Page 9 of The Silent Note

I swallow hard when his hand slides up my thigh.

Thinly, I squeak, “Why is it so hard to get my slippers on?” Firmly, I stomp on his ribs and he drops his exploring fingers to hunch in pain.

“You don’t need to put on slippers if you’re going back to bed,” mom points out.

“You’re right.” I laugh woodenly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Eyes slipping to Zane again, I purse my lips.

He tilts his chin up in challenge.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. With no other choice, I flash the arrogant drummer a subtle ‘okay’ sign.

He grins and wiggles under the bed like the snake that he is.

Just in time because mom marches to me and grips my arms. “Stop fooling around, Gracie. The nurse needs to check you.”

“Sorry.” I climb into bed and pray with all my might that Zane stays quiet and curled into a ball. Because I’m pretty sure that he’s taller than the length of this cot if he stretches out.

His feet must not be sticking out though because the nurse does her job without tripping on a pair of combat boots and mom seems totally oblivious to the fourth person in the room.

The nurse finishes with her assessment. “Your daughter’s doing much better, Mrs. Cross. I don’t think you need to be worried.”

“I’ll believe that when the doctor says it.”

The nurse gives mom a tight-lipped smile. “The doctor should be back this afternoon to chat with you both.”

“Um,” I speak up, “do you think I can be discharged by tomorrow?” I’m tired of being locked down in this hospital bed. I’ve wasted valuable time I could have been spending finding the puppet masters behind The Grateful Project.

“Discharged? You were two shards of broken glass away from needing brain surgery. Don’t you try and rush anything, Grace Elizabeth Jamieson.”

I can’t see Zane, but I feel a sudden chill and, somehow, Iknowhe’s got that dangerous, angry look on his face again.

“You can discuss that with the doctor as well,” the nurse says politely.

Mom escorts the nurse out while asking more questions.

Once we’re alone, I peer over the side of the bed. Zane is tapping something on his phone but, as if he senses me watching, his eyes steadily travel to mine.

He winks.

“Gracie.”

“Huh? What?” I fling myself up.

“Great news,” mom declares, “the nurse said you can have ribs if it’s not too spicy. Isn’t that great?” She comes and tucks the blanket around my legs. “Maybe a nice baby back will tempt your appetite.”

Keenly aware of Zane under the bed, I nod at mom and struggle to find an excuse that will get her out of the room.Should I ask her to go and make those ribs now?

Before I can, mom’s phone rings.

“Hello?What?Of course. I’ll be right there.”

“Who was that?” I ask, noting from her expression that it’s something serious.

“The police. They found something on the hit and run driver and they want me to come to the station.” Mom’s smile dims and she hesitates, glancing at me and then at the door.

“What are you waiting for? Go!” I urge her. The faster that jerk is caught, the faster I can get a good night’s sleep.

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