Three Harlan Coben Novels by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online Page B

what?”
    Again Myron knew that midtown was not a young-people hot spot. Most hung out in bars on the Upper East Side or maybe down in the Village. “Where were you drinking?”
    “Is that important?”
    “I’d like to know.”
    Aimee finally turned toward him. Her eyes were wet. “You promised.”
    He kept driving.
    “You promised you wouldn’t ask any questions, remember?”
    “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
    “I am.”
    Myron made a right, cutting across town. “I’ll take you home then.”
    “No.”
    He waited.
    “I’m staying with a friend.”
    “Where?”
    “She lives in Ridgewood.”
    He glanced at her, brought his eyes back to the road. “In Bergen County?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’d rather take you home.”
    “My parents know I’m staying at Stacy’s.”
    “Maybe you should call them.”
    “And say what?”
    “That you’re okay.”
    “Myron, they think I’m out with my friends. Calling them would only make them worry.”
    She had a point, but Myron didn’t like it. His gas light went on. He’d need to fill up. He headed up the West Side Highway and over the George Washington Bridge. He stopped at the first gas station on Route 4. New Jersey was one of only two states that did not allow you to pump your own gas. The attendant, wearing a turban and engrossed in a Nicholas Sparks novel, was not thrilled to see him.
    “Ten dollars’ worth,” Myron told him.
    He left them alone. Aimee started sniffling.
    “You don’t look drunk,” Myron began.
    “I didn’t say I was. It was the guy who was driving.”
    “But you do look,” he continued, “like you’ve been crying.”
    She did that teen thing that might have been a shrug.
    “Your friend Stacy. Where is she now?”
    “At her house.”
    “She didn’t go into the city with you?”
    Aimee shook her head and turned away.
    “Aimee?”
    Her voice was soft. “I thought I could trust you.”
    “You can.”
    She shook her head again. Then she reached for the door and pulled the handle. She started to get out. Myron reached for her. He grabbed her left wrist a little harder than he meant to.
    “Hey,” she said.
    “Aimee . . .”
    She tried to pull away. Myron kept a grip on the wrist.
    “You’re going to call my parents.”
    “I just need to know you’re okay.”
    She pulled at his fingers, trying to get free. Myron felt her nails on his knuckles.
    “Let go of me!”
    He did. She jumped out of the car. Myron started after her, but he was still wearing his seat belt. The shoulder harness snapped him back. He unbuckled and got out. Aimee was stumbling up the highway with her arms crossed defiantly.
    He jogged up to her. “Please get back in the car.”
    “No.”
    “I’ll drive you, okay?”
    “Just leave me alone.”
    She stormed off. Cars whizzed by. Some honked at her. Myron followed.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I made a mistake. I should have never called you.”
    “Aimee, just get back in the car. It’s not safe out here.”
    “You’re going to tell my parents.”
    “I won’t. I promise.”
    She slowed down and then stopped. More cars zoomed by on Route 4. The gas station attendant looked at them and spread his arms in a what-gives gesture. Myron held up a finger indicating that they needed a minute.
    “I’m sorry,” Myron said. “I’m just concerned for your welfare. But you’re right. I made a promise. I’ll keep it.”
    Aimee still had her arms crossed. She squinted at him, again as only a teenager can. “Swear?”
    “I swear,” he said.
    “No more questions?”
    “None.”
    She trudged back to the car.
    Myron followed. He gave the attendant his credit card, and they drove off.
    Aimee told him to take Route 17 North. There were so many malls, so many shopping centers, that it almost seemed as though it were one continuous strip. Myron remembered how his father, whenever they would drive past the Livingston Mall, would shake his head and point and moan, “Look at all the cars! If