Last Light (15 page)

Mel,
I prayed,
don’t leave a message, don’t leave a message … please.

How could I have forgotten to tell Mel not to call this weekend? I bought the new phone on Thursday and sent her the number as soon as I got back to the cabin. Then, in my rush to prepare for Hannah’s visit, I completely forgot about Mel.

And here she was—Melanie, the stranger responsible for
Night Owl
’s publication—calling me while Hannah listened in horror.

My cell began to ring again.
Fuck.

“What the hell?” Hannah whispered. She looked between me and the ringing cell. “Who has this number besides me?”

“No one,” I stammered. “No one, I swear. It’s got to be a wrong number.”

“What if … someone figured this out? I’m answering it.”

“No!” I grabbed the phone.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed.
There.
For the first time since she arrived, I saw suspicion flash across her face.

I eased the TracFone back onto the counter.

Its loud, persistent ring was the sound of panic.

“Why answer it?” I said. “I mean, there’s no point.”

“Matt, we have to know who it is. And
you
can’t answer it. I’m answering it.”

Before I could stop her, Hannah flipped open my cell and brought it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said.

My heart thudded into a thin, fast rhythm. I could do nothing but stare and strain to hear. No voice came from the phone. Or maybe it did and I missed it. My ears were ringing.

“Hello?” Hannah demanded. “Who is this? Hello?”

Her face fell. She glared at the phone, then snapped it shut. Her hand was shaking.

“They hung up,” she said. “They didn’t say anything.”

Another muffled ringtone sounded.

This time, it was Hannah’s phone.

She frowned and opened her purse, digging out her phone and peering at it.

“Shit, it’s Nate.”

“Oh, of course.” I threw up a hand.

“I have to answer this.”

“Do you, now?” I folded my arms and regarded Hannah carefully. Why did she
have
to answer a call from Nate?

“It looks weird if I don’t, okay? Let me handle this.” She took the call and walked off a few feet. I followed her like a vulture, looming at her shoulder.

“Nate? Hey. No, it’s fine.” She paused. “No, out at Kevin’s cabin. Yeah. Yeah, I needed to get away. He said I could stay here.” Another pause. “He really is, yeah.”

I leaned in, but I couldn’t catch Nate’s voice.

Hannah glared and twisted away from me. Then something changed in her expression. Her hesitant smile fell and her dark brows drew together.

“What?” She walked toward the deck. She was silent for a minute. “I see. I see. I don’t know anything about that.” Her shoulders hunched as she listened. “No,” she said. “I realize that. It’s really weird, but I—yes, believe me.”

Hannah’s one-sided conversation continued to make no sense. While her back was to me, I shut off my new cell.

“All right. I will, Nate. I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch. Bye.”

She ended the call and lowered her phone. She took her time turning to face me. She tightened the towel around her bust and returned the phone to her purse.

“Nate,” she said.

“Mm.”

Hannah’s guarded expression worried me, along with her slow and careful motions.

“It seems like…” She looked through her purse. “It seems like
Night Owl
has been removed from the Internet. All the places selling the e-book have discontinued it.”

I looked down at the countertop. Too late … the slow-dawning realization of how suspicious this looked. Hannah told me about the lawsuit last weekend. Within days,
Night Owl
disappeared from the Internet.

I wasn’t clever at all. Not at all. I was the world’s biggest fucking idiot.

“Wow,” I managed.

“Yeah, wow.” She continued to go through her purse, and when I looked at her hands, I saw that she wasn’t really searching for anything. She mechanically raised and replaced items. Lip gloss. Her keys. A coin purse. A pill holder.

I grasped her wrist. Her hands jerked to a stop.

“Did you?” she said. Her meaning was clear.
Did you publish it?

I shook my head.

“Matt, you could have told me if you did. You can tell me. I won’t be upset, just—”

“I didn’t turn
Night Owl
into an e-book,” I snapped. That, at least, was true.

I turned away from Hannah and dragged a hand through my wet hair.

“I’m sorry, but I had to ask,” she said. “Do you get how weird this is? It makes no sense. I told you about the lawsuit, and the only other people who know are Seth and Nate … and Shapiro, obviously. And me. That’s it.” Her voice faltered as she worked through the logic.

