Scarlet Falls: Hour of Need Part 30

He called Ellie and told her what had happened. She and Julia were fine. In a crowded ice rink, they should be safe enough, and Mac would be with them any minute. He hung up and dialed Hannah; her phone rang four times and switched to voice mail.

d.a.m.n it. He pounded the steering wheel.

Grant turned down the street. The thin wail of sirens announced emergency vehicles were on the way, but the sight of flames pouring from the front of Lee's house sent Grant's heart catapulting into his throat. No!

He slammed the car to a stop in the middle of the street. Leaving the door open and the engine running, he raced toward the door. But the porch was completely engulfed in flames. Grant ran around the building to the back lawn. Sweeping his eyes across the scene, he took in the sight of his sister disappearing into the smoky house and a man running toward Ellie's backyard, where the minivan was parked. Through the side van window, he could see Carson's face pressed to the gla.s.s.

Grant hesitated for a second. Heart breaking, he veered toward the children. His body slid into combat mode as he overtook the running man. Grant tackled him in the gra.s.s, landing on top of him. The man flipped onto his back. His hood fell away.

Donnie Ehrlich.

Fury fueled Grant's first punch. His fist connected with Donnie's face with a crack of bone. Blood spurted. Grant hit him again. And again. Making the sonofab.i.t.c.h pay for what he'd done to his family.

Then a loud boom behind him snapped him out of his rage.

Hannah!

Ellie glanced at the crowd around her. Twenty parents had been on the bleachers ten minutes ago, but the majority of the kids had already rehea.r.s.ed their routines and left. Still, she was hardly alone. At the entrance to the ice, the remaining few kids and coaches queued up, watching their teammates perform and waiting their turns. Julia's name was read over the loudspeaker. She was next on the ice.

The nerves playing Ellie's skin had nothing to do with her daughter's rehearsal performance. All she could think about was Grant's phone call. She couldn't believe Corey Swann had been her extortionist. She scanned the crowd again. Grant had said Donnie Ehrlich was still on the loose, but she didn't see anyone in the arena who didn't belong.

The skating club was running the evening exactly as the carnival would occur next week. Julia's lower-ranked team had to wait until the end of the show. The beginning of the carnival was always the most crowded. The advanced team would perform first and get to enjoy the rest of the evening. By the time the younger kids performed, the bleachers would be mostly empty. But that was to be expected.

The advanced skaters were the most serious. They practiced hours every day, coming in before school and again in the afternoon. Their dedication deserved to be rewarded. Their prima donna att.i.tudes still grated on Ellie, and after the bullying episode with Lindsay Hamilton, she would never look at those girls the same way again. She'd read those horrible texts, and while the police had no way of proving that Regan and Autumn had sent them, everyone knew they had.

"Do you think Autumn's ch.o.r.eography is original enough?" a man's voice asked.

Ellie followed the sound. Rinkside, Joshua Winslow was talking to Coach Victor. The coach crossed his arms over his body. "Don't worry. Autumn is going to nationals. We have all summer to perfect her routine."

"Maybe we need to hire a new ch.o.r.eographer." Josh frowned. "I thought her moves looked stale."

"Her routine is fine," Victor argued.

"Autumn isn't happy with it, and it's her career. If she wants a new ch.o.r.eographer, we'll hire one." Josh's hand flew up in the air in an angry Kermit flail. He stalked away from Victor. The coach rubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Ellie turned away. Parent tantrums were hardly new.

Anger and shock welled in her throat as she thought about Corey. He'd threatened to hurt Ellie's family just to get his hands on whatever evidence Lee had found. Had Corey arranged to have Lee and Kate killed as well, all to protect his daughter from the consequences of her actions?

The first notes of Julia's music floated over the PA system, and Ellie turned her attention to her daughter, waving as Julia skated to center ice and positioned herself. She glided through her moves with the grace expected of her ability and level. Ellie held her breath as Julia poised for a single axel, the hardest move in her routine. She hadn't practiced much this week, and Kate's death had obviously dampened her enthusiasm for the sport. She leaped and twirled, landing with only a slight bobble.

Ellie exhaled.

Julia finished her routine with a spin and the biggest smile she'd worn since Kate and Lee had been killed. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Corey was in custody. Surely, the police would find Donnie soon. Ellie went to the rink exit and waited for Julia to step off the ice.

"Nice work!" She wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders.

Julia paused, her eyes searching the bench next to the exit. "Do you have my blade guards?"

"No."

"Someone must have taken them," Julia frowned.

"We'll get a new pair tomorrow."

