Deadly

12 DADDY’S LITTLE HANNA

Hanna was heading back from Wawa, where she’d gotten a loaded-with-sugar, totally-adding-inches-to-her-thighs, irresistibly delicious cappuccino. Between sips, she glanced in her rearview mirror at the black Suburban behind her. She waved to Bo, the driver, and he waved back. Though Bo had a broken nose, ripped muscles, and flame tattoos peeking over his collar, earlier, when Hanna had sauntered over to the car to ask if he wanted anything to drink, he’d been listening to Selena Gomez. He also had a picture of his little girl, Gracie, hanging from his rearview mirror.

Her phone beeped. At a stoplight, she pulled it out. GOOGLE ALERT FOR TABITHA CLARK, read the screen. Her heart jumped.

But it was only an article about how the authorities were trying to get video footage from other hotels near The Cliffs—apparently, some of the hotels were having trouble locating footage from that long ago.

Her phone rang. MIKE, said the caller ID. She pressed the button on the steering wheel to activate Bluetooth. “Is your dude on your tail?” he asked without saying hello.

“Yep,” Hanna answered in a chipper voice.

“Mine, too!” Mike sang. “It totally rocks. Do you think he’s carrying a flamethrower?”

Hanna snorted. “This isn’t a superhero movie.”

Mike made a disappointed sound, which Hanna found totally adorable. She was thrilled that Fuji had put security on him, too. With Noel almost dying and Iris going missing, Mike would have probably been next on Ali’s list.

“So I drove by the burn clinic, and it was swarming with cops,” Mike said. “That means they’re probably looking for Ali clues, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” Hanna said. The cops would surely find traces of Ali in no time. There was lots of DNA evidence—hairs, skin follicles, drawn blood—from her time as Kyla. “Are there tons of news vans?”

“Yeah, but I heard a report. The cops gave a statement that Kyla’s killer was an escaped mental patient. They aren’t breathing a word about Ali.”

“That’s good,” Hanna said, relieved.

Then Mike cleared his throat awkwardly. The phone line crackled. “So . . . are you feeling okay?”

Hanna giggled. “You mean, like, am I sore?” She and Mike had been able to steal some time last night together when her mom wasn’t home. They hadn’t left Hanna’s bed for two hours.

“No . . .” Mike cleared his throat. “I was worried after your text.”

“What text?” Hanna hadn’t texted all day.

“Uh, the one that said you were having a really bad morning and you wanted to kill yourself?”

“What?” Hanna hit the brakes hard, and the Prius made a squealing sound. Her bodyguard almost rammed her bumper. “You got a note that said that from my phone?”

“Uh, yeah. At about eight forty-five.”

Hanna’s mind spun. She was in English then. Not thinking about killing herself.

She pulled over and yanked up the clutch. The Suburban pulled over, too. “Mike, I didn’t write that. Someone must have gotten hold of my phone and sent you a text just to mess with us.”

Static crackled on the other end. “The thing is, Hanna, it’s not the first time I’ve heard about you guys wanting to kill yourselves. The rumors are everywhere. And you do have a lot going on. You’d tell me if something was bothering you that much, right?”

Hanna rested her forehead against the steering wheel. The interior of the car suddenly smelled overwhelmingly like coffee. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response. You need to forward that note to Agent Fuji.”

She gave him Fuji’s information, then hung up. As she pulled back into traffic, her head was pounding like it had the time she and Mona Vanderwaal, her old-best-friend-turned-lunatic, had drank too much Patrón Silver. Why would A send Mike a fake suicide note?

But when she pulled into the driveway of her father’s new house, her worries took a sharp turn. Something had occurred to her last night, after everything at the police station went down. Ali and Helper A weren’t going to sit idly by once they found out the girls had involved the cops. Even if all their charges had been dropped, police could do nothing to prevent the A-team from spilling their secrets to the public. And if A released Hanna’s car-crash photos, her dad’s future would be over.

Hanna had to do damage control, and fast. She parked under the weeping willow and stared at her dad’s new house, mustering up the courage.

Legs shaking, she pushed through the door into the house. She glanced at herself in the big mirror in the powder room just off the pantry. Her auburn hair was bouncy and full, her eyes were bright, and her makeup was perfect. At least she looked fabulous.

Her dad and Isabel, his new wife, were in the kitchen. Isabel, whose skin had paled considerably in the past few months—she used to fake-tan nonstop, but Hanna suspected campaign advisers had told her she looked too orange on camera—was loading dishes into the dishwasher. Mr. Marin was at the island, flipping through pictures. He looked up at her and smiled broadly. “Hanna!” he cried, as if he hadn’t seen her in months. “How are you?”

Hanna gave him a suspicious look. It wasn’t every day that her dad was so happy to see her. Don’t tell him, a voice in her head goaded.

But she had to . . . before A did.

She walked over to him. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

He sat back on the stool, looking suddenly scared. Isabel paused at the sink. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Hanna glared at her. “I said I wanted to talk to my dad, not you.”

Mr. Marin glanced at Isabel uncertainly, then back at Hanna. “Whatever you have to tell me you can say in front of Isabel.”

Hanna squeezed her eyes shut. Seconds later, there were footsteps in the hall, and Hanna’s stepsister, Kate, appeared, her hair wet from the shower. Perfect. The whole family was here to listen to her latest screwup.

“Hanna?” Mr. Marin encouraged gently. “What’s up?”

Hanna bit the inside of her cheek. Say it. “I’ve been keeping something from you,” she said quietly. “Something I did last June.”

She couldn’t look at her dad as the words spilled out of her mouth. She could literally feel his confusion leading to shock leading to disappointment. Isabel made little gasps. At one point, she even grabbed her chest like she was having a heart attack.

