Heart

Sixteen

Hatcher straightened and turned around in our direction, causing my heart to fly up my throat. I instinctively jerked back out of sight, forgetting about Alan behind me and almost knocking him flat on his butt. He wrapped his arms around my middle and tried to pull me up on my feet, beginning to drag me down the hallway. The door to Hatcher’s room was clearly ajar--he would definitely be able to tell!

“Is someone there?” I heard him call from inside the room.

“Oh, God,” I rasped, heart clawing at my chest.

“Come on,” Alan growled in my ear, hauling me up. He snatched my hand and yanked me forward, in front of him, and forced me to run. He stayed right on my heels as we flew down the six flights. Our feet pounded over the thin carpet and our hands slammed into walls when we rapidly rounded corners. Needless to say, we weren’t concerned about stealth anymore. All I could think of was Hatcher seeing us, capturing us, torturing us . . .

I burst out of the exit door and into the sunlight, feeling dizzy with freedom. I had my sights on Al’s truck, but before I could even make it a foot away from the door, a hand grabbed my arm and held me back. I squeaked in alarm.

“Kara, stop,” Alan whispered, “He’s not following us, so he might be looking out the window from his room. We don’t want him to see us.”

My chest was heaving laboriously, and my mind felt frantic, but I stayed put, if only because he had an ironclad grip. I allowed myself to collapse against his torso, letting my head loll on my neck. “Oh, God, he almost saw us. What would have--we shouldn’t have come here, Alan, oh God. . .”

He let go of my arm and just held me, murmuring condolences in my ear. “It’s okay, Kara. Nothing happened. We’re fine.”

I gulped in air and closed my eyes, searching for some small thread of calm in my chaotic brain. I forced myself to take deep breaths, focusing on the concepts of my health and Alan’s strong embrace keeping me safe. It actually worked pretty well--probably more thanks to the latter. Alan, as always, was acting as my rock and my connection to sanity. He always stayed so calm. . .

“Did you see . . .her?” I inquired breathily.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed. “What do we do now?”

     He let out almost an inaudible breath, whisking strands of my hair every which way, and gently pushed me away from his chest. I twisted around at the waist as he did so and my breath suddenly hitched. Our faces had been very close when I turned, but that had only been a second. It had been enough, though, to see a spark, or a glint, or something in his gaze that hit me deep in the chest. I didn’t know what it was, and he had averted his eyes too quickly for me to decipher it, but there had definitely been something there.

“Now,” he answered, taking a quick glance up the staircase, “we run to the truck and drive out of here. Want to race?"

I frowned. “Very bad time for jokes, Al.”

He smiled a little, and then grabbed my wrist to pull me forward. He was a faster runner than I was, I knew, so him staying behind me all this time had just been for my protection. But now he only seemed focused on getting me to the truck as fast as possible.

It was a good thing the truck was sort of hidden by the apartment building, for Alan had locked it; I couldn’t get inside right away. But once we were both buckled in, he peeled away from the curb--and almost hit another car pulling out of another lot across the street. It honked as it sped away, and we followed. Al was careful to drive without looking suspicious.

“Shouldn’t we tell Detective Novak?” I asked.

Alan shook his head. “Can’t. It’ll be our word against his. We should have recorded it or something.”

“Unless we tell Novak and he secretly investigates Mr. Hatcher’s house. Then he could find Gabriella up there and make an arrest.”

“Hatcher could move her before we contact Novak.”

“Or maybe he wouldn’t.”

“But if he does, what do we look like then? A couple of dumb kids pointing fingers. It’d make things worse for us.”

I sat back against the seat, pouting just a tad. All my ideas sucked, apparently. Had Alan even gone with one of them since we started this little investigation? Oh, yeah--following the kidnapper to his apartment. And we almost got caught.

Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut, I thought, just as I was saying, “Okay, so even more proof. We come back here and catch him on tape.”

“Are you insane?” he retorted, glaring out the windshield, “You about had a heart attack back there, or have you already forgotten? I’m not one hundred percent sure that was Gabriella, there’s a one percent margin for error, but in case it was her, then I really do not want you near Mr. Hatcher again.”

I groaned. “Oh, you are so controlling!”

“And you’re annoyingly quarrelsome. I thought we talked about this, Kara. You were going to go along with me without fighting. Do you remember that?”

I scowled meanly and wriggled deeper into my seat. I resisted the urge to cross my arms, for I knew that would look extremely childish and immature. But I did remember, and I was seething about it because I wasn’t one for breaking promises. However, I was tired of having this accusation dangling over my head. We were so close to clearing our names--I could feel it! Why did Alan have to go and wreck it?

Al sighed heavily. “Look, Kara,” he replied in a gentler tone, “I . . .” His voice trailed off, and I slid my gaze over to him slyly. His jaw looked inflexible again, and the one hand on the steering wheel was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. It was a minute or two before he spoke again. “I saw how scared you were back there. And I . . . don’t exactly enjoy seeing you that way, you know. I want this to be over too, it’s just--” He shook his head.

I felt my anger melting away as I realized: I had scared him. It wasn’t the fact that we were almost caught by the kidnapper, it was the fact that I had been scared. I was scared, he was scared . . .

And that was the point where I grasped that he was only concerned about clearing my name; he didn’t care about his. He . . .cared for me.

My heart fluttered. That was the emotion I’d seen in his eyes back at the apartment complex, and maybe even at the pizzeria the other day.

I was struck again at how lucky I was to have a friend like Alan.

I swallowed several times. “I get it, Al,” I whispered.

He nodded once. “Good.” His voice was rough, embarrassed.

The cab became really quiet after that. It was a sort of weird kind of air, but pleasant. It was still comfortable, companionable, and most of all, calm. The fright of the day had faded into something that was almost lulling; my eyelids even became heavy. I didn’t want to ruin it by telling Alan that I was coming back here, by myself, to get the proof we needed.