She dismissed last night’s prank call for what it was. A stupid joke. Jonas, by all accounts a new man, certainly would phone her directly, right? He already had her number, a gift from Aunt Faiza. Wouldn’t he just call her instead of playing some ridiculous high school game in the middle of the night? Or was he that cruel?
So the caller had to have been someone else, someone who wanted to bug the crap out of her, to scare her. But who? Not many had her phone number. So what? She didn’t exactly have anonymity, and there were ways to find out all kinds of information on the Internet. No, Jonas hadn’t called her, but some person in her past. Someone jealous or pissed off had tried to get their jollies by leaving the weird message in the middle of the night.
“Get used to it,” she told herself as she drained her cup and reached for her jacket. “I won’t be gone long,” she said to Rhapsody, who had raced to the door in anticipation of a jog. Guilt cut through Kara’s already pain-filled brain. “Later,” she promised. First, she was going to track Margrove down and find out how she could contact Jonas.
Why?
She didn’t answer the question, because she had no good response. Yes, he was her sibling, a member of her family, but he’d never responded to her letters, refused to see her the two times she’d visited Bandoff after she’d turned eighteen. The prison’s massive concrete walls, razor wire, and stone-faced, armed guards had convinced her that she never wanted to be incarcerated, and she’d wondered how Jonas had survived all this time without going insane.
Maybe that was a short trip. Because a boy who had been capable of killing his entire family had already slipped over the edge.
And now he was out.
A good thing?
Or bad?
She guessed she’d find out.
“He didn’t do it,” she reminded herself, and snagged her keys and purse before heading to the garage. She slapped the button for the garage door opener, then slid behind the wheel. As the door cranked noisily open, she started the SUV. Placed her hands on the cold steering wheel.
Her cell phone buzzed again and she glanced at it. No name. No number. “Forget it,” she said aloud, her breath fogging as she rammed the Cherokee into reverse and gunned the engine as snow had piled on the driveway. The Jeep lurched backward, her tires bumping over the icy berm, a gray daylight starting to illuminate the streets.
“Hey!” a startled voice yelled.
Thump!
From the corner of her eye, she spied a man leap from the driveway to the side yard.
Jesus!
She’d hit him?
What? No!
She stood on the brakes.
“No. Oh, no. Oh, God!” she whispered, ramming her Jeep into park.
She threw open the door. Flying out of the driver’s side, she prayed the man wasn’t dead. She rounded the back of the Jeep, her boots sliding, panic surging through her brain.
He lay in the drive, half buried in six inches of icy white powder. Jeans, heavy jacket, boots, dark hair. Face turned to one side.
Unmoving.
She nearly heaved. God, was he dead?
“Hey,” she yelled. “Hey!” She slid onto her knees ready to take his pulse, aware she saw no blood.
With a groan, he rolled over, blinking, two blue eyes peering up at her.
“Are . . . Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He lifted his head, snow clinging to his near-black hair.
“Hey . . . don’t—No! You shouldn’t move.”
His head fell back into the depression in the snow. “Wow.”
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! She swallowed hard, reached for her phone to call 9-1-1, but she’d left her cell with her purse on the front seat. Glancing down the street, she saw it was empty, no one out, the only evidence of life a yellow tabby cat stepping through a snow covered yard slowly, lifting each paw slowly as it made its way to a sedan parked in the driveway and sliding beneath it. But other than that, the yards were quiet, the streetlights still glowing, a few windows bright from interior lights, a couple of houses glowing with strings of Christmas lights.
He sat up. Brushed his face with gloved fingers.
“Stay.” Holding out a hand, palm out, fingers splayed, she scrambled backward, still searching the empty street for anyone who could help. No one. Just the cat. “Don’t move, just . . . just stay,” she ordered. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No,” he said around another groan, and winced. “I’m . . . okay . . . just give me a minute.”
“What? No!”
“I need a sec.”