See Jane Run

by Hannah Jayne

  “I hate you,” she said louder. “I hate you.” She thought of Shelby, of her own terror, of all that had happened. Her blood was liquid fire. “I HATE YOU!” Riley grabbed the shard of glass out of her pocket, not caring when it sliced into her flesh. “I hate you,” she screamed, sinking the glass into Tim’s thigh.

  He howled, his hands scrambling to get a grip on the glass, and Riley ran.

  She was shivering when she reached her parents. Her teeth were chattering, and all the pain from her injuries crashed together at once as Gail and the police pushed ahead of them, advancing on Tim.

  “I don’t hate you,” Riley was crying. “I don’t. Please don’t leave me behind.”

  NINETEEN

  Riley picked at the tape spread across the back of her hand.

  “He was just a kid—nine, ten. According to Alistair, Timmy was his grandnephew. He was the youngest by far, and occasionally, he would come home with Mom and me. We were like a little family in some respects, but we always knew—or thought—that he had a family back in Ireland. And Alistair…”

  Mrs. Spencer piped in. “When the deputy marshal came for us, we tried to take Timmy, but we had no legal grounds to. We had to go into hiding and he was someone else’s kid. It broke our hearts, but it was the right thing to do. The government assured us he was out of Alistair’s reach and would be on his way back to his family.”

  Riley looked up at her parents and frowned. “I almost feel kind of sorry for him. He had all these pictures of us together, and he was living in our old house.”

  “There’s something wrong with him, turnip. But he’s going to get the help that he needs.”

  Riley looked away, her eyes flitting over the bouquets on the desk. There were at least a half dozen, some done up in Hawthorne High colors, others with cartoony cards begging her to get well soon. They were from friends she would never see again.

  “So, when do we leave?”

  Mr. Spencer took Riley’s free hand and patted it softly. “Tomorrow, probably. Maybe as early as tonight if all goes well.”

  Riley blinked back tears. “OK.”

  “Turnip! I thought you would be happy to get out of here and go home.”

  “Home where?”

  He squeezed her hand. “We’re not going anywhere, Ry. Not for a long, long time.”

  She sucked in a breath. “What are you talking about?”

  Riley’s mother stepped forward, hugging her elbows. “When you went missing, we had to put an all-points bulletin out. It—you—were just too important. We weren’t going to listen to what the marshals said. We needed to get you back.” She smiled softly.

  “It worked like a charm! Alistair stuck his neck out.”

  “What your father is saying is that Alistair turned up, and the FBI were able to arrest him.”

  Riley’s stomach started to flutter. “Like, forever, or just for a few months?”

  Her father nodded. “The charges are going to stick, turnip. We don’t have to hide anymore. We can’t! Your face has been plastered on every television screen and telephone pole in a sixty-mile radius.”

  Riley narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t use a dumb picture, did you?”

  Mr. Spencer grinned down at her. “The dumbest!”

  She was about to respond when the hospital room door burst open. “Hey!” Shelby, dressed in a flimsy hospital gown and wheeling an IV, stood in the doorway, gaping at Riley in her hospital bed.

  Riley’s father jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Did we tell you Shelby is feeling better?”

  “Come on, Glen,” Riley’s mother said, threading her arm through his. “Let’s give the girls some time to talk.”

  Riley felt slightly uncomfortable seeing her parents in the doorway. “You’re leaving us alone?”

  Her father shrugged. “You’re attached to an IV. How far can you go?”

  Shelby hopped up on the end of Riley’s bed then wriggled over for a hug.

  “I was so worried about you! I mean, after I woke up I was. But my God, with medical technology what it is, you’d think they could have woken me up or patched me in or something.”

  Riley just laughed at her friend.

  “Nothing exciting ever happens here. And when it does, I’m in a freaking coma.”

  “Shelbs, there is nothing medical technology can do for you when you’re in a coma—you sleep like the dead anyway. I practically have to use a blow horn to wake you up after trig.”

  Shelby produced a SweeTart from somewhere and popped it into her mouth. “That’s only because trig is a natural sedative.”

  “And you know what? I would have gladly traded places with you and slept through this whole lousy ordeal.”

  Shelby held her thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “It wasn’t even the teensiest bit exciting?”

  “If you call being stalked by a guy claiming to be your brother exciting.”

  Shelby puckered her lips, pouting. “I guess not. But what about JD? Wasn’t he, like, your partner in crime? I mean, only after I was otherwise indisposed.”

  Riley swallowed hard. She hadn’t thought about JD since she’d been admitted and wasn’t sure she wanted to now.

  “I don’t know about, JD, Shelbs. I thought he was my friend, I thought he was on my side. But…”

  But what had Tim said?

  “Well, you can ask him which side he’s on then fit him for his Team Riley jersey right now.”

  “What?”

  Shelby pointed to the long glass window in the door, where JD was pacing outside, a huge bouquet in his hand.

  “I thought you hated JD.”

  “You see a lot of things differently when you’ve had a near-death experience, Ry. JD might be a good guy. I might be in love with a male nurse.”

  Riley rolled her eyes when Shelby hopped off the bed and sauntered out of the room, her IV squeaking along behind her.

  Riley heard JD and Shelby exchange pleasantries then his head popped through her door.

  “Do you mind if I come in?”

  Riley shifted in her bed. “No, it’s OK. Come on in.”

  JD stood at the foot of Riley’s bed, the two silent for a beat. Finally, JD held the flowers up. “I got you these,” he said, as if he just remembered them.

  Riley couldn’t help but smile. “They’re beautiful.”

