But suddenly, Noel stretched his arms wide. “The thing is, Aria, I care more about us than I do about me. No matter what you have to tell me, you just have to say it, okay?”
Aria fell into him, and they held each other for a long time. By the way his arms circled tightly around her, as if he never wanted to let her go, it was clear he’d forgiven her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his ear.
“I know,” Noel said. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you about my dad instead of letting you discover it for yourself. I kept something from you, too.” He pulled away and touched the tip of her nose. “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course,” Aria said, hugging him even tighter. She’d never felt so connected to Noel, to anyone, in her whole life. But as she nuzzled her nose into his chest, she heard something across the yard and looked up. It sounded like someone was clearing her throat. She scanned the trees for a sign of life. The guesthouse windows were shuttered. A bird sat on the fence, raising and lowering its tail.
No one’s here, she told herself, and tried to swallow the fear as best she could. But it got stuck in her throat, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
A was still out there, after all. And it was very possible A was close, listening. But A had taken so much from her. A wasn’t getting Noel, too.
34
A SURPRISE STALKING SIDE EFFECT
Later that Monday morning, Hanna steered into the parking lot of Rosewood Day. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, matching her mood. Kate, who was riding next to her, had set the radio to WKYW news. The local newscaster was recapping Gayle’s tragic murder. “Ms. Riggs was a great benefactor to the Philadelphia Art Museum, the Camden Aquarium, and Big Brothers Big Sisters of New Jersey,” the reporter said, the news ticker clacking in the background. “She will be greatly missed. The funeral is tomorrow morning, and record crowds are expected to attend. Ms. Riggs is survived by her husband, though she recently lost a stepdaughter, Tabitha—”
Hanna switched the radio off abruptly. “This is so horrible,” Kate murmured, picking at her manicure. “You really didn’t see who killed her?”
“Shh,” Hanna hissed, even though they were the only people in the car. When she’d left the police station last night, she’d called her dad and told him as much of the story as she was willing to explain—that she’d gone on a wild goose chase with Emily, that she hadn’t known it was Gayle’s house, and that she was stunned to find Gayle dead in the driveway. Naturally, her father had been horrified, and he called his campaign manager and press secretary for advice on how best to spin the news. Kate had been privy to the conversation, but instead of looking at Hanna like she was a freak of nature—or a crazy killer—she’d been sympathetic. “That must have been awful,” she’d said, a concerned look on her face.
Luckily, Spencer’s dad had finagled a way to keep the Rosewood PD from telling the press that the girls were on Gayle’s property, and everyone else who knew swore not to talk, too. But Hanna’s father still gave her a stern lecture in the privacy of her bedroom. “Those photos you told me about were bad enough,” he said through clenched teeth. “What were you doing trespassing? You could have gotten killed!”
Hanna hated to see her dad disappointed in her and more or less promised not to leave the house until the elections were over. But when her dad pressed her about what she was doing on Gayle’s property to begin with, she fumbled for an excuse. There was no way she could tell him about Emily’s baby or A.
Hanna pulled into a parking space and climbed out of the car. She trudged toward the side entrance, and Kate headed for the art wing, where she had homeroom. A few kids paused to look at Hanna as though she were on fire. “Loser,” muttered Devon Arliss, pulling ski team gear from the back of her car. Kirsten Cullen stopped texting on her phone and burst out laughing. Phi Templeton and Chassey Bledsoe nudged each another by the knoll where all the smokers hung out, and Lanie Iler and Mason Byers stopped making out long enough to whisper “Psycho stalker” in voices just loud enough for her to hear. Hanna would have thought a local murder would have trumped that stupid video of her, but she guessed wrong.