want to know badly enough to find out, because he backed off and returned to the street lamp.
Joan Foster came running out of her apartment, looking frazzled and weary. “Jeremy, are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine, Mom.” He smiled up at Amanda. “Can you really beat him up?”
She couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Yes, I can.”
His expression went serious. “Will you teach me?”
Joan caught a gasp in her throat. “Jeremy, no.”
Amanda looked from mother to son. “Why, Jeremy?”
“So they don’t hit my mom anymore.” He gazed up at her, the look in his eyes far too old for his years. “I don’t like it when they hit my mom.”
Amanda and Joan locked gazes and the woman’s fear grew thick and dense between them. “Yes, Jeremy, I’ll teach you,” Amanda said. “I’ll teach you both.”
Jeremy smiled and hugged her leg.
Startled, Amanda wasn’t sure what to do. Stiff and unfamiliar, she patted him on the shoulder.
“Thank you for protecting my son, Amanda.” Joan extended her hand and clasped Amanda’s.
Inside her fist was a note. “Of course,” Amanda said, taking it.
Joan looped an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders and they walked back into the apartment.
Amanda palmed the scrap of paper and went inside, wondering where the hell she could go to read Joan’s note in privacy. If she ran to the bath, which appeared to be unmonitored, after every encounter or interaction with Joan, the men minding the monitors would pick up on it. She needed a second safe place. When she toed off her sneakers near the bed, she found one. She kicked them under the edge of the bed.
Hoping whoever was supposed to be coming to talk with her would be a little more late than he already was, she waited twenty minutes, then pulled a fake search of the apartment for her shoes. She checked inside and out, the closet, the bath, and then “remembered” taking them off at the bed.
She looked under the bed, saw no cameras or devices. “Great.”
Crawling on her belly, she slid under, grunted, pretending to stretch for her sneakers, and unfolded the note. The lighting was awful, but just enough that she could make out the words.
Thank you for protecting Jeremy.
Mark is alive. The entire compound is under constant surveillance. There are a few safe zones the camera doesn’t reach. At 5:00 p.m., come and ask me to take a walk. I’ll show you.
They go through the trash. Eat this note.
Chapter 7
A manda discreetly watched the clock. Promptly at 5:00 p.m., she walked out the front door, cut across the lawn to Joan Foster’s door and knocked.
Joan answered, wearing jeans, a yellow sleeveless top and sneakers. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and clipped at her nape. “Yes?”
“Hi,” Amanda said. “I want to go for a walk. Being inside has me edgy. But I don’t know where I can and can’t go. I was hoping maybe you could spare a few minutes to show me.”
“I suppose I could.” Joan’s knuckles were white from the tight grip she held on the edge of the door. “Wait here while I tell Rosalita. She helps me with Jeremy.”
The older woman had come to Joan’s about one o’clock that afternoon, dressed in a gray maid’s uniform. Amanda’s nerves had been like live wires all day. Hour after hour she’d been armchair investigating from the apartment, waiting andwaiting and waiting, but the guards had been wrong. No one had shown up to tell her anything, though the guards posted on the front sidewalk had switched every two hours. They hadn’t budged long enough to give her a chance to slip away and do any serious reconnaissance.
Joan came out and closed the door. They stepped off the stoop and walked to the sidewalk. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, and the pavement felt hot through Amanda’s shoes.
When they got close to the guard, a burly guy with a severe overbite, Joan paused to speak with him. “I’m going to show Captain West where she is and isn’t permitted to
Joan Foster came running out of her apartment, looking frazzled and weary. “Jeremy, are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine, Mom.” He smiled up at Amanda. “Can you really beat him up?”
She couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Yes, I can.”
His expression went serious. “Will you teach me?”
Joan caught a gasp in her throat. “Jeremy, no.”
Amanda looked from mother to son. “Why, Jeremy?”
“So they don’t hit my mom anymore.” He gazed up at her, the look in his eyes far too old for his years. “I don’t like it when they hit my mom.”
Amanda and Joan locked gazes and the woman’s fear grew thick and dense between them. “Yes, Jeremy, I’ll teach you,” Amanda said. “I’ll teach you both.”
Jeremy smiled and hugged her leg.
Startled, Amanda wasn’t sure what to do. Stiff and unfamiliar, she patted him on the shoulder.
“Thank you for protecting my son, Amanda.” Joan extended her hand and clasped Amanda’s.
Inside her fist was a note. “Of course,” Amanda said, taking it.
Joan looped an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders and they walked back into the apartment.
Amanda palmed the scrap of paper and went inside, wondering where the hell she could go to read Joan’s note in privacy. If she ran to the bath, which appeared to be unmonitored, after every encounter or interaction with Joan, the men minding the monitors would pick up on it. She needed a second safe place. When she toed off her sneakers near the bed, she found one. She kicked them under the edge of the bed.
Hoping whoever was supposed to be coming to talk with her would be a little more late than he already was, she waited twenty minutes, then pulled a fake search of the apartment for her shoes. She checked inside and out, the closet, the bath, and then “remembered” taking them off at the bed.
She looked under the bed, saw no cameras or devices. “Great.”
Crawling on her belly, she slid under, grunted, pretending to stretch for her sneakers, and unfolded the note. The lighting was awful, but just enough that she could make out the words.
Thank you for protecting Jeremy.
Mark is alive. The entire compound is under constant surveillance. There are a few safe zones the camera doesn’t reach. At 5:00 p.m., come and ask me to take a walk. I’ll show you.
They go through the trash. Eat this note.
Chapter 7
A manda discreetly watched the clock. Promptly at 5:00 p.m., she walked out the front door, cut across the lawn to Joan Foster’s door and knocked.
Joan answered, wearing jeans, a yellow sleeveless top and sneakers. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and clipped at her nape. “Yes?”
“Hi,” Amanda said. “I want to go for a walk. Being inside has me edgy. But I don’t know where I can and can’t go. I was hoping maybe you could spare a few minutes to show me.”
“I suppose I could.” Joan’s knuckles were white from the tight grip she held on the edge of the door. “Wait here while I tell Rosalita. She helps me with Jeremy.”
The older woman had come to Joan’s about one o’clock that afternoon, dressed in a gray maid’s uniform. Amanda’s nerves had been like live wires all day. Hour after hour she’d been armchair investigating from the apartment, waiting andwaiting and waiting, but the guards had been wrong. No one had shown up to tell her anything, though the guards posted on the front sidewalk had switched every two hours. They hadn’t budged long enough to give her a chance to slip away and do any serious reconnaissance.
Joan came out and closed the door. They stepped off the stoop and walked to the sidewalk. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, and the pavement felt hot through Amanda’s shoes.
When they got close to the guard, a burly guy with a severe overbite, Joan paused to speak with him. “I’m going to show Captain West where she is and isn’t permitted to
Similar Books