“I know.”

“Like … what are the odds, I mean … it’s as if the person who published it
knew.
About the lawsuit. To suddenly pull the title off the Internet—”

“Coincidence,” I said. “It has to be a coincidence.”

“I guess. I know
you
didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone but you.”

I moved away from Hannah, heading toward the couch and the broad western windows. A run through the woods would clear my head. That, or a swim in some half-frozen lake. Something painful and rigorous.

“Nate is seriously pissed,” Hannah persisted. She gnawed at a nail as she spoke. “At first, he was basically accusing me. You know, they all think
I
wrote it, and now—”

“You?” I laughed. “Please.”

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t write. I don’t get why they’d think you wrote it.”

“Uh, okay. I actually
do
write, just FYI. You remember how we met on a
writing
forum? But anyway … yeah, this is looking pretty bad for me.” Hannah laughed, the sound as bitter as mine. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. It’s not like they can prove I wrote it, since I didn’t.”

“Mm.”

Soft snow began to fall, slanting across the sky. It was hard to believe that a moment ago Hannah and I stood in the bathroom together, feeling so content.

No trace of that harmony remained.

“And Nate still plans to pursue the lawsuit,” Hannah said.

“Mm.”

“I’m glad you’re so concerned.”

“Hannah…” I rubbed my face. In the wake of strong emotion, I always feel void.

“Look, if it comes down to it, why don’t I just tell them you wrote it?”

“What?” I turned.

“Yeah. The truth, Matt. I’ll say that you wrote it, and that I have no idea how it got online. I’ll tell them you always e-mailed your stuff to yourself, and that maybe someone hacked your e-mail. You know, it would feel good to tell the truth for once.”

No kidding.

“No,” I said flatly. “No, I—”

“Matt, please. Let me say that. Nate will probably drop the lawsuit, and if he doesn’t, who cares? Let him sue the asshole who hacked your e-mail and put the book online. I know the book is embarrassing, trust me, but you don’t have to save face. You’re dead, remember? You’re never going to—”

“Stop it!” My voice echoed off the cabin walls. Hannah jumped about an inch in the air. “Please, just … stop it. I can’t—” I unclenched my hands.
I can’t let Nate sue the person who put the book up for sale. I can’t let a stranger take a fall for me.
Besides, would Melanie even take that fall? No, she’d roll over on me in a heartbeat. “I can’t think about this right now.”

Hannah’s shoulders fell and she wiped her eyes quickly.

“Fine,” she said. “Later, then. We’ll … handle it later. It’s just, I don’t live in a cabin in the woods, Matt.” She gestured around the cabin. “I can’t not think about this, okay? I have … Nate calling me, and I’ll have Shapiro hounding me. I live in the real world.”

I crossed the cabin and returned to Hannah. I folded her into a hug. If she doubted me, or if she suspected something was up with
Night Owl
and Mel’s call, I would have felt it. She didn’t. She melted against me with a sigh.

“Let’s not live in the real world.” I swayed with Hannah in my arms.

She gave a defeated laugh.

“Disappear with me,” I persisted. “It can be done. I don’t live in the real world.”

“I know you don’t.” She kissed my collarbone. “I’ve always known that. But I do, and I like it. I love my family, my job…”

“Mm, I know. It’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it? The two of us on the run. Sort of daring and romantic…” I smiled and sighed and let it go. I knew better than to push Hannah now. On the inside, though, I was exultant. The book
was
complicating her life. She called it
embarrassing,
said Shapiro was
hounding her.
To me, that meant she was one step farther from Denver and one step closer to us. I tapped her nose. “So you write, do you?”

“You know I do.”

“And what do you write, little bird?”

“Well.” She fidgeted. “There was … that story with you.”

“What, Lana and Cal? Oh, yes, the stuff of Pulitzers.”

Hannah grinned. “Uh-huh, super highbrow. But, no, I mean … I write.”

I tilted my head and waited for her to say more, but she only smiled at me. Mm … beautiful Hannah with her little secrets. Fair enough.

“It’s better that I don’t know,” I said after a while. “As long as it’s not a tell-all memoir about me, hm? Suddenly you’ll be auctioning off my e-mails.”

