What the teacher and the doctors didn’t know was that Alexa’s mother filled the amphetamine prescriptions, all right, but rather than give the medicine to her child, who needed it, she sold it on the street for $10 a pill. When you had a kid like Alexa, speed was easy to get, and even easier to sell.
What stung the most, though, was the nickname: The Handful. Alexa knew she was a bad girl and that she was always getting in trouble and that adults didn’t like her, not even the nice student aide who tried really hard to get along with all of the children.
But for Alexa’s own mother to turn against her, to give her such an awful nickname, to giggle over it in bed with a virtual stranger, not to mention with the latest teacher who hated her guts? That hurt more than anything.
That was betrayal, pure and simple.
At seven, Alexa had learned betrayal. Now, at 14, she kept wondering when these people were going to betray her too. She was their responsibility, yes. But was she really their friend? Though Alexa was deeply fond of Dr. Stebbins, her relationship with him was purely professional. Things were a little more relaxed with Dr. Stebbins’ wife, Nicole—including the fact that she had invited Alexa to call her by her first name the day they met—but she was still one more adult who had come into Alexa’s world after the stroke and the treatment, one more person who would eventually cash in on the medical miracle.
You can’t get something for nothing, her mother had always told her. These days, Alexa was still trying to figure out exactly how the “something” and the “nothing” fit into the picture of her coming here. Nicole and Dr. Stebbins and the old lady had all seemed to do so much for her without asking anything in return except the opportunity to study her, to teach her. It was a lot to cope with.
Hardest of all, though, was living with the fear that eventually it would come to an end.
By the time Jo finished answering questions for the police and got to the hospital, Bradford’s parents, his brother, and two cousins were all in the waiting room. According to them, Bradford was suffering from a number of broken bones and a punctured lung, and right now he was in surgery.
They asked Jo to explain exactly what had happened, but she left out a lot of the details as she talked, making it sound much simpler than it was—that she and Bradford had been waiting for the train to North Ulton, Jo lost her balance, and Bradford fell trying to save her.
His parents were bitter and angry, and at first Jo didn’t blame them. He was in there because of her, after all. But then she kept thinking that Bradford had started it by accepting money to marry her. Anything that came after was simply fallout from that act.
“Why couldn’t you just let it go?” Mrs. Quinn pleaded. “It’s over, Jo. When my son told you goodbye at the wedding, he meant it.”
Jo’s mouth flew open in a silent gasp.
“What are you talking about?” she said finally, once she’d found her voice.
“I’m sure you came up here to the city to chase after him and try to get back together again. But it wasn’t going to happen, Jo. He’s not the same person he was then.”
“First of all,” Jo replied, fighting to keep her voice steady, “your son has been chasing after me, not the other way around. I only agreed to see him today so that we could get some closure and he would leave me alone. His behavior toward me in the last few weeks has bordered on harassment.”
If possible, Mrs. Quinn seemed even angrier than Jo.
“Harassment? Why, you lying—”
“Mom. Mom!”
Both women turned to look at Bradford’s younger brother, Ty, the one who had served as best man at their almost-wedding. A laid back “surfer dude,” Ty was about as different in personality from Bradford as a brother could be—though equally as handsome. He was just 23, with blond hair that hung messily in his eyes and an easy gait that always reminded Jo of boys at the beach.
“Mom, Jo’s right. Bradford’s been weirding out on everybody lately. And we all know why.”
“Why?” Jo asked.
In response, Mrs. Quinn turned, closed her mouth, and simply walked away. Jo looked again at Ty, who pretended to take a swig from an invisible bottle.
“He’s developed a bit of a problem.”
Shocked, Jo sank into a chair and sat next to her almost brother-in-law.
“Alcohol? Bradford’s been drinking?”
“Whenever he can. I’ve been trying to get the family to do an intervention, but they’d rather pretend the problem doesn’t exist.”
Ty spoke loudly, trying to make a point to the relatives nearby. In response, they simply turned their backs and patently ignored him.
“See?” he continued, more softly. “If we don’t mention it, it’s not there. Par for the course with this crowd.”
Jo was surprised. When they were dating, Bradford often enjoyed a glass of wine or two with dinner, but she’d never seen him have more than that, and she’d certainly never seen him get drunk. Then again, maybe that was all a part of who he was pretending to be back then, to court her. Jo didn’t drink, so Bradford curtailed his consumption—at least when he was with her.
“How long has he had a problem?” she asked.
“It’s only been bad the last couple months,” Ty said, considering. “Actually, things have been going downhill for him in a lot of ways. After your failed wedding, he was demoted and transferred to Chicago. But he wasn’t happy there and he wanted to come back to New York, so after a few months he came back here, and went to work for one of the company’s subsidiaries instead. I guess the drinking got really serious once he realized what a piddly, dead-end job he’d landed himself in. More than anything, he wants to get back into your father’s good graces and return to the Bosworth fast track. He had it so good there for a while—until he walked out on you, actually.”
“If he has such a drinking problem, how is he holding down a job at all? He hadn’t been drinking when he showed up today.”
