See Jane Run

by Hannah Jayne

  She cracked the seal and drank gratefully.

  Finally, “Thank you. For…everything.”

  JD grinned despite his previous veneer. “Hey, thank you. I’m always looking for a little adventure in my life.”

  Riley folded herself forward, tucking her head between her legs and rolling the water bottle over the back of her neck. “If I ever ask for adventure in my life ever again, promise you’ll shoot me.”

  “Will do.”

  She popped her head back up as the car slowed down and scanned the horizon. “Where are we?”

  Branches thunked against the rooftop and gravel popped under the tires until JD pushed the car into park. “Nowhere. Just an old frontage road. Seriously, Ry, what is going on with you?”

  She swallowed hard. “Someone tried to attack me last night.”

  “It seems like someone tried to attack you just now.”

  Riley gritted her teeth. “I think someone is following me. I think someone is—is trying to hurt me. For revenge.” It sounded as crazy in her mind as it did out of her mouth.

  “And this has to do with Jane?”

  Riley perked up. “Jane. You said you found Jane’s brother, Tim.”

  Jane and Tim O’Leary were two separate entities to Riley. She wasn’t Jane O’Leary and this whole thing wasn’t happening.

  “Maybe. I mean, at least someone claiming to be her brother.”

  Riley’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t want to be Jane. She didn’t want to be Jane with a brother. Tim flashed in her eyes—his blue eyes that nearly matched hers, his strawberry blond hair just a few shades darker.

  I can’t believe a stranger over my own parents. They only lied to me to keep me safe—because they had to.

  “Why do you say someone claiming to be her brother? I mean, why would someone claim that?”

  JD shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants Jane’s money or there’s an inheritance or something.”

  Riley thought of her nice home, her parents’ nice cars. They were comfortable, but they weren’t rich. At least not rich enough to lie over.

  “Who knows? People pretend to be other people for all sorts of crazy-ass reasons.”

  Her first instinct was negative, but now she wasn’t really sure.

  “So what did you find out about this Tim guy?”

  JD twisted in his seat and dug in his backpack. “This.”

  He hand Riley a curl-edged piece of printer paper, and Riley wished he hadn’t. She didn’t recognize the web address, but she recognized the picture—it was the man from the mall.

  Riley read the message. “Looking for my sister JANE E. O’LEARY. Missing since June 1996 from/around Granite Cay, Oregon.” There was a number to call and a smattering of vaguely recognizable clues: Has blue eyes. Probably red to light red hair.

  Riley’s throat went immediately dry. She thought of her parents, of Tim, cruising by her in the blue sedan.

  “I don’t think this is right,” she said, letting the paper flutter to the floor. “Where did you find it again?”

  “Just ran some searches. It’s weird; it was the only thing I found on her.”

  Riley nodded, certain she had upturned every Internet stone. “Tim” wasn’t her brother.

  Maybe Tim was Alastair?

  The thought made her blood run cold.

  Shelby’s ringtone blared through the silent cab.

  “Hey,” Shelby yelled into the phone, “where are you?”

  Riley swallowed hard then took a swig from her water bottle. “Uh, I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Duh, dork, I was sitting in class with you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You left all your stuff.”

  “I totally forgot.”

  “I picked up your jacket and backpack. Are you at home? You want me to swing it by?”

  “No!” She sat up straighter. “I mean, no, it’s OK, you don’t have to do that. I’m not home—”

  “I can bring it by later. School just got out. Where are you? And if you’re off on some mysterious sexcapade, I’m stealing your jacket and throwing your backpack in the dumpster. Well, I’m stealing your jacket, your trig homework, your lip gloss, and your emergency twenty, but then I’m ditching the rest.”

  “How did you know about my emergency twenty bucks?”

  “Everyone is supposed to have an emergency twenty, Ry. You’re the only person I know who actually does. Where are you again?”

  Riley chewed the inside of her lip and scanned her surroundings, as if something appropriate to tell Shelby would sprout out of the sunbaked earth.

  “The doctor.”

  Riley had never lied to Shelby before, and now the word tasted sour in her mouth.

  “Oh.” Shelby’s voice immediately took on the parental edge she used when babysitting her siblings. “Is it serious?”

  Guilt welled in Riley’s gut. “No—no. I think I might have just gotten some kind of flu or food poisoning or something. Would you mind just hanging on to my backpack and coat for the night?” She went back to tracing the stitch line on her jeans. “The way I’m feeling, it’s not like I’ll be doing any homework anyway.”

  That wasn’t a lie.

  “Yeah, no problem. But seriously, I’m wearing this jacket. And I might borrow your backpack too. Yours doesn’t have any food stains on it.”

  “Fine, but if it smells like Ruffles when I get it back…”

  Riley clicked the phone shut, feeling half relaxed and comfortable, half a horrible friend for lying to Shelby and making her schlep her stuff home.

  JD sat up. “We should probably be getting back.”

  Riley felt herself frown. “Already?”

  “School’s out. Don’t your parents have some sort of tracking device on you once the bell rings?”

  “Very funny.” Riley knew that if she didn’t come home immediately, her parents would be calling, wondering, panicked—and that made her want to stay out.

