Sara Shepard - Deadly

The camera turned back to Hanna. “We need to keep teens of Pennsylvania safe,” she said emphatically. “I know this not only as a teen of Pennsylvania . . . but also as a victim of stalking and drunk driving.”

Pause. Smile bright. Look earnest and patriotic . “And . . . cut!” said the director, who was perched on a stool behind the camera. “I think that one’s a winner!”

Everyone in the room applauded. Mr. Marin patted Hanna’s shoulder. “Good work.”

“That really was amazing,” Kate agreed, appearing by Hanna’s side. “You’re a natural in front of the camera, Han. I’m so impressed.”

“She gets that from me,” boasted Hanna’s mom. Hanna was pretty sure her mom and Kate had never been together in such a small room, but they seemed to be getting along okay. Isabel , however, was standing in the opposite corner gripping a clipboard so tightly, Hanna was surprised she hadn’t bent it in half by now.

Sidney, Mr. Marin’s top aide, approached. “I’ve been thinking. Let’s spin this so that the bar that served Hanna and Madison is to blame. It will test well with our voters, Tom,” he said. “People will think, If they would have been tougher about carding, this accident never would have happened .”

“Exactly.” Then Mr. Marin’s expression grew serious. “What was the name of that bar that served you? We should shut them down. Make an example of them.”

“The Cabana.” Hanna had thought a lot about the South Street dive she’d ducked into that fateful day. The smell of smoke and the twangy country song washed back to her. So did Madison’s boozy breath and the way the soles of Hanna’s shoes were sticky after walking across the bathroom floor.

“Got it.” Mr. Marin tapped something into his iPhone. “Okay, Han. Ready for Phase Two?”

Hanna shifted uneasily. Phase Two was apologizing to Madison at Immaculata University, where she’d transferred after the accident. Madison had agreed to speak to Hanna, but it still made Hanna feel uneasy. If only they could skip it.

Sensing Hanna’s apprehension, Mr. Marin wrapped his arm around her. “I’ll be with you the whole time, honey, I promise. We’ll do it together.”

Isabel rushed forward. “But Tom, we’ve got that meeting with your new donors today at four.”

Mr. Marin set his jaw. “Reschedule it.”

Isabel’s face clouded. “You lost a huge donation when Gayle Riggs died—we need the cash.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of Gayle, did you hear the news? There was a break in the case. The police are looking through her house again for new evidence.”

Hanna shifted her weight. Of course there was a break in the case. It was from them .

Mr. Marin started for the door. “I’m sure the donors can wait a day, Iz. I told Hanna I’d do this with her, and I want to honor that.”

“Good for you, Tom,” Hanna’s mom gushed. She shot Isabel a snarky smile. A deep wrinkle appeared between Isabel’s eyes. Hanna had a feeling that if they didn’t get out of here soon, it would devolve into an episode of Real Housewives: Rosewood, PA .

“I’ll be ready in a second,” Hanna said quickly to her father. “I just want to call Mike.” She hadn’t heard from him all day, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. Usually, Mike texted her nonstop, even during school.

She stepped out of her father’s office, stood on the walkway that overlooked a large atrium with a burbling fountain, and dialed Mike’s number. Once again, it went to voicemail. Hanna hung up without leaving a message. Where was he?

When a door slammed shut, Hanna jumped. It echoed so loudly, like it was right behind her. Just being in this building gave her the creeps; a few months ago, A— Ali—trapped Hanna in the elevator. The lights had gone out, the power had died, and when Hanna had gotten free and on solid ground again, she’d found the elevator control box wide open, its levers and switches tampered with. Ali’s telltale vanilla perfume had wafted through the air, taunting her nostrils. If only Hanna had called the cops then .

Hanna peered out the front windows for Bo, her security guy, but she didn’t see his car in the lot. She dialed Agent Fuji. “Do you know where Bo is?” Hanna asked, when she answered. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

The sound of typing echoed in the background. “Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there,” Fuji answered.

“But I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Hanna, I don’t have time to monitor your security detail’s comings and goings. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s just I heard that the cops are looking into Gayle’s murder,” Hanna said in a small voice. “And I know that probably will make Ali nervous. And I have my boyfriend to worry about, too. I’m afraid Ali might hurt him because he knows so much.”

All at once, just talking about Mike, she remembered a dream she’d had last night. Her phone had buzzed, and a note from A said that Mike was in danger and Hanna had to find him. Hanna had darted into the street and looked around. Incongruously, the DiLaurentis house was next door—and the old hole the workers had dug to build the gazebo was back. Hanna had run to it and peered inside . . . and there was Mike at the bottom, curled up in a fetal position. It was obvious he was dead.

“What if something happens to him?” Hanna said now, horrified she was only just remembering the dream. “Are we sure everyone is safe?”

“Hanna, calm down,” Fuji interrupted. “Everyone is safe. Every time you girls call, it takes me away from solving this case. I’m sure you understand.”

CALL ENDED flashed across the screen. Hanna recoiled, not sure whether to feel dissed or reassured. But Fuji was doing her job—she had to trust that. Soon enough, this would all be over.

Thirty minutes later, Mr. Marin’s SUV pulled through the gates of Immaculata University, a liberal arts school not far from Rosewood. Girls in rugby sweaters and plaid kilts crossed the quad. Boys carrying lacrosse sticks over their shoulders climbed the steps to a dorm. Nearly everyone was wearing Sperry Top-Siders.

They parked at Madison’s dorm and got out. “Come on.” Mr. Marin took Hanna’s hand and led her to the path toward the dorm entrance. The inside of the building smelled like a jumble of perfumes and bustled with girls.

“This is it,” Mr. Marin said when they got to a door marked 113. There was a white board filled with messages for Madison. Hanna paused to read a few. Dinner, 6? And, Are you going to that meeting tomorrow? And, Did you do the chem homework? Did that mean Madison had a relatively normal life?

Hanna hesitated before knocking, dread squeezing her chest corset-tight. “You can do this,” Mr. Marin said as if reading her mind. “I won’t leave your side.”

Hanna was so grateful, she almost burst into tears. Mustering up the courage, she reached out and knocked. The door flung open immediately, and a blond girl with an oval face and overplucked eyebrows stood on the other side.

“Hanna?” she said.

“That’s right.” Hanna looked at her dad. “And this is my dad.”

Madison’s brow crinkled, her focus still on Hanna. “Huh. I thought you were the blond Pretty Little Liar.”

“That’s Spencer.”

Madison leaned against the jamb. “Wow. I really don’t remember that night at all.”

She stepped aside and let Hanna and her dad into her room. A neatly made twin bed with a downy, white comforter stood near the window. There was a desk filled with books, papers, and a Dell computer pushed against another wall. A pile of laundry was near the bathroom, and shoes lay in a heap by the closet.