“What? No, I didn’t leave a note. But yeah, I called you. Porter doesn’t know anything about that, by the way. I wish you had listened and stayed away from him. I think he’ll be okay. But he’s not as young as he used to be, and . . .”
Molly curls up in the back of my mind, in the mental equivalent of the fetal position, crying. Which I understand, given the circumstances. She just learned that her grandmother is dead, and now she finds out Porter’s been wounded, too. But her emotional meltdown is very distracting when I’m trying to think. And a little constructive input from her would be really helpful right now, since she knows this Aaron guy a lot better than I do.
“There were two shots,” I say. “Well, three, but the last was aimed at me. Are you sure . . .”
“They hit his car with the second shot. He was lucky, though. Just a few inches closer and that bullet would’ve hit him, too.”
I process what he’s said, then return to what’s really bugging me.
“You’re the one who called me, but it wasn’t you in the van. That guy was darker, bald—pretty sure I saw a moustache.”
He shoots me an incredulous look. “Of course I wasn’t driving the freaking van! Why would you think that?”
“Did Porter even know? Or did you hire someone to scare me away without telling him?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Anna? I didn’t hire anyone. I didn’t have anything to do with the van. I was trying to convince you to keep away from Porter so that neither of you would get hurt. So they’d leave you alone. But you didn’t listen.”
He’s a good actor. If I hadn’t known the time that his warning call came in, I might have believed him. I debate whether to play that trump card or keep quiet and save what I know for the police. Assuming, of course, that I make it to the police. Assuming, of course, that he’s not working with whoever shot Porter. Or with this Lucas. Or Craig.
I am in so, so deep.
No. I’ll keep the information about the van to myself for now. “Molly trusted you.”
That causes him to flinch. He switches to the inner lane and speeds up to around seventy, glancing again at the rearview mirror before he speaks. “Molly was a friend. I just wish I’d been around three years ago. Maybe I could have . . .” He trails off, shaking his head.
Again, my intuition tells me he’s being honest, that I should believe him. That’s the only reason I can imagine why I do a complete one-eighty on telling him what I know about the van in the space of a minute. “You say you didn’t have anything to do with the van. But you left that message three hours before it came anywhere near us.”
He keeps his eyes fixed on the lane ahead, but his face darkens.
“So the way I see it, the most logical explanation is that you hired the van. Or you know who did. Unless, of course, you have some sort of crystal ball that tells the future.”
He’s silent for a long moment, then says, “It’s not exactly a crystal ball.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
“I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“Is the most logical explanation always the correct one, Anna?”
“Not always,” I admit, thinking back to Deo’s earlier comment on the same subject. In my case, the most logical explanation isn’t even usually the correct one.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. “Can I at least know where you’re taking me?”
“The first place I could think of that’s safe. At least I’m pretty sure it’s safe. I don’t think we were followed, and you can’t go back to Bartholomew House just yet.”
“I need to call Deo. I was supposed to meet him after my appointment. And, oh—jeez, I didn’t even think. Kelsey will know about Porter by now. She’ll be worried. And maybe she has an update on his condition?”
“Porter’s alive . . .”
“You can’t know that. He could be dead for all you know.” A fresh wail from Molly reminds me that I probably shouldn’t have said that. I pull up Kelsey’s number on my phone. “They could have gone upstairs and shot Kelsey, too. And for all I know, you could be working with them.”
“Anna, please.” He puts his hand on my arm, squeezing lightly, his eyes pleading. “Okay, fine, if it will make you feel better. Call them. Tell them you’re safe. Tell them you’re with a friend.”
“But I’m not sure that either of those things is true,” I say, pulling my arm away. “And Deo won’t believe it for a minute.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t have any friends aside from Deo, I think. But I just say, “He knows me well enough to tell when I’m lying.”
“Then don’t let it be a lie. I am not going to hurt you. I’m trying to figure out the best way to keep you safe. And I’ll tell you everything, or at least as much as I can, as soon as we get there.”
“Get where?” I mutter under my breath as I wait for Kelsey to pick up.
Kelsey’s voice is frantic when she answers. “Oh, thank heavens, Anna! Are you okay? The police are swarming the parking lot. Mr. Porter—”
“Porter?” I ask lamely. “What happened?”
“He was shot. They said the shooter must have mistaken him for someone else. Probably drug related.”