“Oh, he can pull it together when he wants to and seem fine. But right now he’s living on my couch, and I can guarantee you that the last time he made it through an entire day sober there was snow on the ground.”
Jo thought about that, feeling terribly sad. Bradford may have his character flaws, but he was without question smart and talented when it came to business. Had he not gone down such a deceitful path, he might have seen all of his dreams come true in the end.
“Almost every night,” Ty continues, “he sits around the apartment getting on my roommates’ nerves, cooking up conspiracy theories, and obsessing about you.”
“Me?”
“About winning you back. He keeps your engagement photo in his wallet, and he’s always pulling it out and looking at it and talking about how you were the best thing that ever happened to him. Considering how things have turned out, I’m not sure I’d agree. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Jo sat there for a while, thinking about all that Ty had said. Conspiracy theories? If not for the hand on Jo’s back, pushing her toward the train, she’d be tempted to believe that’s all today had been about—a theory. But that hand was real. Bradford’s injuries were real. And certainly whatever was behind all of it was real too.
“What sort of conspiracy theories?” Jo asked carefully.
Ty shrugged.
“Who pays attention? Secret deals, double crosses, corporate infighting—he’s got a real love/hate thing going for Bosworth Industries. I stopped listening a long time ago.”
Jo started to reply, but she was interrupted by the sight of the doctor, who was coming out to report on Bradford’s condition. As the family gathered around, he told them that Bradford had made it through surgery and was now in recovery. His prognosis was good, though they weren’t anticipating an easy road.
“Can we speak to him?” Bradford’s mother asked tearfully.
“Not right now,” the doctor replied. “We’ll be moving him up to intensive care when he gets out of recovery. You might want
to relocate up there.”
As they prepared to move upstairs, Jo decided to make her exit. She said a quick farewell to Ty, traded cell phone numbers with him, and headed for the door, so thankful that these people had not ended up being her in-laws after all. None of them tried to stop her. She had a feeling they were as happy to see her leave as she was to go.
Outside under the brightly lit awning, Jo inhaled deeply and tried to clear her head. Now that Bradford’s family was here to look after him, she could stop thinking about him for a moment and consider her own ongoing safety.
First she had received e-mails from a stranger, telling her she was in danger.
Then Bradford had told her she was in danger.
Finally, a hand, placed firmly on her back, had tried to push her into the path of an oncoming train.
Heart pounding, Jo suddenly felt, again, like a target. Who knew if the person who had pushed her was watching her now? Who knew how soon he or she might to try again to kill her? Shrinking back inside the entranceway, Jo hesitated, weighing her options. Then she turned around and went back into the hospital.
Avoiding the part of the waiting room where Bradford’s family was congregated, Jo passed through the emergency department and followed the signs down a long, wide hallway to the main hospital lobby. Once there, she saw that it was well lit and empty except for a security guard near the door and one person sitting behind the front desk, reading a magazine. Ignoring the posted notices about not using cell phones, Jo retreated to a quiet corner behind a water fountain and dialed her grandmother’s house. She had to go through two different people to get the woman on the phone, but once she heard her voice, tears sprang into Jo’s eyes. She felt a rush of something she couldn’t describe—relief, mixed with terror.
“Gran,” she said, trying not to sob. “It’s Jo. I need your help. Can you send a car to the city to get me?”
6
Alexa tucked the covers around the pillows, poking them here and shifting them there until she was satisfied that the lump in the bed looked like an actual person. Stepping back, she admired her work, trying to remember how long it had been since she was caught making her last escape. Three weeks? Four? Long enough that she was ready to try it again, albeit armed with better knowledge this time.
Ever since she got back to her room after her art therapy session, she had put the conversation with Nicole out of her mind and focused on the map of the estate that she had taken from the study. Nobody ever bothered her once she went to her room for the night, not even the maids, and with her door locked she had felt safe spreading out the map on her bed and taking her time plotting her route.
Just as she had hoped, it looked as though there was another way to get out of here. Along the far north wall of the fence, behind the stables, were several dotted lines indicating what looked like a gate. She had a feeling it was for bringing in horse trailers or hay trucks or something, but since there weren’t any horses currently living here—and probably hadn’t been for a while—the gate was more than likely overgrown to the point that she hadn’t even noticed it.
The walk across the back pasture might be a little creepy, and she wasn’t sure what lay on the other side of that gate, but she was a big girl. She could handle it.
Now she was dressed all in black, her hair pulled tightly into a ponytail and tucked under a knit cap. She would bring along her little backpack, inside of which was a hairbrush, a wide belt, and some chunky jewelry to make herself look better once she was free. In the meantime, however, she needed to be silent and sleek, with only a flashlight, a bus route map, some money in her backpack, and a good bit of nerve.
Alexa turned off the light and crept to the window, slowly sliding it open. The night was warm for May, and she could feel the heat swooshing into the room along with the fresh air. Carefully, she slid up the screen as well, and then swung one leg over the sill, shifted her weight, and lowered herself down the other side until her toe touched the stone of the second floor wraparound balcony. The setup of this place was perfect for climbing out at night, as all she had to do was cross under the hall window and slip down the balcony stairs to get to the backyard.
