He steeled himself. “You have to. I’m sorry. If I don’t put a plan in place, Emmitt will catch us in about two hours flat after he wakes up, probably less. The only way we’re going to get you back to your mom and dad is if you stay strong and stay put. You’re safe, for now.”
“What are you going to do?” she whispered as he started to inch back on the limb.
“Lay a false trail. Then sedate the animals. All of ’em. Including my uncle,” he replied before he shimmied backward on the branch.
Present Day
Jacob jerked on his bed at the still-vivid memory, his hand thumping on the luxurious, cool bedding.
So different, Jake Tharp from him.
He wasn’t sure what drove him to do it, but he switched on a lamp and rose from the bed. He entered his large closet. Behind stacks and stacks of glossy shoe boxes, he found what he was looking for. He pulled down the ragged, faded Converse All Star box and walked with it back to the bed. He tossed off the lid and picked up a folded piece of notebook paper, a feeling of mixed sadness, pity, and irritation going through him at seeing the scrawl.
Harper,
How’s it going? Do you like the seventh grade? I hope math isn’t as bad as you were worried it’d be. It’s been so hot here, they might as well have just extended our summer vacation. Kids’ brains don’t work in this kind of weather. Billy Crider got sent home because he kept falling asleep in science, and about six detentions and threats of more wouldn’t wake him up any. You probab
ly have air-conditioning in your school at Georgetown, right? The heat sure hasn’t been good for Grandma Rose, either. She’s been pretty weak, and she hasn’t hardly eaten anything but half of a Pop-Tart once in a while. I know I should give her something healthier, but it’s the only thing she’ll eat except for some crackers once in a while. It’ll be okay, though. Weather forecast says it’ll get cooler next week.
I started reading The Hobbit, since you said it came before Lord of the Rings. I feel like I already read LOTR, though, because you told me every detail of it. Remember? That night in the cave?
Hope I’ll get a letter from you soon. Thought I’d have one by now, but the mail service to Grandma Rose’s isn’t that great. I’m looking for an after-school job. If I get one, maybe I’ll get a P.O. box so I’ll be sure to get all your letters.
I guess you must know how much I miss you.
Jake
A sharp pain of longing went through him. Longing for what, he couldn’t say. He refolded the piece of notebook paper and shoved it back in the Converse box. He sprawled back on the bed.
She’d never written. Not even one letter.
Despite his bitterness at that, Jacob knew Harper would always be special to him. That was a given, even if there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition in her eyes when she looked at him today.
He hadn’t realized it as a kid, but Jacob recognized it now twenty years later in spades. The moment Jake had made the decision to free Harper McFadden had been the precise moment he’d saved his own life.
eight
Harper plunged into work the next day, glad for the mayoral press conference and the tangible bit of news that came from it. It helped, having something to focus on beyond the bewildering, mind-blowing memory of what had happened on Jacob Latimer’s moonlit terrace last night. Being in South Lake also helped her avoid the newsroom, Ruth Dannen, and her prying questions. It did until two o’clock that afternoon, that is.
“Well? What’s the news from the king’s palace?”
Harper looked up from her layouts. Ruth leaned inside the doorway of Harper’s office.
“Nothing really,” Harper said levelly, glancing back to her layouts. For some reason, she felt a need to protect Jacob Latimer. Or maybe she just felt the need to hide her outlandish behavior on his terrace last night.
“Did you figure out why they asked you?” Ruth persisted, stepping into Harper’s office.
Harper exhaled in mild frustration. Ruth wasn’t going to be easily shaken. Might as well spoon out a small measure of the truth. “I did, in fact. As it turns out, Latimer was a fan of a feature I did at the Chronicle—the one about Ellie and the homeless children of San Francisco? He’d mentioned it to Cyril Atwater—”
“The director?”
Harper shrugged sheepishly and nodded. “I’d never heard of Atwater until last night.”
“I’ll bet Cyril loved that,” Ruth said, smirking. “That man has an ego the size of Texas.”
“You know him?”
“Sure, Cyril is another one of our local celebrities. He gives me an interview once a year about his latest film project. Go on.”