Neeley looked down at the notepad. But someone else might.
Despite the intrusions of the phone, Hannah realized she was happy to be home. She sipped on her third drink and pondered her day. She hadn't said much to Doctor Jenkins, but by the time he had finished the brief session, she had felt good enough to make another appointment. She had done so knowing she could cancel, but as long as John's company health policy would cover the costs of the visits she figured she'd use it. She sensed there was more to Jenkins than he had let on and she was curious.
The afternoon stretching on into evening had been a series of idiotic phone calls and futile attempts at distraction. Even her books hadn't worked well in that field. Hannah settled back onto the cushions. That jerk Howard. How could John have had a lawyer like that, better yet how could Celia stay married to a man like that? Granted he made enough money to get away with just about anything, but for crying out loud the man had no chin. Why was he pushing this divorce? There was nothing in it for her. There was nothing in anything for her. And why did he care if she had seen Jenkins or not?
Hannah had a pretty good idea what lunch would be like tomorrow. Howard was going to be patronizing. It irritated her that Howard presumed she knew nothing of John's finances. It irritated her even more to know that Howard was correct. The meeting the other day had been a shock. The only thing she had to look forward to was her next appointment with Jenkins but even that carried a negative edge. As soon as the company found out about John, if they hadn't already, and got the paperwork rolling, the insurance would be cut off. She didn't see herself being able to pay a hundred and forty-five an hour to feel better for very long. And feeling better wasn't going to change the circumstances of her situation.
Hannah felt vulnerable because she knew that soon the scavengers would be nipping at her heels. She was beginning to feel that before it was over everyone would want a little piece of Hannah Masterson. The phone calls today had only been a taste of what was coming. She was going to have to level with Sam Evans about the urgency of the house sale unless of course he picked up the story from his wife this evening.
Lifting the glass to her lips, Hannah had a sudden moment of resolve and insight. The bottom line was that she was going to have to protect herself. There was nobody else.
She set the glass down and tried to gauge her level of drunkenness. She hadn't had enough to pass out, but certainly enough to induce a somewhat stuporous sleep. She had never drunk like this before, but she'd never been in this situation before. She knew it couldn't go on, but she needed some sleep and it seemed like the only way. She had promised herself this morning — after running Amelia off — to back off, but it was all just too much. John was sitting on some island with all their money; the least she could get to do was finish their liquor cabinet off. John hadn't taken that with him.
Hannah was a little unsteady as she rose to her feet and began her nightly ritual to shut down the big house. First, she checked the alarm. The steady red light on the master console mounted in the wall of the foyer comforted her.
Walking through the quiet house, checking the doors and turning off the lights, it occurred to her that in a way it was a good thing that Sam had returned her call. At the time she had been put off by his greed-induced tactics, but she now realized that she had to be rid of this millstone. She just wanted a little place, something that was really hers. Not a house that fairly screamed out loneliness and isolation. Even with John here, the sheer size was sometimes overwhelming. Especially the upstairs with its empty bedrooms. Hannah made it a practice to go up there as rarely as possible.
By the time Hannah had completed her circuit and was at the edge of her bed, she was beginning to wonder if maybe she wouldn't pass out after all. She looked at the bed and thought of how soft it looked. She wanted to fall across it, but forced herself to take off her robe and crawl in correctly, covers up, everything neat and secure.
Lifting her head from the pillow to turn off the light set the room into a slow spin. Damn, she hated that. Hannah extended her leg from out of the covers so that her foot on the floor would stop the room from moving.
As she slid into unconsciousness, she felt a yearning need for the same simple solution in her life. She needed somehow to stop her whole world from spinning. She needed to put her foot down and control her situation. Her last conscious thought was about Doctor Jenkins. Her session today had barely opened the door to her past but it was enough. What she had tried so hard to bury and ignore was returning. She fell asleep hearing the tortured screams of the small child she had once been.
CHAPTER 10
Neeley was cramped and uncomfortable. She’d assumed that a successful attorney would have a bigger car. Maybe Howard Brumley wasn't so successful. Neeley wondered if Hannah suspected that Howard knew more about John's disappearance than he should. Neeley didn't know the answer to that question. She only knew that Howard's eagerness to put distance between John and Hannah was very suspicious. One thing she had learned traveling in the shadow world with Gant was to question every word, every action. Something was wrong about the way Brumley was acting toward Hannah and it didn’t take a rocket scientist in Neeley’s opinion to figure the person behind that something was John Masterson.
The time to be discreet was past. Neeley knew the clock was ticking and time was not on her side.
Neeley tried to straighten her shoulders but it was impossible. Her hope was that Howard would not work overly late. However, it seemed like he was in no rush to get home to his loving wife.
Howard’s arrival at the car in the back of the practically empty underground garage was hours after most of the other workers had left. He unlocked the door, which had taken Neeley less than five seconds to open without a key. Not looking into the shadowy backseat, he slid onto the black leather. Before he could completely insert the key, Neeley reached around and pushed the barrel of her Glock pistol against the side of his head.
"Let's make this easy. Where is John Masterson?"
"I don't—"
Neeley pressed the tip of the muzzle against the skin, a persuasive argument to the uninitiated.
"Where is John Masterson? Answer or you die in three seconds," Neeley said in a flat voice. “Have you ever seen what a bullet to the head does?”
Howard may have been a foolish man in certain business associations, but he tended to be practical when the stakes moved from money to survival. "Across the river. The Cloverleaf Motel. Room twenty-seven."
"Does Hannah Masterson know where he is?"
"No."
"Does she know anything about this thing John has set up?"
"No."
"Why is John doing this?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me."
“Why is he disappearing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Neeley hissed.
“I really don’t know. Please! I’d tell you if I did.”
She believed that. "Why are you helping John?"
"He's paying me."
Neeley was impressed how quickly the answers came. Howard wasn’t very loyal. Which triggered her next question.
“What else?”
The momentary silence told her there was indeed more. Neeley waited, noting the drip of sweat from his temple around the tip of the gun. She’d have to clean it after this. There were oils in sweat that were not good for gun steel.
“I was told to tell her to see her psychiatrist.”
Neeley frowned. “Doctor Jenkins?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you to make sure she saw Jenkins?”