“And you’re telling me this . . . why?” her father said, when Hanna was finished.

Hanna paused. She couldn’t tell him about A. “Well, a few people know about it. And if they wanted to ruin your campaign, they could tell on me.” She swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing the right thing at the time—Madison was so drunk. If she drove herself home, she would have definitely gotten hurt—and hurt someone else, too. And, I mean, someone swerved into my lane—I didn’t know what to do. But when I crashed, I freaked. And I didn’t stand and take the rap because I wanted to protect you and your campaign. I know now that was wrong, though.”

Isabel slapped her sides. “Wrong?” she squealed. “Hanna, it’s beyond wrong. You’ve been nothing but a burden for this campaign. Do you realize that every step of the way, we’ve had to do damage control for the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into? Do you know how much money we’ve spent to clean up your messes?”

“I’m sorry,” Hanna squeaked, tears coming to her eyes.

Isabel turned to Hanna’s father. “I told you this would happen. I told you it was a bad idea to bring Hanna back into your life.”

“Isabel . . .” Mr. Marin looked torn.

Isabel’s eyes widened. “I know you think it, too! I know you wish you were rid of her as much as I do!”

Hanna gasped.

“Mom!” Kate’s voice rang out through the room. “Hanna is his daughter!”

“Kate’s right,” Mr. Marin said.

Hanna sucked in her stomach. Isabel looked like she’d been slapped.

Mr. Marin ran a hand over his forehead. “Hanna, I’d be lying if I told you what you did is not upsetting on a lot of levels. But it doesn’t matter. It’s done. I just want you to be okay.”

Isabel marched over him. “Tom, what are you talking about? You can’t let her get away with this.”

Even Hanna was amazed. She thought her dad would yell at her, kick her out, something.

Her father peeked at her from behind the hand that covered his face. “I thought you were going to tell me something else.” He looked guilty. “I received a letter this morning. My head is still spinning. It said you wanted to commit suicide.”

“Oh my God,” Kate gasped. “Hanna!”

Hanna opened and closed her mouth. First Mike, now her dad? This was getting ridiculous.

“I called your mom, but she said you weren’t home. I called your cell phone—twice—but you didn’t pick up.”

Hanna twisted her mouth. She’d seen those calls from her dad. She hadn’t answered because she wasn’t prepared quite yet to talk to him.

“I was so worried you were going to . . .” He trailed off, pressing his lips together. His chin wobbled, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Isabel shifted in the corner. There was a disgruntled look on her face, but she didn’t say anything.

“Dad, I’m okay,” Hanna said softly, walking toward him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Mr. Marin squeezed her tight. “I just want you to be happy,” he said in a thick voice. “And if this accident was part of why you wrote that note, if you were afraid about telling me or how I’d react, don’t worry about it.” He sniffed hard. “I’ve probably been too focused on the campaign. Maybe I should withdraw.”

“Tom, have you lost your mind?” Isabel screeched.

Hanna pulled back from her father. The right thing to do was to come clean that she’d never intended on killing herself, but his attention felt so good. Besides, she did feel overwhelmed. She did need his help.

And though she was dying to ask her dad to see the note, she didn’t want to raise his suspicion that there could be a new A.

“Don’t pull out of the campaign,” she told him instead. “I’m fine, I promise. And I’m sorry, again. Whatever I can do to make this right, I’ll do it.”

Mr. Marin patted Hanna on the back. Isabel’s face got redder and redder, and finally she let out a closemouthed groan and stormed out of the room. Kate fidgeted in the doorway. Hanna locked eyes with her and shot her a grateful smile. What she really wanted to do was to give her stepsister a hug, but she was still afraid to leave her father’s grasp.

Mr. Marin’s eyes were red and watery; Hanna hadn’t seen him cry in a long, long time. “I think it would be good if you made amends with the girl. What was her name, Madison?”

Hanna nodded. “I didn’t know how to find her until a few weeks ago. Her cousin is Naomi Zeigler, though, from school.” She figured her father would remember Naomi—Hanna used to complain about her when she and her dad talked. “She could tell me how to get in touch with Madison.”

“Okay. I want you to reach out to Madison’s family and go to see her. After that, I’m thinking you and I do a public service announcement about drinking and driving. If you’re amenable, that is.”

Hanna squinted. “What do you mean?”

“You admit what you did on TV. We do the media circuit talking about it.”

“You want to call attention to this?” Maybe her father had lost his mind.

“We’ll be drawing attention in the right way. Remember, one of my issues is underage drinking. If you’re comfortable with it, you can tell your story and support the stricter underage-drinking penalties I want to enforce.”

Hanna twisted her mouth. Only losers wanted drinking laws to be stricter. But she couldn’t very well say that right now. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“Then we have a plan.” Mr. Marin’s gray eyes canvassed her face. “Oh, Hanna. I almost lost you.”

There was a huge lump in Hanna’s throat. You did lose me, she wanted to remind him. He lost her when he up and left Hanna and her mom, found Isabel, and started a new life. But whatever. Maybe that didn’t matter anymore.

Mr. Marin opened his arms. “Come here.”

Hanna hugged him and laid her chin on his chest, inhaling the smell of detergent and soap. She smiled into his scratchy sweater. Here was the release she’d been waiting for after they confessed to the police. Nothing felt snagged in her brain anymore. No troubles poked her like splinters, stopping her in her tracks.

But then something caught her eye out the window. She turned just as a shadow slipped out of sight. Had it been Ali, listening? Helper A, monitoring? Then she remembered it didn’t matter if they were. She stood up straighter and stared through the glass, then stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. Take that, she mouthed.

It felt so frickin’ good.