Page 29 of Our Little Secret
“More teenagers in a car is better?” she asked.
“Probably not. But I’ll negotiate with her.” He grinned. “That’s what I do all day long, right? Negotiate settlements for my clients.”
“Somehow I think this one might be a little rougher.”
“O, ye of little faith.”
“Restore it,” she suggested. “Restore my faith in your abilities.”
She caught a glimpse of light dance in his blue eyes. If nothing else, Neal loved a challenge.
She remembered that too.
Well, he’d certainly get one in Marilee.
“And remind her that we have to be doubly cautious with Allison Carelli gone missing.” The headache she was hoping to keep at bay pressed forward. She was still hoping it was really over with Gideon, though that last horrible fight, the vestiges of it obvious, still lingered. Thoughts of him only ramped up her other concerns. She was worried sick about the missing girls, her stomach in knots. “God, I hope Alli’s okay,” she said fervently. “And Penny Williams too, wherever she is.” Brooke’s voice had lowered to a whisper, an added thought because it had been so long since Penelope had vanished and hope was fading.
“Me too,” he said grimly. “I checked the news. So far, nothing.”
“I know.”
“And Jennifer is still working on it, but . . . it’s up to the police really.” As if to change the subject, Neal said, “I’ll talk to Marilee about the dance.” He was already walking out of the room. “No time like the present.”
“You’re a brave man, Neal Harmon.”
He laughed and she adjusted the ice pack, then picked up the remote for the television and found a local news channel, hoping to hear something about Allison. Instead, she got the weather—a storm rolling in—and politics about an upcoming mayoral race.
Just as she was about to turn off the TV, her phone buzzed.
Gideon!
Her heart leaped to her throat.
But no. The person on the other end of the call was Leah, her recently added name and number showing on the small screen. Brooke considered not answering, gave herself a quick mental lashing, and clicked on. “Hey,” she said, walking out of the room and downstairs. “I was about to call you.”
“Liar,” Leah charged.
“No, really.”
“Fine.” Obviously, Leah didn’t have time to argue. “Look, I heard you fell down while running today, so I thought maybe I’d fly up to Seattle to, you know, take care of you.”
“You heard? That I tripped?” Brooke said. “How?”
“Well, you know, I follow Marilee on Instagram and, well, whatever.” She said it as if Brooke were thick.
“She posted something there?”
“It wasn’t really about you,” Leah said, quickly backpedaling. “More like old people shouldn’t jog or something.”
“Great.”
“She didn’t use your name.”
“It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out.” Brooke was irritated at her daughter but tried to keep her mind on the conversation. “It’s not that bad. A few scrapes, a twisted ankle, and a bruised ego,” she lied. The last thing she needed to deal with right then was Leah and her drama.
“Whatever. It’s a good time for me to come up anyway,” she said.
“A good time . . . for you?” For the life of her, Brooke couldn’t imagine why the middle of October was anything special.