We returned to the bedroom with our arms around one another. A small part of me refused to relax, and it pricked at me as we dressed and chatted.

Really, how could I be so stupid? I thought removing
Night Owl
from the Net would solve all our problems, but it only made more.

That morning, Hannah and I went for a walk in the woods. I showed her where I jogged and told her about the owls I sometimes heard at night. I displayed my giant pile of firewood. “Impressive.” She giggled. She was all levity again, and I found myself smiling as I watched her.

We attempted to build a snowman in front of the cabin, but the powder wouldn’t hold. Hannah flung snow at me and I tackled her soundly.

When we got back inside, Hannah showed me a pair of long underwear and told the story of her anxiety-fueled packing. We cackled.

“I’ll wear it sometime,” I said, “and take a few hot pics for you.”

She made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and I gave her a glass of white wine. We settled down to watch Luhrmann’s new version of
The Great Gatsby.

I watched Hannah more than I watched the screen. It was pure pleasure, to see the nuances of emotion playing over her face.

I refilled her glass and she frowned at me.

“Matt, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Mm.” I wedged the cork in. “Drunk on cheap wine so I can have my way with you.”

“It’s not that bad.” She sipped her wine and squinted. “But I … don’t want to be all tipsy and silly while you’re sober. I feel bad.”

I leaned in to kiss Hannah’s neck. I felt her pulse against my tongue. “I think you’ve seen enough of me drunk in a cabin for one lifetime, Hannah. Besides…” I set the bottle on the coffee table, “my tastes are way too refined for this shit.”

Hannah huffed and smacked my arm.

I loved Hannah “all tipsy and silly,” with her ready blushes and laughter. I knew that only I saw that side of her. When it came to work, she was professional and brisk. In social settings, she was friendly and polite, but finally reserved. She bloomed for me.

And I did have my way with Hannah that afternoon. When the movie ended, I took her out onto the deck and made her hold the rail while I slid a hand into her pants. I exposed her to the cold bit by bit, lifting her sweater and unclasping her bra, peeling down her pants and thong. I spanked her until her moans rang through the forest.

When I was ready, I made her tell me how she wanted it—hard and fast or sweet and slow. Hard and fast, she said. A good answer.

Chapter 23

HANNAH

Sunday arrived with the unsettling feeling of departure. I woke alone and shuffled into the main room, where I found Matt seated at his desk. The set of his shoulders—just that—told me we were going to have an argument.

He didn’t turn.

As I was fixing my coffee, he said, “I’m not happy about this.”

I frowned over at him. God, I couldn’t get used to seeing that silky black hair where I expected dirty blond. I wondered how long he’d been awake. He wore a pale long-sleeved shirt and black fleece pants, and even those casual clothes fit him so elegantly. He must have looked like that when he was alone, relaxing at his desk, writing. Without me.

Matt turned and caught me staring.

“What? About what?” I said.

“You leaving. I’m not happy about it.”

He rose and began to prowl through the cabin, stopping at windows to study the landscape. I watched him again, and I smiled. He couldn’t be happy with a weekend. He was angry all the time—in his passion, in his contentment—as if he needed anger to survive.

“Matt, I’m not happy about it either.”

“Then call Pam and take a sick day.”

“No.” I blew steam off my coffee. “I’m sorry, but I won’t do that.”

“Why? Why not?”

“Don’t be childish, Matt. It’s my job, it’s my dream job, and you of all people should know that Pam can smell a lie for miles.”

Matt glared a challenge at me from across the room. I met his gaze and shook my head. In bed, he could boss me around all night—and all day, for that matter—but not outside of it.

“Besides”—I swirled the spoon in my mug—“I’ll drive up next weekend.”

“Don’t you want to spend another day with me?” Having failed with anger, Matt shifted into a far more persuasive mode: Mopey Matt. He flopped onto the couch and snatched a pillow, which he began to pick at and examine. When I said nothing, he set aside the pillow and went for Laurence, opening the rabbit’s cage and leaning in to talk quietly to him.

Oh, Lord. He was like an outsized nine-year-old but with a man’s guile. I grinned down at my coffee. To laugh at him now would be a mistake.