Chapter 5 - Paper Stars and Dark Sedans
Nora took three deliberate wrong turns through the grid of Lower Queen Anne, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trip-hammer. She turned down an alley behind an old brick bakery, cut through the parking structure of a grocery store, and emerged on a steep residential avenue lined with blooming hydrangeas and Victorian houses.
The Suburban didn't follow her through the alley. It was too wide, too heavy to mirror her erratic maneuvers without being completely obvious.
When she pulled into the narrow driveway of her small yellow craftsman home, the street appeared quiet. Rain drummed against the cedar shingles, and the paper stars Lily had taped to the front bay window flickered faintly in the gray morning light.
Nora killed the engine, grabbed her medical bag, and ran up the front steps, unlocking the deadbolt with frantic speed.
"Mrs. Gable?" Nora called out, slamming the door shut and sliding the security chain into place.
From the kitchen, a plump, gray-haired woman in a knitted cardigan appeared, holding a wooden spoon. Mrs. Gable, the retired school librarian who lived across the street, had watched Lily every time Nora worked a overnight trauma shift for the past four years.
"Goodness, Nora, you're soaking wet!" Mrs. Gable scolded gently. "You look like you’ve been through a hurricane. How was the night shift?"
"Fine," Nora panted, leaning her back against the heavy wood of the door. "Where is Lily?"
"Still in her pajamas, eating her oatmeal and drawing pictures of that stray cat on the porch," Mrs. Gable said, smiling. "She was an angel all night. Didn't wake up once."
Nora let out a long, ragged exhale and walked into the bright, warm kitchen.
Six-year-old Lily was sitting at the wooden table, her small feet dangling six inches above the floor, kicking back and forth in rhythm to an imaginary song. Her dark, wavy hair was tied into two messy pigtails, and her skin was warm and golden.
When she looked up, Nora felt the familiar, breathtaking stab of recognition.
Those eyes.
They were large, intelligent, and framed by thick, dark lashes—the exact amber shade of Adrian Vale’s eyes when he looked at her in the quiet hours before dawn in Chicago.
"Mommy!" Lily dropped her green crayon and scrambled down from the chair, throwing her arms around Nora’s knees. "You're back! Did you fix somebody's heart today?"
Nora dropped to her knees on the linoleum, wrapping her arms around her daughter and burying her face in the sweet, lavender-scented curve of Lily’s neck. She held her so tightly that the little girl let out a small, surprised giggle.
"Mommy, you're squishing me!"
"I'm sorry, baby," Nora whispered, blinking back hot tears. "I just missed you so much. I fixed a very big heart today. A very stubborn one."
"Did it stop hurting?" Lily asked innocently, touching Nora’s cheek with a hand covered in green crayon dust.
"I don't know, sweetheart," Nora said, her voice cracking. "I think it has a lot of hurting left to do."
Nora paid Mrs. Gable, adding an extra fifty dollars for the trouble, and walked her to the front door. As the older woman stepped out onto the porch, Nora looked down the street.
Parked fifty yards away, under the dripping canopy of an ancient maple tree, sat the black Suburban.
Its parking lights were off. Its exhaust purred with a faint, steady ribbon of white vapor in the damp air.
They hadn't lost her. They had simply anticipated where she was going.
Nora closed the door, locked the deadbolt, and drew the heavy linen curtains shut across the bay window, plunging the cheerful living room into dim, defensive twilight.
"Pack your yellow backpack, Lily," Nora said, keeping her voice completely calm and level so as not to alarm the child. "We’re going to play the adventure game."
Lily’s eyes lit up. "The one where we take the ferry to the island and eat ice cream for lunch?"
"The very one," Nora said, heading for the hallway closet to pull down two canvas duffel bags. "Put in three books, your stuffed bear, and all your socks. We have to leave before the afternoon ferry leaves."
Nora ran into her bedroom, pulled open the floorboard beneath her dresser, and pulled out an emergency tin box. Inside were four thousand dollars in cash, Lily’s original birth certificate—which listed the father’s name as Unknown—and two Canadian passports she had purchased four years ago from a trusted forged-document specialist in Vancouver, just in case this terrible day ever arrived.
She was going to take the ferry to Bainbridge Island, drive north through the Olympic Peninsula, cross the border at Port Angeles via the private charter ferry, and disappear into British Columbia.
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Adrian could own the hospitals. He could own the docks. He could own the police. But he couldn't stop a mother whose only currency was her daughter’s freedom.
As she zipped the duffel bag, the sound of heavy tires crunching against the wet gravel of her driveway froze her blood.