  “I don’t have a vase or anything.” He paused, considering. “Riley, I wasn’t—”

  “Spying on me? I know, and I’m sorry. Everything was just so—”

  “Yeah, I know and—”

  “Right. I—he—Tim…” The name was bitter on her tongue. “He mentioned that you were there. Watching him while he was watching me. You chased him away.”

  Pink washed over JD’s cheeks and he looked at his feet. “I rang the doorbell. Not exactly the most heroic of actions.”

  Riley shrugged then immediately winced. “That’s still sore. As for the bell ringing? Whatever works, right? It distracted him.”

  “But he still got you.” There was genuine sadness in his eyes, and Riley softened.

  “So how did you end up in the house across the street?”

  JD grinned. “Changing the subject to get my mind off losing you? That’s my tactic.”

  There was a little flutter in Riley’s stomach when he said the words “losing you,” but she chalked it up to the green Jell-O they’d been shoving down her throat rather than anything else.

  “So?” she asked.

  “I was—I was living in that house.”

  “What? Why?”

  “My foster family kicked me out. I turned eighteen a few weeks ago, remember? No more kid, no more checks.”

  Riley struggled to sit up. “You don’t have foster parents. You said yourself, your parents have baby pictures of you all over the house.�
��

  JD suddenly became interested in Riley’s wall of flowers. “Wow. A lot of people love you, huh?”

  Riley grabbed his shirtsleeve. “JD.”

  He turned and offered a shy smile. “Wishful thinking about the wall of pictures. I never really knew either of my parents. Lived with my gram until I was five; then it was foster care after she died.”

  She nodded.

  “I didn’t know you lived in that neighborhood when I got there, honestly.”

  “But you had binoculars.”

  JD swallowed hard. “I saw you when you were leaving for school one day. I realized it was you, not just some girl.”

  Riley tried to remain calm. “So you got the binoculars to stare at me specifically?”

  “No. I was skipping school, hanging out in the house, and I saw a car stopped in front of your place. It came after both of your parents left, and sometimes the guy would park there at night too. He was watching you.”

  She nodded, that nauseous feeling in her stomach again. “Tim.”

  “Yeah. I wish I would have called the police or something.”

  Riley forced a smile. “Remember that for next time.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” He cracked a half smile, but it immediately fell away. “So, when are you going?”

  Riley felt her brows rise. “Going?”

  He studied the palm of his hand. “To be someone else. Somewhere else.”

  She let out a long breath. “Um, I’m not.”

  JD looked up, and this time he was smiling. “You’re not?”

  “The one bright spot in trying to get me and my parents killed was that it brought out Alistair Foley, the guy who was after us.”

  “Alistair Foley?” JD looked impressed. “I read about that online. That case was huge. That was the guy who was after you?”

  Riley nodded. “Yeah, my dad used to work for him. My parents put my picture all over the place when I went missing. Apparently, he saw it and thought it would be a good idea to be part of the chase…or something.”

  There was a slight lump in her throat. Her parents had risked their lives to get her back. They had given up their location and plastered Riley’s face in public—after spending fourteen years in hiding. Alistair came out because of her—he came after her parents because of her. She felt her eyes starting to water.

  JD’s hand found hers. “Hey, you OK?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just—I don’t know, medication side effect or something.”

  JD nodded, sitting next to Riley on the bed. “I’m really glad that you don’t have to disappear again. Well, I’m really, really glad that you get to stay Riley Spencer.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  This time JD looked directly at her, lacing his fingers through hers. “Because I think I really, really like her.”

  EPILOGUE

  Riley Spencer and her kidnapping were old news. People whispered about the Spencers being in the Witness Protection Program but no one really believed it, and Riley was completely OK with that.

  “It’s almost dinnertime, turnip,” her father said, poking his head into her room.

  Riley smiled. The nickname “turnip” had never sounded so good. “I just need to start this paper, Dad. Then Shelby, JD, and I are going to go to the mall. I might bring Bryn from across the street.”

  Her father cocked an eyebrow. “Four of you at the mall at this hour?”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “It’s barely six and we’re going to a movie.”

  “I guess I can talk your mother into that.”

  “There’s no imminent threat anymore, Dad. You can loosen the reins.”

  “It’s still my job to keep my turnip safe.”

  Riley groaned and tossed a stuffed animal into the doorway her father just vacated. She pushed aside the framed picture of her parents chasing her as baby Riley—one or two at the most—took off on her tricycle.

  She opened her laptop and started her paper:

  My name is Riley Jane Spencer. I live in Crescent City, California, with my mom, who wears horrible, holiday-themed turtlenecks, and my dad, who does the worst impression of Jimmy Stewart ever. They are overprotective and completely embarrassing, but they’re my parents, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, many thanks to my brilliant editor Leah Hultenschmidt who knew how to get the best out of me with this one. Cat Clyne, Derry Wilkins, and the rest of the Sourcebooks gang, I couldn’t have found a better home—thanks for welcoming me. Amberly Finarelli, my incredible agent—we’re back together and now all is right with the world! Thanks to my family for their continued support, especially my brand new nephew Lowen Scott who had nothing to do with this book, but is irresistibly adorable.

  I can’t even begin to thank my best friend and constant support, Marina Adair, for listening to my plot problems, being my nurse because I’m a klutz, and checking in during deadlines to make sure I’m not dead. Joan Wendt, it all started with you and I plan to make good on every bar tab and Hawaiian vacation you’ve ever picked up. To the Rogue Writers: we’re one step closer to conquering the world!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Hannah Jayne is possibly the only person living in Silicon Valley who has never worked in high tech. When she’s not writing, she’s obsessively watching HGTV or shopping at Target, also obsessively. Find out more about Hannah’s urban fantasy, young adult thrillers, and latest obsessions at www.hannah-jayne.com.

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