"Beautiful routine, Julia." Victor walked by. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

"I even landed the axel." Julia grinned at Ellie, then sobered. "It's a shame Mrs. Barrett isn't here. Do you think she can see me?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Ellie sighed.

"It would be nice to think she was still watching over me." Julia clomped across the cement.

"It would." Ellie followed her to the locker room. Usually she waited outside, but not tonight. She wasn't leaving Julia alone for a second until Donnie was caught. They walked through the doorway into a cinder block hallway that led to the locker rooms.

Josh Winslow followed them into the corridor. He caught Ellie by the arm. Her pulse spiked. Julia disappeared inside.

Ellie jerked her arm away. "I don't have time for this."

"Your daughter looked good on the ice tonight, but remember she's not advanced team material." Josh leaned close enough that she could smell alcohol on his breath. "You know that, right?"

"What the h.e.l.l is the matter with you?" Ellie pushed at his chest. "Back off."

He sneered. "Just so you don't think that little priss of yours is any compet.i.tion for my daughter."

Oh, my G.o.d. Could Josh be involved too? He and Corey were tight. Fear pulsed through her as she took in the animosity s.h.i.+ning from his eyes.

"They are kids. It's ice-skating. Get some perspective."

"Now that Kate's gone, Julia won't get any more preferential treatment."

"What are you talking about?" Ellie tugged at her arm, but Josh tightened his grip on her bicep. "Julia likes skating, but it's a fun hobby for her. That's it. She's several levels below Autumn. What is your problem?"

"Just as long as we're clear that she's never going to be compet.i.tion for Autumn."

"You have issues. Now let go of me." Ellie pushed against his windpipe with her fingertips.

He gagged and staggered backward.

Ellie stepped back and looked down the empty corridor. The insulated door between the locker room hallway and the rink was closed.

One hand clutched his throat. Josh moved closer, backing Ellie against the wall. "You b.i.t.c.h."

Grant looked down at Donnie. His face was a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp. His eyes were closed, his breathing ragged and wet. How many times had Grant hit him? The thug probably wasn't getting up anytime soon, which was good because Grant didn't have time to restrain him.

He levered his body up and off Donnie. Racing for the house, Grant followed the barking through the thick black smoke. He dropped to the floor and belly-crawled under the worst of it. Hannah was in front of him, on her knees, trying to drag Nan toward the back door. Unwilling to leave without her humans, AnnaBelle barked beside them.

"Go. I got her." Grant pointed toward the exit in case his sister couldn't hear him over the roar of the fire.

Hannah lunged for the dog, grabbed her collar, and stumbled toward the exit. Grant picked up Nan and followed them out.

They lurched for the next yard. Sirens wailed in the street. Red lights swirled and flashed.

McNamara ran toward them between the houses.

Grant laid Nan down on the gra.s.s. Her bloodshot eyes opened, and she coughed. Relieved that she was awake, Grant stood. A paramedic dropped to his knees beside her, an oxygen mask already in his hand. Grant backed away and almost tripped over Donnie's still form. He glanced down. The killer's face was hamburger.

A soot-streaked Hannah was helping Carson out of the van. Sobbing, the boy ran to Grant, who picked him up, turning his face away from the beaten man on the ground. Oh G.o.d. Had Carson seen Grant beat Donnie?

McNamara put his hands on his hips. His gaze swept over the ragged bunch, paused on Hannah for a heartbeat, then settled on Grant, as if he'd just identified the guilty party. Hannah had the baby out of the car and was holding her close. Red-faced, Faith hiccuped into her shoulder.

"Is that Donnie?" McNamara asked.

"Yes." Grant met the cop's frustrated gaze. With a nod to the now quiet, but still trembling child, Grant made it clear he wasn't answering any more questions until Carson was out of earshot.

McNamara seemed to get it. He waved a uniformed cop and a paramedic toward the p.r.o.ne man, then turned back to Grant. "Are Ellie and her daughter still at the rink?"

"They should be." Grant s.h.i.+fted Carson in his arms and patted his back pocket. d.a.m.n. Where was his phone? He must have dropped it. "Mac should be there with them by now. Did you send a patrol car?"

"I did. The officer should be there."

"I'll call Ellie and make sure she's all right." Grant coughed hard and forced a shout out of his raw throat. "Hannah, do you have a phone?"

His sister checked her pockets and shook her head. "I must have dropped it in the house." She gasped.

Her coughing drew the attention of another paramedic, who sat her on the car b.u.mper and slid a mask over her face. When he tried to take the baby, Hannah b.u.mped his hand away and hugged her tighter.

Carson leaned away from Grant's chest. He wiped his running nose with his forearm. "I have a phone, Uncle Grant." He held out a cell phone.

Grant took it. "Where did you get this, Carson?"

