Hanged (Savage Men 5)

The closer he gets, the weaker my knees feel, so I follow my instinct and grab my cell phone. I don’t think as I dial 911 and show him that I mean business.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, holding up his hand.

“Yes, I do,” I bark, and I turn around and run back into the house. As the door slams shut, a woman picks up on the other end. “Hello, yes? I need the police.”

The woman asks for the reason, so I tell her a man on my property is refusing to leave. I’m in full panic mode now, running solely on adrenaline as I lock the door and close the windows.

However, as I look outside at the rustling high grass, I lower my phone.

He’s gone.

Chapter Two

Lillian

When the police arrive, he’s long gone. My heart has calmed down, but my mind hasn’t. And as the police officer approaches the door, my entire body feels constricted. As if I can’t breathe or move a limb.

“Hello, ma’am.” The police officer tips his hat. “You called for an intruder on your property?”

I nod, but I don’t feel like I’m even here. I feel as though I’m there off in the distance … with him.

I wonder where he went. If he’ll try to come back.

If I’d be able to resist when he does.

“Ma’am?” the police officer repeats.

“Um … yes, I did,” I mutter, trying to pull myself back together. “It was a homeless man, I think. But he’s gone now.” I clear my throat as the man narrows his eyes at me. He must think I’m losing my shit. A homeless man in the middle of nowhere? Yeah, right.

“You’re sure he’s gone?” he asks, cocking his head to peek inside. He’s probably trying to find out if I’m being forced to say that. Or maybe if I’m being held at gunpoint.

I wish I had that excuse. How pitiful.

“Yeah,” I reply casually as if it’s nothing.

“Ma’am, is there anything else I can do?” he asks, still eyeing me as if I’m hiding something. Or maybe he truly thinks I’m being held hostage.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. He’s gone. We’re fine.” I open the door. “See?”

He gazes around. “All right,” he says, nodding.

“Sorry I called,” I add. “I was a bit panicky, but we’re good now.”

“Don’t you worry about that, ma’am. We’ve got you covered.” He winks as he turns around. “But it’d better not be a prank call.”

“No, no,” I say, laughing it off like it’s no big deal even when it is.

As he walks off, the little voice inside my head wants to tell him to stop and turn around, but I don’t. Not until he’s gotten back into his car and driven off do I feel like I can breathe again.

I shut my eyes and let out a sigh, closing the door.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell that police officer the truth.

Maybe a part of me still believes there’s a possibility …

No.

I can’t ever think like that. Ever.

I turn around and immediately shriek. Daisy’s right in front of me. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, honey,” I say, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” she replies. “Who was that man?”

“A police officer,” I answer, smiling as I bend over. “He was just checking on us.”

“No, I mean the other man, Mommy.”

I blink a couple of times. My feet are frozen to the ground.

I swallow away the lump in my throat and look through the window, wondering if we’ll ever see him again. “No one, honey. No one at all.”

* * *

Hanson

“Next,” the cashier says, and I put down the sandwich, a newspaper, and a card.

It’s one with little purple stars on them and a pink moon, and on the inside, it makes a sound when it’s opened. It’s expensive but worth every penny.

“That’ll be seven thirty.”

I fish some coins out of my pocket and place them down. There goes all my money. Well, not all of it, but it still feels like an arm and a leg for the sandwich, a newspaper, and a card. I don’t make much these days. Not with my reputation. I gotta do the odd jobs—the random delivery jobs where you don’t even know what you’re carrying around—but they pay, so I do it. Gotta earn a living somehow.

The cashier snatches away my money as he looks at me with contempt.

They always do. They being everyone who’s not native.

I don’t mind it anymore because I’m used to it. I ignore them like they ignore me. It’s best that way.

I grab my stuff and am walking toward the exit when I notice an older woman with her hair tied in a knot and a strange yellow scarf staring at a newspaper. She turns her head, and our eyes lock. She blinks her eyes a couple of times, and then her face turns white as if she’s seen a ghost. One glance at the newspaper is all I need.