Frost Line Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  By Linda Howard and Linda Jones

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Elijah’s nose was running. He used the sheet to wipe it, knowing Mom wouldn’t like it. He was mad at her so he didn’t care. It was her fault he was crying, anyway, and if he wasn’t crying his nose wouldn’t be running. His bottom lip stuck out a little as he sniffed resentfully, almost hoping there would be more snot so he could wipe his nose on the sheet again.

  It wasn’t fair she’d sent him to bed. He wanted to play with Uncle Bobby. Tomorrow wasn’t a school day, they had another week of Christmas vacation, and Mom always let him stay up later on the weekends. But tonight she’d sent him to bed even before his bedtime, when Sammy came over. Now Sammy was gone, Uncle Bobby was here, and she still wouldn’t let him stay up. He was seven years old, not a little baby. It wasn’t fair!

  He knuckled the wetness from his eyes, his heart swelling with outrage. He always got to play with Uncle Bobby, who got down on the floor with him to wrestle and brought him candy and cool stuff to play with, and when Mom fussed about it always said, “Now, Amber—” that was Mom’s name “—a boy’s got to have some fun.” Then he’d ruffle Elijah’s hair and say, “Right, son?”

  It always made Elijah feel happy inside when Uncle Bobby called him “son.” No one else did. Uncle Bobby had even given him a Christmas present! A Captain America, a big one. It wasn’t a doll, either; it was an action figure. Girls played with dolls; boys had action figures.

  He’d asked his mom a couple of times about his real dad but she’d always say they were better off without him and look mad, so he’d stopped asking her even though he’d really like to see his dad one day. The other boys in his class had dads, even if they didn’t live in the same house. None of Mom’s other boyfriends ever called him “son” the way Uncle Bobby did. Mom said he couldn’t talk about them, though, especially when Uncle Bobby was here, but he liked Uncle Bobby way better than he did that jerk Sammy. Sammy was never nice to him, and his mom always sent him upstairs to play when Sammy was there, and told him not to come down or she’d spank him. She never said that when Uncle Bobby came.

  Sammy had been here just a little while ago, which was why Elijah had been sent to bed the first time. But he hadn’t gone to sleep; after Mom left his room, he got up, turned on the light, and played with his Transformers instead. He’d sent the Transformers against the Avengers; usually he liked the Avengers best and let them win, but this time he’d played a different game and after a long battle the Transformers had come out on top.

  Sammy hadn’t even bought him a present for Christmas.

  Then Sammy had left, and Uncle Bobby had come to visit. When Elijah heard his voice he’d raced downstairs, excited and sure Mom would let him stay up now, but instead she’d gotten mad and sent him back to bed.

  He was so preoccupied with his sense of ill-usage that at first he didn’t pay any attention to the thumping noise from downstairs. A second thump made him raise his head and listen intently. Mom better not be wrestling with Uncle Bobby, he thought fiercely. Wrestling was what Uncle Bobby did with him. But that’s what it sounded like, and the injustice of it propelled him out of bed. He stood in the dark—well, almost dark, because the basketball night-light kept it from ever being really dark. He’d told Mom he was too old for a night-light, but he was secretly glad she’d left it.

  He heard some sounds that he couldn’t identify, kind of yelling but not yelling, maybe some coughing, then finally the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

  They were definitely wrestling! They’d broken something. He never broke anything!

  He tiptoed to the door and eased it open, listening intently. The light from the living room spilled up the stairs and across the hall. His bare feet didn’t make any noise as he crept down the stairs. He was just going to peek around the corner to see if they were wrestling, and if they were he … he didn’t know what he’d do. Maybe he’d break something, to show Mom how mad he was.

  Christmas was over, but the tree was still up and the tiny white lights were on. He could see just the edge of the tree as he reached the foot of the stairs. The tree made him feel good, as if he could hold on to Christmas for a while longer even though he was mad because he couldn’t play with Uncle Bobby.

  There was a drumming sound, as if something was beating against the floor. Elijah knew how to sneak, because he’d seen it in the movies. The sneaking people always got close to the wall, and kind of slid closer. He couldn’t get right against the wall because there was a table there, so instead he got down on his hands and knees and crawled. Slowly he eased his head around the corner just enough to see what they were doing.

  Confused, he stared at them. He didn’t know if they were wrestling or not. Mom was on the floor, flat on her back, and her heels were making that drumming sound, beating slowly up and down. Uncle Bobby was on top of her, his hands around her throat, and he was kind of shaking her. Mom’s face was a strange dark color, so dark at first he wasn’t sure it was her. What was wrong with her? Her head moved to the side and she saw him—he thought she saw him, only she didn’t say anything.

  Her hands were around Uncle Bobby’s wrists but then her fingers opened and she kind of slapped at his arms a little, mostly missing, and her arms fell down to her side. She kicked slower and slower, only one foot moving now in a thunk … thunk … thunk. Then the sound stopped, and her feet were still. Her tongue stuck out a little, and her eyes …

  Her eyes looked like his dog Bosco’s had when he got hit by that car last year, open but not seeing anything.

  Elijah knew what “dead” was. Bosco had been dead.

  Uncle Bobby was breathing hard, sweat running down his face. He looked really mad, his lips pursed together, his eyes squinty. He didn’t stop squeezing Mom’s neck. He slammed her head against the floor, twice.

  Mom was dead.

  Uncle Bobby had hurt her, and Mom was dead.

  Sheer panic flooded Elijah’s body. What would he do without Mom? He wanted her to get up and laugh and say she’d just been fooling; he wanted her to give him one of her special extra hard hugs, the one that always made him laugh as she swung him back and forth. His mom couldn’t be dead.

  But she was.

  He didn’t want to see her dead eyes anymore. Slowly, barely able to move, still on his hands and knees, he backed away from the living room. He didn’t look where he was going. He meant to go upstairs and hide in his room, but suddenly there was cool tile under his hands and he knew he was in the kitchen. The light was off, but there were electric clocks on the microwave and on the oven so he could see a little bit. Wildly he looked around, not knowing why he was here. Could he get to his bedroom?

  Then a shadow loomed across the tile, and Uncle Bobby’s heavy footsteps sounded as he came out of the living room and started up the stairs.

  Elijah almost squealed with terror, but he pressed his lips hard against the sound. He could hear himself breathing. Could Uncle Bobby hear him breathing? Would he put his big hands around Elijah’s throat and squeeze and shake the way he’d done to Mom?

  He couldn’t go up