Sara Shepard - Crushed

Her phone rang, and she jumped. She glanced at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number, but something made her pick up anyway.

“Hello?” Hanna whispered, clutching the phone with both hands.

“Hanna?” Aria’s voice sang out. There were sirens in the background.

Next to her, Mike stirred. Hanna slid off the bed and padded into the hall. “Where are you?”

“I’m in trouble.” The sirens grew louder. “I need your help.”

“Are you hurt?” Hanna asked.

Aria’s chin wobbled. At the front of the house, the police were trying to knock down the front door. “I’m not hurt. But I sort of broke into a house and stole a painting.”

“You what ?” Hanna shrieked, her voice echoing through the quiet hall.

“I came here with that guy from earlier. He mentioned how a priceless practice painting of Van Gogh’s Starry Night was in a mansion on the edge of town. It had been stolen from a Jewish ghetto in Paris or something during World War II, and the thief had never given it back.”

“Wait, you’re with Olaf?” Hanna shut her eyes tight, recalling the uncomfortable run-in she’d had with Aria and that random bearded dude making out in the alley earlier. He’d seemed perfectly harmless, but Aria already had a boyfriend.

“That’s right.” The cops broke down the door. All six of them stomped in like storm troopers. Aria gripped the phone hard. “We both went inside to find the painting. I didn’t think we would . . . but then there it was. Then all these alarms went off. . . . I got out. Now the cops are here. They have guns , Hanna. Olaf is still trapped inside. I need you to come and get us on one of the back roads—we’ll cut through the woods and find you. There’s no way we’ll be able to take Olaf’s Jeep with all these cops here.”

“Do the cops see you now ?”

“No, I’m around the back, in the woods.”

“Jesus, Aria, why are you still even there at all?” Hanna shouted. “ Run! ”

Aria glanced at the back door. “But Olaf’s still inside.”

“Aria, why do you care?” Hanna screeched. “You hardly know the guy! Run, now. I’ll get on the moped. Give me the name of the street you’re on once you make it through the woods, okay?”

There was a long pause. Aria’s gaze fixed on the whirling police lights. She sized up the woods behind the chateau. Then, finally, she looked at the house once more. Still no Olaf. And Hanna was right. She didn’t know him.

“Okay,” she said shakily. “I’m going.”

She hung up and sprinted through the woods, her heart pounding a mile a minute. She tripped over a huge log, breaking the heel of her shoe and badly skinning her knee. She slogged through a shallow creek, getting half her dress wet. By the time she was on the city road, she was cold and bleeding. She called Hanna, told her which street she was on, and collapsed on the curb to wait. She could still hear the sirens blaring in the distance. Had they found Olaf by now? Had he told them that she had been with him? What if they were looking for her ?

When she saw Hanna on the moped at the end of the street, she almost burst into tears of joy. They rode back silently, the noise of the engine and the wind too loud for Hanna to ask any questions.

At the guesthouse, they opened the door as quietly as they could. Hanna turned on a light in the little kitchen and looked at Aria with wide eyes. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “We need to clean you up.”

Hanna pushed Aria into the communal bathroom, washed off her knee, and dug the twigs out of her hair. Tears streamed down Aria’s face the whole time. “I’m sorry,” Aria kept saying. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“You’re sure the police didn’t see you?” Hanna asked sternly, handing her a bath towel.

Aria rubbed her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know what happened to Olaf, though.”

Hanna shut her eyes. “You’d better hope he doesn’t tell them you were with him. Because I don’t know how much I can help you, Aria.”

“He didn’t know my last name,” Aria said, placing the towel over the radiator and walking into the hall again. “Maybe I’ll be okay. But whatever you do, please don’t tell . . .”

She trailed off, glancing behind her. Noel stood at the bottom of the stairs by the back door, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, though they weren’t the same hoodie and jeans he’d worn earlier that night. His forehead was slick with sweat like it always was after drinking, but there was a knowing look on his face that made Aria’s insides seize. What had he just heard?

“There you are.” Noel climbed up the stairs and patted Aria’s wet head. “You take a shower?”

“Uh, yeah.” Aria crossed her legs to hide the gash on her knee. “Where were you?”

Noel gestured down the stairs. “Smoking a joint.”

Aria considered making a snarky comment, but she refrained—who was she to judge? She grabbed Noel’s hand instead. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Her eyes were wide open as they climbed under the covers. Noel shifted next to her, his bare legs prickly against hers. “So where were you ?” There was bitterness in his voice. “At the bar with Gay loff?”

Aria turned away, the guilt oozing out of her pores as pungently as the schnapps oozed from Noel’s. She bristled, anticipating a fight. But then Noel put his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Let’s call a truce. This trip has been weird. I’ve been weird. And I’m sorry.”

Aria’s eyes welled with tears. That was exactly what she needed to hear . . . about five hours too late. She wrapped her arms around Noel and squeezed tight. “I’m sorry, too.” She’d never meant something so much.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Noel said sleepily. “I love you, A . . .”

He mumbled into his pillow as he drifted off to sleep. For a split second, Aria thought she’d heard him say something else. Something strange. But then again, Noel was drunk. Even if he had said what she thought he had, he certainly didn’t mean it. It wasn’t like Aria would bring it up to him tomorrow, either.

She never wanted to mention this night again.

The next morning, Hanna, Aria, Noel, and Mike checked out of the guesthouse and departed for the airport. They went through the security line and stocked up on snacks and trashy magazines for the long plane ride home. If Aria seemed jittery, Noel didn’t question it. When Noel complained about the puny airport not having a McDonald’s, Aria didn’t snap at him. When Hanna and Aria spoke even less than usual, neither Mike nor Noel remarked. I’m just tired , they planned to say if anyone questioned them. It’s been a long trip. I miss my bed.

The plane had satellite TV, and Aria flipped to CNN International after boarding. Suddenly, there it was: a shot of the chateau. It was even more ramshackle and haunted-looking than she remembered. Break-in at Brennan Manor , read the headline.

A video showed the shadowy, closed-up, spiderwebbed rooms. Then there was a blurry insurance photo of Starry Night . . . and a police sketch of Olaf. “This is the thief who got away with the painting, as described to the police by a witness who lived down the road,” said the reporter. “Authorities are on the hunt for him now.”

Aria’s mouth hung open. Olaf made it out?

Hanna stared at the TV screen in horror. The situation had changed. Valuable art had been stolen, and Aria had helped facilitate that. Hanna thought of the art-theft cases her father had worked on when he practiced law: Even people who knew about the crime were guilty. Now she was one of those people.