn't find him. Frustrated, she settled for a few samples of cinnamon rolls in the bakery and then headed to fetch the spices for Marie's meatloaf, when she finally spotted him at the far end of the produce section. His back was to her, and he was holding something in his hands.
She called out to him, but he didn't seem to hear her.
For some reason—she couldn't entirely explain why—she tucked herself behind a nearby end cap and just watched him.
His fitted gray sweater and black slacks outlined every lithe contour of his body—a debonair look Hannah was certain would qualify him for the cover of GQ. His graceful limbs—effortlessly moving from the pineapples to the green peppers—reminded her of those on a dancer's body. Only he didn't seem entirely interested in the produce. She could tell his attention was focused on his cell phone.
