to you, has he?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She sounded bone-tired and utterly devastated. Anson wished he could reach through the phone and give her an encouraging hug, a feeling that should have alarmed him but somehow didn’t.
“I think we need to dispose of it, whatever it is. There’s enough here to get your brother in a mess if the police were to conduct a raid.”
“Maybe I should turn him in.”
The pain in her voice made his chest ache. “Do you think that would help him? Or do you think it would just make him cut you out of his life completely?”
“I don’t know.” She was crying now, damn it. He’d made her cry.
“Listen, I’m going to get rid of this stuff. Flush it down the toilet and put the bag in the trash. You hang in there and I’ll be back at the hospital before you know it.” He pulled out the clothing he’d come there to gather for Danny. “Does Danny have a gym bag or something I could put the clothes in?”
“In his closet,” she directed. “It’s the door to your right if you’re facing the chest of drawers.”
He opened the closet, wary about what he’d find inside. But it was an ordinary storage space, with a few clothes hanging from the bar at the top and several pairs of shoes lined up on the floor next to a dark blue gym bag.
The bag was empty, so Anson stuffed Danny’s clothes inside. “Your room next. Any drawers you want me to avoid?”
“You’re a big boy. I think you can handle anything in my drawers.” She made a watery sound that might have been a laugh. “Wait. That sounded really naughty.”
He laughed as he crossed to her bedroom and flicked on the light. It was neater than Danny’s room, but it still had a slightly messy, lived-in feel he rather liked. No flowers or knickknacks, no candles or fluffy throw pillows in this room, just a four-poster bed covered with a handmade quilt and two pillows in white cases. “Nice room.”
“Thanks. Did I remember to make the bed?”
“You did.” He crossed to the tall chest of drawers beside the bed. “I’m at the chest of drawers. What do you want from what drawer?”
“The top drawer is my underwear. A couple of panties and bras would be great.”
He opened the drawer and found panties and bras inside, neatly folded. Pretty, bright colors, he saw, but none of the bras seemed to go with any of the panties. “Do you care if they match?”
“No,” she answered. After a few seconds, she added, “This is such a strange conversation.”
“I like to think of it as getting to know you, kamikaze-style.” He grabbed a couple of sets of underwear and put them in the bag. “What else?”
As she started to speak, he heard the sound of shattering glass coming from somewhere in the house.
It was apparently loud enough to carry through the phone, for a second later, Ginny asked, “What was that?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered, keeping his voice low. He stepped out of her room into the hall. From there, he could see into the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place.
Then he heard the sound of more glass breaking, coming from the front of the house. Glass clattered onto a hard surface, then a second later came the unmistakable crunch of glass being broken underfoot.
“Anson?” Ginny’s voice rose in his ear.
He ducked back into her bedroom and eased the door closed, his heart pounding. “Someone’s breaking into your house.”
“Someone is what?”
Next to Ginny, Danny stirred in his sleep, making a low, groaning noise as the movement apparently pulled at the stitches in his side. She got up and moved toward the door, straining to hear Anson’s whispered response.
“Someone’s breaking into your house. I’m in your bedroom and I don’t think I can make it to the back door without drawing their attention.”
“Get off the phone with me and call 9-1-1.”
“I’m holding at least five ounces of what is almost certainly an illegal drug. The cops will want to know why.”
She glanced back at Danny, scowling. Damn it. “There’s no great place to hide there. It’s not a big house.”
“I’m aware of that,” he muttered. “No attic? Maybe there’s a trapdoor in the top of your closet?”
“There’s an attic, but it’s little more than a crawl space. And the trapdoor is out in the hall.”
“Yeah, that won’t work.”
“The windows in my room are painted shut, but there’s a window that opens in the bathroom. It’s the next room down across from my bedroom. Do you think you can get there?”
“Not sure,” he admitted. “Give me a sec.” She heard the muffled sound of breathing, the rustle of fabric against the microphone. He must have the phone pressed against his shirt, she guessed, frustrated by trying to figure out what was going on with nothing but her ears to work with.
A moment later, he whispered into the phone again. “I’m in the bathroom. I’ve closed and locked the door, but I’m not sure if they heard me. I may not have a lot of time.”
“They?” she asked softly, her heart in her throat.
“At least two. I heard them talking when I crossed the hall.”
Damn it. The window in the bathroom might open, but it wasn’t quiet about it. “Anson, the bathroom window creaks when you open it. Kind of loudly. They’ll hear you.”
He muttered a soft profanity. “Okay, any other ideas?”
She pressed her forehead against the hospital room door, feeling like an idiot. She should have thought about the noise before she ran him into the bathroom with no way to escape. “Flush the drugs and call 9-1-1,” she said. “Then get in the tub and back up closest to the faucets. There’s not a good angle to that part of the tub through the door, so even if they start shooting, they’re not going to hit you.”
“That lock isn’t going to withstand a couple of good kicks.”
“I don’t know!” Her voice rose, and once again Danny stirred in the hospital bed. “I don’t know,” she repeated in a hushed tone. “I don’t know what you should do.”
“Yes, you do,” he said a second later, his voice a low growl. “Call Quinn.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, at this hour. You have anything to write with?”
She looked around stupidly for a moment, her mind reeling. Then she saw her purse and rushed over to it, digging in one of the pockets for a notepad she kept there. “Okay.”
He rattled off a phone number. “That’s Quinn’s personal cell. Tell him where I am. Tell him there’s trouble and I need assistance immediately. And don’t worry if he snarls at you. He always snarls when you call at this time of night.”
That was reassuring. “Okay, got it. Give me five minutes, then call me back.”
“Might be a little busy.”
“Call me back if you can,” she insisted, her pulse thudding heavily in her throat. “Please.”
“Call Quinn,” he said quickly and hung up.
She punched in the number he’d given her, her hands shaking. Lifting the phone to her ear, she slumped in the recliner beside Danny’s bed and waited for someone to answer.