  “Didn’t you say something about a pizza?”

  JD had just steered the car onto the road when the calls started. Riley looked at the readout: MOM. The word throbbed there, dancing to the electronic ringtone. Mrs. O’Leary…

  JD jutted his chin toward the phone in Riley’s hand. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  Riley closed her eyes and her mother flashed in her mind. In a second, her image was gone and a minute angry flame flared up. If they had just told me the truth…

  “No.” She smiled at JD across the seat, feeling mysterious and dangerous and comfortable. The blue sedan pricked at the edges of her mind, but Riley didn’t want to think about it. She only wanted to think about being there in the cab of JD’s car, where she was a normal kid playing hooky.

  JD flipped on his blinker, heading toward the school.

  “Is your car in the lot?”

  Riley froze. “No, actually, I got a ride this morning.”

  “No big, I’ll drop you off at home.”

  Dread welled up inside her. “At home? No, you don’t have to do that.” She was already in more trouble than she could fathom; coming home with JD might push her parents completely over the edge.

  “So, what? Bus station? Want to grab another train and see where it takes us?” He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was playful. “Although I don’t know any buses or trains that go all the way out to the Blackwood Hills Estates.”

  Riley pinched her top lip. “How do you know where I live?”

  JD shifted his weight, and the car seemed to slide into a higher gear. He zeroed in on the road in front of him while Riley zeroed in on his right ear. “You told me earlier,” he said nonchalantly.

  Riley tried to replay all the conversations she’d had with JD over the past week, but they jumbled and swirled with the stern look of her father and the nervou
s words of her mother. Did I tell him where I lived?

  She glanced at JD’s profile once more, a tiny niggle of fear creeping up the back of her neck.

  No, she commanded. Stop being paranoid.

  “How about you just drop me off up at the gate? It takes forever once you get into the development.”

  JD smoothly made the turn onto the road that led to the estates. “It’s no problem. No one’s expecting me home or anything.”

  Riley felt herself shift over on her seat, putting an extra quarter inch of distance between herself and JD. He chose that moment to glance over at her, at the shift of her body. The hurt was evident in his eyes.

  “It’s not like I’m trying to kidnap you.”

  “I didn’t mean—I mean, what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”

  She could almost see the cogs working in JD’s head. He leaned in as if to say something, thought better of it, and stepped on the gas. When they arrived at the wrought-iron gates of the Blackwood Hills Estates, Riley put her hand on the door handle the second JD slowed.

  “This is fine. Thanks.” She opened the door before he could protest, before he could turn down the street that led to Riley’s house.

  Riley jogged toward her house, not bothering to look over her shoulder to see whether or not JD was still parked at the gate. Her sneakers smacked against the concrete, the soft thuds echoing through the empty street as a slow, steady drizzle started overhead. As she rounded the corner to her house, Riley pinched her eyes closed, hoping against hope that when she opened them, everything would be back to normal: her front yard would still be a rocky, muddy mess with the orange spray-painted outline of where her mom intended to plant birch trees and lay sod, the driveway and sidewalks would be pristine and empty—no stray cars, no flashing lights, no cops waiting just inside the door. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of the street, raindrops breaking on her head and dribbling in rivulets into her eyes. But even through the blur of rainwater, Riley could see that nothing was the same—her once welcoming house now looked foreign and strange, the windows her mother had decorated with frilly lace curtains were gray and ominous as blurred shadows walked jerkily in front of them. Two strange cars were parked out front.

  Her cell phone chirped.

  “I’m right outside, Dad,” Riley muttered into it.

  She strode up the walk and sucked in a sharp breath, the icy air lancing her lungs and making them ache.

  “Hey,” Riley said softly.

  Her mother rushed across the room and gathered Riley into her arms, hugging her tightly. The act should have been comforting—mother loving daughter—but it struck a cold fear in Riley. She shook her mother off and then immediately regretted it, noticing the heavy bags and redness underneath her eyes.

  “Where have you been?”

  “School,” Riley said with a shrug.

  Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “This late?”

  “I had to make up for being late this morning.”

  The tension in the room seemed to drop down a notch.

  “How was school?” her father wanted to know.

  Riley wanted to laugh. Her mother just gave her her normal after-school hug. Her father asked how her day was, like he did pretty much every other day of Riley’s life.

  But it wasn’t Riley’s life anymore. All three of them were actors playing a role. All three pretending, trying to fool the other, trying to deceive each other into this façade of regular, suburban, tract-home life.

  Riley’s ears pricked when she heard male and female voices in low, murmured conversation in the next room.

  “Who’s that? Who’s here?”

  Her father paled. Her mother pressed her lips together in what Riley was beginning to recognize as her “we’re really sorry to tell you this” smile.

  “That’s Gavin Hempstead and Gail Thorpe.” Her mother let the statement stand as though Riley had heard the names before, as though that was all the explanation she’d need.

  “OK, but who are they and why are they here?”

  Mrs. Spencer turned away and Riley was sure she saw tears rimming in her mother’s bottom lashes.

  “Gail is an FBI agent and Gavin is a U.S. Marshal. They’re helping us out.”

