Running Scared Read Online Free PDF Page A

slap her with the force of a hurricane. Her mouth was dry and she could barely concentrate on the conversation. Get a grip, Kate!
    “…so I just thought you’d want to know,” Cornelia was saying so loudly that Kate had to hold the receiver away from her ear. The poor woman, a gossip by nature, was deaf as a stone and didn’t realize it. “I’m telling you I wanted to know everything my boys were up to when they were teenagers. Whenever one of ’em wasn’t where he was supposed to be, my radar went up, let me tell you. I figured I needed to be the first to find out what was going on. Thought you’d feel the same.”
    “You’re sure it was Jon you saw?” Kate asked, hoping against hope that the town busybody was mistaken. Her fingers clutched the receiver in a death grip, which was silly. Cornelia had innocently mentioned that Jon needed a father figure and here she stood, heart racing, thinking of the faceless, vicious man in Boston whom she’d feared for fifteen years.
    “Absolutely, it was Jon. He was down by Parson’s Drugstore just twenty minutes ago—”
    Houndog cocked his head, gave an excited yip, and leaped off the porch sending the rug flying. Legs scrambling, he dashed around the house. Doom settled in Kate’s heart—it looked like Cornelia was right. Again. Oh, Jon, why?
    “Good luck. It’s not easy raising teenage boys, especially without a man to help out. They’re trouble. Every last one of ’em.”
    Slam! The screen door banged shut.
    “I’ll talk to you later.” Kate hung up without waiting for a reply. “Jon?” she called.
    “Son of a bitch! Son of a friggin’ bitch!” Jon’s voice, changing pitch and squeaking, echoed through the few rooms on the first floor.
    “What’re you doing home so early—?”
    Footsteps thundered up the stairs.
    Kate steeled herself. Bam! Jon’s bedroom door slammed so hard the entire house shook. The dining room window rattled. Great, she thought checking her watch. One in the afternoon. Score one for Cornelia Olsen and her busybody’s nose for other people’s trouble. School wasn’t officially out for another two hours. But her son was home and in a lousy mood. Just great. Her headache increased, pounding behind her eyes.
    “Give me strength,” she muttered as she headed for the stairs, stopping only when she heard Houndog whining pitifully on the front porch. She stared at the forlorn pup through the mesh of the screen door. “I don’t think you want to see him just now,” she said to the dog. “I know I don’t.”
    Houndog looked up at her balefully, wiggled, and barked sharply.
    “Okay, so you’re a glutton for punishment. We both are.” She opened the door a crack and Houndog wriggled through.
    Sounds of cursing, kicking, and banging erupted from her son’s room as she climbed the stairs. The black and white pup streaked in front of her.
    She knocked, then pushed the door open.
    “Go ’way.” Jon lay on his unmade bed, glaring at the ceiling while throwing a baseball up in the air only to catch it again. Books, clothes, CDs, baseball cards, and magazines littered the floor. Shirts and jeans hung out of half-opened drawers and there wasn’t an inch of space on the top of his dresser, desk, or bookshelf that wasn’t covered with his treasures—everything from model airplanes to books on magic tricks. Houndog bounded onto the bed and sat, tail wagging frantically while Jon ignored him and continued to toss the ball.
    “We need to talk.”
    “Leave me alone.”
    She sighed, then slid into the room and closed the door. Waiting. He didn’t move.
    “You’re home early.”
    No answer.
    “What happened?”
    He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, but didn’t even glance in her direction. “I ditched.”
    Hang in there—don’t blow this, she warned herself. At least he’s talking, that’s an improvement. Folding her arms over her chest, she rested a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You ditched? Left