style="font-size:15px;"> “It’s up to you. Tell them as much or as little as you think they need to know.”
“If I tell them too much, there’ll be eight Coopers on the next flight to Wyoming.”
“Tell them you met a nice doctor at the hospital and he’s taking you skiing in Jackson Hole.” Riley’s lips quirked. “A nice rich doctor. Don’t mothers love to hear stuff like that?”
“My mother can sniff out a lie faster than a bloodhound on a ’possum.”
He grinned at that. “So tell her you met a nice cop who took you home and has you locked in his spare bedroom.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s so much better.”
His soft laugh caught her by surprise. It was a great laugh, musical and fluid, though it sounded a bit rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in a while.
Maybe he hadn’t.
“Just tell her the truth,” he suggested, his laughter dying. “But don’t make it sound too scary. I’m pretty sure the guy who attacked you hasn’t yet connected you to me, so that should keep you safe while we see if we can put together all the pieces to our puzzle.”
Hannah glanced at the clock sitting on the bedside table. It read 5:30 a.m. “Is that clock right?”
Riley checked his watch. “Yes.”
It was an hour later in Alabama. Her parents would be up by now. She flipped open the cell phone he’d handed her and dialed her parents’ number.
Her mother answered, sounding sleepy. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mom, it’s me.”
“What’s wrong?”
Hannah smiled at her mother’s immediate leap to the worst possible conclusion. “Everything’s okay. I just wanted to let you know what’s happening.”
She caught her mother up to date on all that had happened, pausing now and then to allow her mother to catch her father up on all that she was saying. Feeling Riley’s gaze on her, she looked up to find him studying her with slightly narrowed eyes. His hands rested on the arms of the rocker, his fingers drumming softly on the polished wood, but it seemed more a nervous twitch than a sign of impatience.
“You need to be on the next plane instead of holed up under police protection,” her mother said firmly.
“I have almost a week left of my vacation, Mom. If I stick around, maybe something will trigger my memory—”
“You can trigger your memory in the safety of your own home,” Beth Cooper insisted. “Mike, talk to your daughter.”
“Mom—don’t…Hi, Dad.”
“You mother wants me to tell you to come home.” Her father’s gruff voice held a hint of weary amusement. “Of course, I know damned well you’re going to do whatever you want, just like you have since you were six years old. Can you just promise you’ll be careful?”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Now, can I talk to the policeman? Is he there with you now?”
Hannah’s eyes widened with alarm. “Come on, Daddy, you don’t need to talk to him—”
Across from her, one of Riley’s eyebrows ticked upward. “Your father wants to talk to me?”
“Is that him?” Mike Cooper asked. “Hand him the phone.”
With a deep sigh, Hannah held the phone out to Riley. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but trust me, it’s easier just to talk to him and get it over with.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