  Riley’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Helping us out? Why do we need help? We’re in the Witness Protection Program, we live here, I’m not Jane O’Leary. End of story, right? It’s not like I told anyone.” She could hear the tinny desperation in her own voice, but Riley kept talking, trying to convince her parents, or herself, that everything was fine.

  “Detective Thorpe is worried that there may have been some breaches in our security.”

  Riley plopped down on the couch, her head spinning. Breaches in security? Had that really come out of my dad’s mouth?

  “What does that mean? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Riley—” Her mother had her hand on her shoulder when the door that separated the kitchen from the living room swung open. Gail Thorpe came out first, looking nothing like the toned FBI agents Riley knew from television. She was slightly stout with hair somewhere between stone-gray and brown that was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun pinned at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a skirt suit, but the jacket was slightly ill-fitting and the skirt—not pencil thin or thigh high—was boxy and knee length. Instead of stilettos, Agent Thorpe wore brown loafers with thick rubber soles. Riley was so busy scrutinizing Agent Thorpe—who came toward Riley with an extended hand and a friendly smile, that she almost didn’t notice the man coming out of the kitchen behind her.

  “Nice to meet you Riley, I’m Agent Thorpe, but please call me Gail. And this”—she turned to gesture and Riley stood stone still, feeling her veins fill with cement—“is U.S. Marshal Hempstead.”

  Mr. Hempstead nodded at Gail then brushed in front of her, offering Riley a hand.

  But Riley didn’t move.

  He looked different, somehow, standing in her living room. The man from the train station. He broke into a soft grin while Riley stared, but all she could see was his hard eyes drilling into her at the hospital. The insistent way he asked for her name in the street. How he said he was a doctor.

  “Riley,” her mother said in a half whisper, “stop staring, you’re being rude.”

  “That’s OK,” Gavin said, his hand dropping to his side. “I’m sure this is a lot for Riley to take in.” He didn’t break eye contact or mention that they had previously met. Riley wondered if his gaze was a silent promise or a warning.

  Riley shifted her weight from foot to foot and forced herself to mumble, “Hello.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Riley?” Gail asked.

  Over the last twelve hours, Riley realized she hated those words. Nothing positive ever came out of an adult telling a kid to “sit down.” She looked from her parents to Gail, and the gray static in her head started up again. She pressed her hands over her ears.

  “I don’t want to know.”

  Her father’s large hand circled over Riley’s wrist, making hers look like a child’s. “You have to, turnip. It’s important.”

  Riley knew her eyes were glassy. She blinked furiously. “Why are they here?”

  Her mother’s sharp intake of breath cut through the static in her head. “Actually, hon, Agent Thorpe—Gail—and Mr. Hempstead want to help us.”

  Riley’s knees buckled and she flopped onto the couch. “Want to help us how?”

  Mr. Hempstead perched on the arm of the couch and stared Riley down. His face was relaxed, not unkind, but still it shot ice water down her spine.

  From the wing chair across the room, Gail cleared her throat.

  “Do you know what a U.S. Marshal is?”

  Riley blinked, already on edge, already annoyed at the patronizing sound of Gail’s voice.


  “Of course I know what a marshal is.”

  “I am a supervisory deputy U.S. Marshal. I’ve been helping you and your parents for the past fourteen years.”

  “Let me get you another cup of coffee, Gail.” Riley’s mother stood up, and Gail followed right behind her.

  “Oh, Nadine, I can do that.”

  Riley swung her head from her mother to her father, and then up at Deputy Hempstead. She felt like a stranger in her own living room, like the sole audience member of an incredibly bizarre play.

  “So you’ve always known him?” Riley asked her father. “And her?”

  “I’ve only just met Deputy Hempstead and your parents.” It was Gail now, addressing Riley as she walked in through the swinging kitchen door. Riley hated Gail’s familiarity with her house, with her family. When Gail and the deputy shared respectful acknowledgment, Riley kind of wanted to vomit. But she swallowed hard instead, focusing on a scuff mark on the wall across from her.

  “Gavin has handled our case since the beginning. Dad checks in with him every month.”

  “Wait—he’s handled our case?” Riley knew her lips moved, but she wasn’t sure that any sound actually came out.

  “Our family,” her father corrected.

  Could we even be called that?

  “I was in charge of getting you settled, getting your new identities, and keeping all of you”—his dark eyes scanned across the three of them—“safe.”

  Riley blinked and blinked. Gavin’s smile was familiar—and it was genial and friendly—but she couldn’t help but see something sinister in the grin, something evil in his eyes.

  He was a liar.

  They were all liars.

  And now they were forcing her to be one.

  TWELVE

  Riley zoned in and out while the adults talked over her head. At some point, her mother started cooking and Riley set the dining room table with extra plates for Gail and the deputy. Her mother served spaghetti, and everyone sat around making ridiculous small talk about weather and sports scores.

  Riley’s cell phone started to blare out Shelby’s ringtone, a spastic circus beat cutting through the white noise in the room. Deputy Hempstead, Riley’s parents, and Gail all stared at the thing as though it were a bomb. Riley snatched it up and thumbed it to silent.