"It slid out from under the seat in the van." The little boy lifted a skinny shoulder.

"Is that your mom's phone?" McNamara asked.

Carson shook his head. "She has the I one."

This was no iPhone. It was a burner phone, with camera and video capabilities. Grant pa.s.sed it to McNamara. The cop used the hem of his jacket to accept it. He turned it on.

While he scrolled through the phone Carson had found, McNamara handed Grant a cell. "Use this to call Ellie."

The cop stepped away.

Grant dialed Ellie's mobile number. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Panic slid through his veins.

"She's not answering." Grant dialed his brother.

Mac picked up on the first ring. "I've been trying to call you. I just got here a few minutes ago. There's a cop here with me. We haven't found Ellie yet."

McNamara's hand settled on Grant's forearm. "Hey, Carson, could you go make sure your Aunt Hannah is OK?"

"Keep looking," Grant told his brother. "I'll call you back in a minute." Reluctantly, he set the boy down. Even the weight of the small body in his arms wasn't enough to convince him that everyone had emerged from the fire relatively unscathed. Hannah and Nan were both alert and talking to the paramedics. Donnie was handcuffed and being loaded onto a stretcher. Disaster had been averted. But Grant's instincts stirred uneasily in his chest. Until he saw Ellie and Julia, safe and well, he wouldn't relax.

McNamara held the phone between them and hit Play. Everything inside of Grant went cold as he watched the video.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Lindsay February Every day is the same, a complete misery. The pills I'm taking now numb me out a little, but not enough. They make me tired, too. I'm sleeping better, but I haven't finished my homework in weeks. In fact, I could sleep all day long and wish I didn't have to wake up at all.

I. Just. Don't. Care.

The waiting room walls are thin. I listen as the psychiatrist and my mom talk about me switching schools. Maybe going to some private academy not far away or homeschooling even.

The doctor nudges my mom in this direction. "You have to think about what is best for Lindsay."

But Mom has this "never give up" att.i.tude ingrained in her soul. It's how she finished college in three years, got grants for graduate school, and taught herself to speak Spanish.

For a smart lady, she is f.u.c.king clueless.

"Aren't I teaching her to be a quitter?" she asks. "Aren't I enabling these other kids if I pull her out of school? Most people get teased or hara.s.sed at some point in our lives. What kind of life lesson am I teaching Lindsay if we surrender? If I let her quit the skating team, the other kids win. Lindsay loses. She needs to learn to stand up for herself."

I block the rest of the conversation out. I'm a big disappointment to Mom. I can hear it in her voice. She wishes I was stronger, more like her.

Well, I'm not.

I feel like I've been sent into battle empty-handed. I have no options. No friends to support me. No weapons to fight back. Really, what can I do? They're smarter than me. All of them. I am worthless.

I want to give up. Surrender. Just don't make me go back to Scarlet Falls High. This morning, I flat-out told Mom I'm not going back to the skating rink. She can't make me. The arena has become my Guantnamo Bay. I'm surprised Regan and Autumn haven't tried waterboarding me in the locker room.

I don't want to go back to school either. Talking with the shrink always makes me feel raw, exposed, as if my clothes have been peeled away and left me naked. But back we go. Mom signs me in just after noon. From the looks on the teachers' faces when I walk in, they think I'm a whiner. Regan and Autumn have them all snowed. They are top students with disciplinary records as perfect as everything else. There's no proof they're behind any of the bullying. Actually, except for the texts of anonymous origin, there's no proof any of it even happened. It's all my word against theirs.

Dad is just p.i.s.sed. He's been down to the school six times, and he's argued with the director of the arena. Each time, he comes home more frustrated. He's not a confrontational guy, though. So when he and Mom fight about the situation, which is all the time, she wins. Last night, though, I heard him say, "I'll give you until spring break. If things don't improve, she's out of there."

"Hamiltons are not quitters," was her response.

I get through the day without incident. This doesn't happen very often, but have no fear. My locker is jammed. By the time I hunt down the custodian to help me get it open, I've missed the bus. I have a choice: wait an hour for the late bus or walk home through the woods. At the most, the trek will take fifteen minutes, and the last thing I want to do is stay at school for another hour. This place is my prison. I just want to go home, but I'm not calling Mom or Dad. Besides, Mom's job is the closest, and it would take her a half hour just to get here. She'd taken the morning off for the appointment with the psychiatrist.

My favorite hours are the ones between school and when my parents get home, before the questions about my day begin.

"What happened today?"

"Did you write it down?"

I'm supposed to keep a log of all the bullying, but I only put about half the incidents in the notebook. Writing it down is like living it all over again. Once is enough, you know?