They gathered up the papers and put them back into the boxes, then returned the containers to the top of the closet.
“Your mom found out the clinic closed,” she said.
“But maybe we can find out something online—or if we go to Houma.”
Stephanie turned to straighten out the bedspread where they’d laid the boxes, and he took the other side, pulling to remove the wrinkles.
“If we get out of here before your dad comes back, he’ll never even know we were here.”
They hadn’t finished smoothing out the bed when they both heard the front door open.
“What do you want to do?” Craig asked in a harsh whisper.
“Climb out the window,” Stephanie answered in the same tone.
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want Dad to find me upstairs with you, and I don’t want to get into an argument about what we were doing—not if I can help it. And I sure as heck don’t want him telling John about it.”
“We’re on the second floor.”
“But there’s an easy way to get out. We can climb onto the sunroom roof and get down that way.” She hurried toward the window, opened the sash and stepped out. Craig looked around to make sure nothing was out of place in the room, then he followed her onto the roof. When he was outside, he closed the window behind them.
They moved along the wall toward the edge of the sunroom, and Stephanie pointed to the trellises that were fixed to the walls of the sunroom.
“Let me go first,” he said.
“No, I’ve done this before.”
“You snuck out of the house?”
“When I was grounded, yeah. The trellis is as good as a ladder.”
“But you haven’t used it in years, right?”
She shrugged. Before he could stop her, she stepped over the side, holding on to the weathered wood as she began to lower herself. He watched her going down, thinking that the wood might not be as solid as when she’d tried this last.
His speculation was confirmed when he heard a cracking sound and she fell several feet before catching herself.
“Are you all right?” he called.
“Yes.”
When she’d made it to the ground, he followed, testing the rungs as he went. The rest seemed solid, and he reached the lawn right after Stephanie.
They stared at each other. He would have hugged her in relief that they’d made it, but he knew that touching her now was a bad idea. They’d forget what they were supposed to be doing—which was getting away from her father’s house before he discovered them.
She must have been thinking the same thing. After long seconds, she walked rapidly across the back of the house and turned the corner.
As soon as she disappeared from sight, he heard her make a strangled sound.
“Stephanie?” he called in a hoarse whisper.
She didn’t answer, and he hurried to catch up, then stopped short when he rounded the corner.
Stephanie was standing rigidly in front of a man who was holding a gun to her head.
CHAPTER EIGHT
