Wrong Number II: Hannah

Even riding around with the windows down felt like a relief. I had been getting claustrophobic in the house without realizing just how overwhelming it had become. Eventually, the car rolled to a stop in a shopping center. Of course Lori wanted to shop; I had even called it in my texts to Roman. I gave a weak smile to my sister when she looked over to me for approval, and then we climbed out of the town car. Lori ushered us into the first store in sight, which happened to be a women's boutique. It felt a little funny to be dragging along Leslie. He had to have been at least forty-five, but it was hard to say because of how leathery his skin was from what I could only guess were years of outside work. He looked young enough, though, for me to be able to tell that his hair had prematurely gone white. Leslie was, in fact, a barrel-chested, towering biker of a dude, and there he was in a boutique with myself and my sister.