Free Winter Break by Merry Jones Page A

do? Just leave and hope nothing happened? He had to meet the other guys in front of Balch in fifteen minutes. Had to leave. The kid was locked up tight, had no place to go. No phone. No way out. And he’d be back in a few hours. What could happen in a few hours?
    Evan took his overcoat from his closet and headed out of his room toward the steps. He was in the foyer when, from upstairs, he heard a crash. And then an ear-bending howl.
    Hank called early, right after dinner. He sounded glum, but denied that anything was wrong. ‘Nothing,’ he said when she asked.
    Harper knew, though, that something was. She could tell by his voice. Maybe the work was too much for him. Maybe he was pushing too hard. Getting frustrated or depressed. Or sick? But Hank needed to succeed at this project. Needed to feel competent again – they both needed that. She decided to be positive and encouraging, not to say anything that might upset him. No complaints about Vivian or Lou or the tree. No mention of the missing kid, the key or the blood spatter. Instead, she talked about shopping for baby furniture. About her dissertation. And, as she gazed out the bedroom window, about the weather.
    ‘We got another foot of snow.’
    Hank muttered a disinterested reply.
    In a lilting voice, Harper tried yet again to cheer him up, reporting that she’d devoured almost an entire shrimp and artichoke pizza, and that she was already hungry again. That the baby had a fierce appetite.
    Even then, Hank’s response was flat.
    Finally, Harper gave up pretending. She sat on the bed in silence, stroking his pillow, pouting, thinking of his chest.
    ‘So.’ She bolstered her voice, stared at the window. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
    ‘Long day.’
    Oh – he was tired. Of course, that was it. Hank hadn’t worked full days since before his accident, wasn’t used to hours of continuous exertion.
    ‘Sleeping okay?’
    ‘Not. Without Hoppa.’
    An aching wave rolled through her. Hank missed her. Maybe that was why he sounded so down.
    ‘You? Resting, Hoppa?’
    She thought of her forays into the icy woods, the sharp contraction she’d had earlier. ‘Plenty. I slept all afternoon.’
    ‘Good. Baby needs. Naps.’
    When they finally said goodnight and hung up, Harper stayed on the bed, holding Hank’s pillow, replaying his husky whisper when he’d said goodnight. Feeling the whisper like a caress. An embrace. Oh God. She had to stop. Hank would be home in just a few weeks. She shouldn’t whimper and whine as if he’d been ripped permanently from her arms; she was lucky. They both were. In fact, she should go downstairs and celebrate their luck with some ice cream. Yes. Butter almond? Rocky Road? What did they have? She couldn’t remember.
    And she didn’t want to go look. She missed Hank and refused to cheer herself up. Instead, she curled up on the bed, held onto his pillow and sulked, staring out the window at the night, noticing that the curtains in the fraternity window hung motionless and undisturbed.
    Evan raced back up the stairs. Across the landing, up to the third floor. When he got to Rory’s room, he took the key off the frame, but didn’t unlock the door. He stood outside, listening. But heard nothing.
    Obviously, though, something had happened in there. Maybe the kid’s leg wasn’t as bad as it looked. Maybe he was just inside the door, waiting to jump anyone who opened it.
    Evan pictured the leg, purple and swollen. He’d felt something smash when he’d pounced on it. No way the kid could walk on that thing, let alone fight. Still, he should be careful. Not rush in without protection.
    Again, Evan went downstairs, this time into the kitchen, hoping to find a knife. Drawers, cabinets – everything was locked. Even the refrigerator had a padlock on it. Damn. Okay. He’d have to use his own stuff. He hurried back to his room, grabbed his flashlight and his baseball bat, then reconsidered. Put the bat down, opened a desk drawer and