“I’ll report you.”
“I don’t give a shit. We’ve played by certain rules this far, and we’re gonna go all the way. Now, do you come out, or do I come in?”
There was a lengthy silence. Sam was reaching to start his car when Will said, “Fuck you.”
“What does that mean? Are you coming or not?”
“I’m coming. But I’ll report you.”
“Fine. Just get the hell out of there, and do it now.”
Two minutes later, Will’s car bombed past. He was suddenly in a big rush to get home, so much so that he ran two red lights. Shoving a portable flasher to the top of his car, Sam followed him right through and stuck close behind until he’d pulled up at the house.
Savannah was on her way out, working into her coat as she ran. She stopped first at Sam’s window. “The call just came in.” She gave him the address of a phone booth on the street corner in Warwick. “The Warwick police are on their way. They’ll be there before we will. Did you see anything?”
“I didn’t, but my plants did. A battered blue Camaro, a gray Plymouth, and a dusty LeMans. We’ve got plates for the last two. I’ve already called them in.”
“Megan will have to tell us more. The state police are on alert. They’re setting up ID checks at the local points of departure and will question anyone who looks suspicious. They’re ready to move on whatever Megan gives us.”
Susan was climbing into the car. “You go with Will,” she told Savannah. “You’re better with him than I am.”
Hank had already pushed Will over to the passenger’s side. Savannah ran to the rear door and climbed in. Her door was barely shut when they were off.
The drive seemed endless. If Savannah had been able to tell Will that Megan had been the one on the phone, things would have been better. But Megan hadn’t called. The voice had been the same as the one that morning, this time offering nothing more than an address. Megan’s condition was still unknown. And given that, every doubt, every fear of the past two days surfaced.
Hank followed Sam, who was given detailed directions by radio. Will sat stiffly in the passenger’s seat, staring at the road. Savannah was grateful to be alone in back.
When they crossed into Warwick, they were met by a local cruiser. Given the day and hour, lights and sirens were unnecessary. But the escort was a help, showing them the fastest way to the commercial district, then the telephone booth that stood at the designated spot.
A ring of police cars were already there. Sam and Hank pulled up quickly. Will was out of the car and running almost before they’d stopped. The others were close behind.
At first Savannah saw nothing but police officers. Several stood clustered around the phone booth, several knelt by its door. They parted for Will, who came to an abrupt halt. Two steps behind him, Savannah did the same, then caught her breath.
Megan was huddled in a corner of the phone booth floor, looking as though she had seen the far side of hell.
CHAPTER9
Savannah remembered the first time she had seen Megan as though it had been fifteen hours, rather than fifteen years earlier. They’d been starting their sophomore year in high school. She and Susan had arrived at the academy old hands at knowing what to do and what not to do, and, along with their friends, had taken pleasure watching the new girls arrive. As veterans, they felt cocky; the initial fear of leaving home, looking right, fitting in was a thing of the past. They smirked at the girl who arrived in a stretch limo trying to impress someone, smiled warmly at the one whose gorgeous older brother was helping her move in, laughed at the one who came laden with every electrical appliance imaginable since there were only two outlets per room.
Megan had been one of the last to arrive, and she had been different from the rest in every regard. Her clothes were not chic, her nails were not painted, her hair was not carelessly arranged, and if those things hadn’t given her away, her mother would have. The woman drove an old Ford and was as unadorned as the headmistress’s secretary.
Megan was clearly on scholarship, which wasn’t unusual at the academy. What was unusual about Megan was her sense of dignity. Her eyes held fear of the unknown, yet she went about the business of unpacking and settling in as though she intended to do as fine a job at that as she would at everything else. For a girl who had come from modest means at best, her poise was remarkable.
Her mother was equally remarkable. Though plain, she was incredibly warm. Savannah and Susan, who had lost their own mother three years before, gravitated toward her.
And they adored Megan. She liked the music they liked, hated the teachers they hated, and was always ready to try something new with them. She was the third Musketeer. The fact that she looked like Savannah, far more than Susan did, was a constant source of amusement, but she complemented them in other ways, too. When they were impractical, she was down to earth. When they acted spoiled, she was sparing. When they opened her eyes to certain pleasures in life, she reflected those pleasures back with fresh insight.
Savannah had always know that, of the three of them, Megan was the brightest. Her grades were consistently the highest. She was imaginative, hard-working, and street-smart in ways that Savannah and Susan, for all their travels, never were. And she always had a smile, which made her a joy to be with.
Savannah saw nothing remotely joyous about the woman huddled on the floor of that phone booth. When Will called her name in a broken voice and reached for her, she shrank into the corner. Her eyes were forbidding as she looked up at him. Without a sound uttered, everything about her screamed, “Don’t come near!” The Megan who had always been eminently approachable didn’t want to be touched.
“It’s me, Meggie,” Will cried brokenly. “It’s over. Thank God, it’s over.” He tried to touch her arm, and she flinched, crowding into her little corner with her legs drawn in ever tighter. “No one’s going to hurt you. I’ve come to take you home.” Again he reached out. She made a faint sound, gave a short, harsh shake of her head.
Frantic, Will looked up at Savannah. “What’s wrong with her? Jesus, what have they done?”
Savannah didn’t know. Megan’s eyes were hollow, her face ashen, but there were no bruises to suggest she’d been beaten. She looked dirty—her face, her hair, her hands—though her robe was as fresh and clean as ever.
“Meggie?” Savannah said in a voice that was soft and far steadier than her insides were just then. She crouched beside Will. “We want to take you home, Meggie. It’s cold here. Your robe isn’t heavy enough, and your feet are bare. Can we take you home?”
