Beverly Long - Dead by Wednesday

Robert was frowning at her. “You do this kind of thing often?”

“Not often, but I’ve had cases where we’ve had to quickly remove a young girl from a situation when her parents or her boyfriend or somebody else couldn’t handle the news of the pregnancy. We need to protect our clients and their babies.”

“You think that’s what’s going to happen here?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know. I should be able to tell. If I have any reason to believe that he’s going to harm my client physically, I’ll take the necessary steps.”

Liz stepped in and wrapped an arm around Carmen’s shoulder. “She’s little but she’s tough. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Be careful driving home.”

She and Robert left. She saw a red SUV parked behind her car. She assumed it was Robert’s. “Well, good night,” she said when they got to her car.

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “How about I follow you?”

Was Robert Hanson asking to be invited in? The idea was absurd. And terribly exciting. She felt sixteen again. “I drive all the time at night,” she said.

“That doesn’t make it a good thing. Please let me do this.”

Liz had always said that both Sawyer and Robert were real gentlemen. “Okay. Do you need my address?” she asked. “In case you lose me at a light?”

He shook his head and smiled. “I won’t lose you.”

And he didn’t. She drove a sedate thirty-eight miles an hour and he stayed a couple car lengths behind her. The whole time she worried about what she should say if he asked to come in. When she parked at her apartment building, she still didn’t have an answer.

He pulled up next to her.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Second. That window is my kitchen,” she said, pointing at the end of the building closest to them.

“Okay. Flip the light twice and I’ll know you’re in safe. Have a good night, Carmen.”

“Uh...sure. Thanks.” She practically ran into the building. She got inside her apartment and pressed herself up against the hard wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she didn’t think it was from the physical exertion.

Then she remembered to flip the light twice.

Robert Hanson wasn’t interested in coming inside, and she was a fool to think so.

Chapter Three

Thursday

Carmen was just slipping on her shoes the next morning when she heard Raoul’s door slam. “You’re up early,” she said, ruffling his hair as he walked past her.

He didn’t answer. Just went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. He poured a big bowl, added milk, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stood at the counter. “I have band practice this morning,” he said with his mouth full.

She ignored the poor manners. Lately, Raoul hadn’t offered much conversation; she wasn’t inclined to shut him down. “Practice before and after school?”

“Winter concert is next Thursday,” Raoul said. “Mr. Raker said we better improve fast or we’re going to be an embarrassment to ourselves and our families.”

Carmen smiled. Mr. Raker could get a little over-the-top sometimes. “You’ll pull it off. I know you will.”

“I guess.” He chewed. “Hey, Carmen. Did Hector have a lot of friends in high school?”

Hector. He’d been two years older and in every way possible, her hero. And then he’d made a few bad decisions that changed the course of his life. All their lives, really.

And then he’d died.

“I guess,” she said. Raoul never talked about Hector. “Why do you ask?”

He stared at her and put his half-eaten cereal down. “He was my brother. Can’t I ask about my brother?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just...you surprised me, that’s all. What would you like to know?”

He grabbed his coat. “Never mind,” he said. “I have to go. It’s Mrs. Minelli’s turn to drive. She’s probably already here.”

“Raoul,” she said.

A slamming door was her answer.

“Say hi to Jacob,” she said, her voice trailing off at the end. She sank down on one of her kitchen chairs. Over the years, she’d had a few clients who were as young as fourteen or fifteen, but girls were different. They communicated. Boys just shut down.

It was driving her crazy.

She turned the lights off, grabbed her coat and patted her pockets to make sure she had gloves. She normally drove to work, but she knew that parking near the coffee shop would be hard to find. It was easier to take a cab.

When she was just a few blocks away, she texted Alexa’s cell phone. Are you there?

The response came almost immediately. No. Five minutes.

Carmen checked her watch. Alexa’s father stopped in on his way to work. Same time, every day. He was due in ten minutes.

The cab stopped, and she handed over a ten and got out. She considered waiting outside for Alexa but across the street, the flashing sign on the bank indicated it was ten degrees.

And in Chicago, the wind never stopped blowing. Which made the windchill about twenty below.

She opened the coffee shop door, took her place in line and studied her choices. When it was her turn, she ordered a large hot chocolate and a glass of water. Then she turned to find a table.

And saw him.

Robert Hanson.

He smiled at her and held up his own cup. “Morning, Carmen. They make a great cup of coffee here, don’t they?”

He looked fresh and handsome and as delicious as one of the scones in the front display case. “This is not your coffee shop,” she hissed.

“I drink coffee all day long, all over the city. Why not here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s no need for you to be here. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Good. Then you can just ignore that I’m here.”

Robert Hanson was six-two and two hundred pounds of muscle. His eyes were a brilliant blue, his bone structure was strong and his thick light brown hair looked as if a woman had just run her fingers through it.

He was hard to ignore.

“Do not interfere,” she said.

“As long as Dad behaves, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Carmen shook her head and took the table in the corner. She turned her chair so that she could see the door but not Robert. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. When she felt she had it under control, she took small sips of her hot chocolate.

Alexa came in, wearing the same big, dark coat. The young girl got a cup of coffee and headed for Carmen. “I’m sorry I’m late. He should be here really soon.”

“No problem.” Carmen decided that now wasn’t the time to lecture on the evils of pregnancy and caffeine. “When he arrives, make eye contact and motion him over to the table. Then I’ll introduce myself and let him know that you have something that you’d like to tell him. Just be calm. It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know my dad,” Alexa said. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t had much sleep.

Carmen reached over to pat the girl’s hand but stopped when the teen stiffened in her chair. Carmen turned and immediately saw the resemblance between daughter and father. Their coloring was the same; the nose, too. Frank Sage was a big man, probably at least six feet. He wore gray work pants and a big black coat that hinted at a well-fed stomach. His blond hair was thinning on top.

He was frowning at his daughter.

Alexa motioned and the man hesitated. Then he walked across the room, bumping into a chair on the way.

“Alexa, what are you doing here?” he asked. He had a deep voice, somewhat raspy, likely from years of cigarettes. Carmen could smell smoke on his jacket.

“Hi, Dad,” Alexa said.

Carmen stood up. She did not like him towering over her. She extended her hand. He stared at it. “Mr. Sage, I’m Carmen Jimenez. I am a counselor and I’ve been working with your daughter.”