Alexa reached in through the window for her flashlight and backpack then slid the window shut except for the last quarter inch. As long as she returned before sunrise, she’d be able to slip inside and crawl into her bed, no one the wiser. Keeping the flashlight turned off, she slung the pack over her shoulder, crouched down, and started moving.
She had to stop short of the stairs to keep from passing through a beam of light that was coming from one of the empty guest bedrooms. That was odd. Before proceeding with her escape, she carefully crept to the window of the room and tried to peek in, but the curtains were drawn except for the slightest gap where the light was coming through. She held her face close to the glass and peered inside, disappointed that she could see movement in the room but couldn’t tell who it was or what they were doing.
Alexa was concerned. Did they have a guest she didn’t know about? Maybe someone had switched rooms for the night? It wouldn’t really matter except that everyone was supposed to be asleep by now. What if something was going on and someone came to her room to get her, and she wasn’t there? She’d be busted.
Alexa crept back to the hall window, which had no curtain, and slowly raised herself to eye level to peek inside. The hall was empty, but the door to that guest room was wide open, the light forming a rectangle on the hall rug. Alexa watched but no one went in or out. She didn’t know what to do.
She sat down under the window and thought about it, trying to decide whether or not to abort her mission. Almost desperate to escape by this point, she was just about to bite the bullet and go ahead with it when she heard a noise.
It was the crunch of gravel. A car was coming up the driveway.
Quickly, Alexa ducked all the way down, flattening herself against the cold stone floor, hoping the sweep of headlights would be low enough not to shine on her and give her away.
It was after midnight! Who would be coming here now? Slowly, she crawled toward the front of the balcony and took refuge behind a giant marble column, hidden in the shadows and hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was coming up the drive.
By the time they reached her grandmother’s estate, Jo had been lulled by the rhythm of the road into a quiet numbness, a sort of grim stupor except for the knot of nerves in the pit of her stomach. As they pulled through the gate and down the long, winding driveway, she felt the knot in her stomach loosen just a bit.
Maybe, for the time being at least, she would be safe.
The limo followed the curve of the driveway, finally pulling to a stop where it looped in front of the house. Even at night, the place was stunning, a stately rambling stone-and-marble structure that simply screamed elegance and old money. Above the front door was a big curved window that revealed a magnificent chandelier. Outside, strategically placed lights beamed up from behind neatly landscaped bushes and plants, illuminating the front of the house and giving the whole area a warm, safe glow. Jo knew there was nothing warm about her grandmother, but Bradford had said she was safe, and that’s what was important right now.
Fernando opened the door for Jo, took her things, and then offered her his arm. Jo liked to think of herself as a very independent person, strong and brave, but tonight she had reached her limit. She needed someone to lean on.
Slowly, she took his arm and held on, allowing him to support her as they walked up the steps and through the massive front double doors into her grandmother’s foyer.
The car that came up the drive had been the old lady’s limo. Alexa couldn’t see very well for fear of being spotted herself, but it looked like the person was a woman with blond hair. Fernando had to help her out of the car and up the steps, as though maybe she was sick or hurt or something.
Alexa sat back again behind the column and considered her options. She was so ready to get out of there. But she didn’t want to make a
costly mistake.
She decided to give it half an hour, keep an eye on the upstairs hallway, and see what happened next. Since she had been living there, a number of guests had used that room, most of them relatives of the old lady, a few of them business associates. It was so late. Maybe this particular guest would go to bed soon, the house would settle down, and Alexa could leave after all.
Quietly, she crept back to her own window, sat against the wall, and waited. Lucky for her it was a warm night, because the coldness of the stone floor was seeping into her bones.
Jo’s grandmother was waiting for her in the study, sitting in a high-back armchair in a silk robe, reading. She pulled off her glasses and put the book down as they entered, dismissed the driver with a wave of her hand, and gestured for Jo to sit on the couch. Wearily, Jo sank into the cushions, wishing she could simply sink right through to the inside and never come out again.
“Jo, dear, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet. Let me have Fernando make you a brandy.”
Jo shook her head, her eyes still closed.
“No, thank you. I’m okay. I’m still in shock, that’s all.”
“Well, you were right to come here. I’m glad you called.”
When Jo had phoned her grandmother from the hospital, all she had said was that Bradford had been injured in a terrible accident and that she needed somewhere to stay. Her grandmother hadn’t asked any questions, other than to find out where to send the car and driver. Now, however, she would be wanting a full explanation, and Jo didn’t blame her.
“What on earth has happened?”
Jo exhaled slowly and opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on her grandmother.
She’s really the only one who might be able to help, Bradford had said.
Jo was here now and glad she had come. But did Bradford mean that Jo should tell the woman everything?
She didn’t see that she had much choice. Her grandmother was the matriarch of the family, not to mention the major shareholder of Bosworth Industries. If there was something funny going on in the family or the company, as Bradford had implied, then her grandmother needed to know about it more than anyone.
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