Sara Shepard - Deadly

“Anything,” Mike said automatically.

“I need to go to my father’s campaign office. Now.”

Mike’s eyes darted back and forth. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave the house.”

Hanna glared at him. “You said anything.”

Mike pressed his lips together. “But I don’t want to see you upset.”

Hanna crossed her arms over her chest. She’d told Mike how her dad hadn’t shown up at the police station or contacted her in the week since. And then, because she’d been extra upset, she’d also told him every other shitty thing her father had ever done to her.

“It’s something I need to do,” she said firmly.

Mike walked up to Hanna and took her hand. “Okay,” he said, opening the front door again. “Then let’s go.”

When Hanna and Mike pulled up to Mr. Marin’s office building, at least fifty protesters clogged the sidewalks. Even though Hanna had anticipated them from the news, it was intense to actually see them in person.

“It’s okay,” Mike said, then handed Hanna a hoodie from the backseat. “Put this on so they don’t recognize you. I can handle them.”

He grabbed her wrist and led her through the picketers. Hanna kept her head down, her heart pounding the whole time. She was terrified one of the picketers would notice her. They surrounded Mike, screaming, “Are you going to see Tom Marin?” And, “Make him withdraw!” And, “We don’t want your kind in Washington!” someone else bellowed.

Mike wrapped his arms tightly around her and ushered her through the doors. The protesters’ voices were muffled once they were in the atrium, but they were still chanting the same things. Her heart beat fast as she padded toward the elevator and removed the hoodie, wishing she were still home in bed.

“Come on,” Mike said, heading to the elevator and pushing the CALL button. He held her hand the whole way up, squeezing it every so often. When they reached the fourth floor, Hanna peered out the long windows in the hallway to center herself. One of them didn’t face the protesters but the thick, untended forest to the left of the property. Trees jutted every which way. Poking above them was what looked like the crumbled remains of a stone chimney. The Main Line was full of old wrecks—the historical commission protected them if a famous general ever slept there or if it was the site of an important battle. There might even be an old building hidden back there somewhere, forgotten in time, vines curling around it until they made a cocoon. Hanna could definitely relate. She felt overwhelmed and choked, too. If only she could disappear into the trees as well.

Hanna took a deep breath and faced the glass door that led to her father’s office, then pushed through. Her father’s receptionist, Mary, took one look at Hanna and jumped to her feet. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Hanna squared her shoulders. “It’s important.”

“Tom’s in a meeting.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Tell him it will only take a second.”

Mary set aside the pen she was using and scuttled down the hall. In moments, Mr. Marin appeared. He had on a navy-blue suit with a little American flag pin on the lapel. It struck Hanna as petty, suddenly—his daughter was going to be tried for murder, but he’d still remembered to put the flag pin on his jacket this morning.

“Hanna.” Mr. Marin’s tone was restrained anger. “You’re not supposed to leave the house.”

“I wanted to talk to you, and you weren’t calling me back,” Hanna said, hating how mouselike she sounded. “I want to know why you didn’t come to the police station when I was released. Or why you haven’t spoken to me since then.”

Mr. Marin crossed his arms over his chest. He gestured to the picketers through the front window. The woman carrying the huge picture of Hanna’s face passed by. “Did they see you come in?”

Hanna blinked. “No. I had a hoodie on.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Go out the back way when you leave.”

He wheeled around and started back to his office. Hanna’s mouth hung open. Then Mike stepped forward. “She’s still your daughter, Mr. Marin,” he shouted.

Mr. Marin stopped and gave him a vicious glare. “This is none of your business, Mike.”

He looked at Hanna. “I can’t align myself with you right now. I’m sorry.”

Hanna actually felt physical pain shoot through her. Align myself . It sounded so clinical. “Are you serious?”

His gaze was on the protesters out the window again. “I’ve given you chance upon chance. I’ve tried to be there for you. But right now, it’s campaign suicide. You’re on your own.”

“You’re worried about the campaign ?” Hanna squeaked. She took a few steps toward him. “Dad, please listen to me. I didn’t kill anyone. The video the news has been showing of me beating that girl is fake. You know me—I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that kind of person.”

She continued to walk toward him, her arms outstretched, but Mr. Marin backed away from her, a guarded look on his face. Then the phone at the front desk rang, and Mr. Marin motioned to the receptionist to pick it up. She murmured something, then looked at him. “Tom,” she said, cupping her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s that reporter from the Sentinel .”

Mr. Marin looked pained. “I’ll take it in my office.” He glowered at Hanna. “You have to go now.”

He turned and plodded down the hall, not even saying good-bye. Hanna stood very still for a moment, suddenly feeling like every molecule in her body was about to implode and turn her to vapor. A protester blew a whistle. Someone else cheered. Hanna squeezed her eyes shut and tried to cry, but she felt too stunned.

She felt Mike’s fingers curl around hers. “Come on,” he whispered, leading her back to the elevator. She said nothing as he pushed the CALL button, and they rode to the first floor. She said nothing as Mike pulled her out of the elevator and across the empty atrium to the front door. Only when she saw the protesters marching in a circle right in front of the doors did she stop and give Mike a nervous look. “He told us to go out the back way.”

“Do you actually give a shit what he wants you to do?” Mike’s cheeks were red. He gripped her hand harder. “I could kill him, Hanna. You don’t owe him anything.”

Hanna’s jaw wobbled. Mike was totally, absolutely right.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she stepped onto the curb. As the protesters surrounded her once more, she let out a single, piercing sob. Mike grabbed her immediately and hugged her tight, pulling her through the throng. And over all the shouting, one thought was clean and crisp in Hanna’s mind. She didn’t owe her dad anything. She’d thought it had sucked, all those years, when her father had chosen Kate over her.

But nothing compared to him choosing the whole state of Pennsylvania.

That same Friday, Emily stood in the lobby of the Rosewood Memorial Hospital. Doctors swept past, looking busy and important. Emily walked over to the directory on the wall and found the cardiac unit, where her mother was recovering after her emergency heart surgery. Not that her dad or her sister had given her an update on her daily progress—they’d barely been home. Emily had had to find out through a nebulous network of doctors and nurses, who’d all seemed shocked that she couldn’t just get the information from her family. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to leave the house, but what could the police say if they caught her here? That she wasn’t allowed to see her ailing mother?

Emily was trying to put a good face on it. It sucked that her bail cost so much money that they had to do without their cars—and a few other things, which various rough-looking dudes had removed from the house over the past two weeks, including an antique baby carriage of Emily’s grandmother’s and a baby Jesus statue Emily had helped her mom recover from a group of vandals last year. But Emily was still part of the family, for goodness’ sake. Besides, she’d finally gotten hold of Mr. Goddard this morning, and he’d told her that after the trial, no matter the verdict, the bail money would be returned to her parents. They’d get their car back. Everyone would be able to return to college. They’d be okay.