Don't Ever Tell Read Online Free PDF Page B

men.”
In spite of her weariness, Rachel laughed.
“Girl, you just don’t know,” Tanisha said. “It’s rough out there.”
Tanisha had never been married, but she wanted to be. She’d wasted five years of her life playing house with a man who believed marriage was only a piece of paper. A year ago, she’d finally gotten fed up with his refusal to commit to a permanent arrangement. She had moved out, bought her own town house and a show-quality Pomeranian she’d named Mr. Bixby, and jumped back into the dating pool.
“You’ll find someone,” Rachel said.
“Easy for you to say. You’re married.”
“The man for you might not look exactly like you think he will, Tee. You’ve got to look at a man’s character. Would you want a pretty boy with a good job—who beats you?”
“Hell, no. I wouldn’t let any man touch me. Shit.”
“You get my point. It’s all about character.”
“All I know is, you should thank God that you aren’t out there any more. Josh is a sweetie.”
Thinking of Joshua laid a leaden heaviness on her shoulders.
“I thank God every day,” Rachel said, and sighed.
Tanisha frowned. “Hey, you feeling okay? You look exhausted.”
She would never share anything about her dream—or what had produced it—with Tanisha. Although Tanisha was a good friend, Rachel had drawn a firm line between what she would share with friends such as Tanisha and what she would never share with anyone.
“Putting on the party was a lot of work,” Rachel said. “I’m still kinda tired.”
“When’s your first appointment? Maybe you can catch a catnap.”
“I’ve got an eight-thirty, so I may just do that.”
Swinging her purse from over her shoulder, Rachel went down the center aisle of the salon, automatically surveying the sixteen stylist stations as she walked, to ensure that each would be ready for business when their stylists arrived. For most of the day, every chair would be occupied with a mix of walk-ins and appointments. If women believed in one thing, it was keeping their hair done. It was no surprise that Madame C. J. Walker, the inventor of the hot comb, had become America’s first black woman millionaire.
In the back, behind a door marked STAFF ONLY , there was a supply closet, a staff lounge furnished with comfortable chairs, a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV, a restroom, and an enclosed office. The office contained a bank of filing cabinets and two desks, one for Rachel, the other for Tanisha.
She plopped into the swivel chair in front of her desk. The sofa in the lounge did look inviting...but she was afraid to go to sleep, for she might have another nightmare about him.
Besides, there was something else she needed to do first.
She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. Inside, there was a plastic bag from Walgreen’s Pharmacy, sitting atop a black metal case.
She took the bag inside the restroom.
It contained an early pregnancy test kit.
She spoke a prayer, and tore open the box.
    5
    On Monday morning, after spending the weekend at the hideout in central Illinois, Dexter finally returned to Chicago.
Before leaving, he thoroughly wiped down the house for fingerprints, and he vacuumed for hairs, too. It was highly unlikely that the law would trace him to the place, but taking such precautions was second nature. Once a cop, always a cop.
The story of the missing prison transport van, guards, and inmate had been circulating on the news since Saturday. The reports featured a penitentiary mug shot in which he wore his beard. Although the cops had not formally announced a manhunt, the machinery would be revving up, and within a few more days—sooner if they discovered the sunken vehicle and its gruesome cargo—the machine would be rolling at full steam across the entire region.
It didn’t concern him. When the subject of escape inevitably came up in bullshit conversations with fellow inmates—inmates jawed about what they’d do if they broke free like regular folk talked about what