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Eleven Hours
Paullina Simons
A compelling, heartrending tale of a woman in danger and the man who’s desperate to find her, from the internationally bestselling author of TULLY and ROAD TO PARADISEA heavily pregnant young woman is leaving the shopping mall to head home on a horribly hot day in Texas. Her normal life of shopping, husband, children, with the extra excitement of the imminent baby, stretches before her.And then she is bundled into a car and kidnapped by a desperate young man.What does he want? Where are they going?In scenes that alternate between the desperate husband, pursuing by car, the alarmingly laid-back FBI agent tracing her by helicopter - who may or may not be as good as he thinks at rescuing hostages - and the increasingly threatened wife, Eleven Hours is a tour de force of storytelling power.
PAULLINA SIMONS
ELEVEN HOURS
Copyright (#ulink_2dd356cc-6753-5c95-abf7-35be93b0b278)
Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Flamingo an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1998
Copyright © Paullina Simons 1998
Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780006551119
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2015 ISBN: 9780007397310
Version: 2015-03-09
For my third child
It was not you that sent me here.
JOSEPH TO HIS BROTHERS, GEN. 45:9
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u8a6920d0-7829-5fb3-9a03-82141a041e71)
Title Page (#u3633b579-c6f1-5083-a573-906dfb216a73)
Copyright (#u1347dfca-c530-5d28-aacd-45ee94adf9d3)
Epigraph (#uc23e15f8-2ea0-5d91-a7f6-931afeaf04a3)
11.45 AM (#u882c3b5e-31e8-58c3-bdcd-b88e996dc18c)
12.58 PM (#ue0f45c99-163c-5e62-8850-186dba0822fa)
1.20 PM (#uad186243-1b2c-5ca1-8755-ada4bb03549c)
1.25 PM (#u30310b19-f685-5154-9b78-6ac12ac78b9a)
1.30 PM (#uaa6b2910-610e-5ae2-bc76-cb52492b9040)
1.45 PM (#u9758fb42-0884-500c-bd17-224161ff295b)
1.45 PM (#u6ad70c85-0741-5093-973e-ce8e886470cd)
2.20 PM (#u2c5b1500-d544-50d3-9bdc-890abeeeaed5)
2.30 PM (#ud0220278-c57f-523f-8496-1fc7b4980da6)
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3.40 PM (#u80287163-7a1e-5963-990c-24e5d93a7ac3)
3.45 PM (#uc8b29c94-df4c-54d7-90bd-220739daf7f6)
4.00 PM (#uba2211b0-60a4-5bb5-8d36-214fe97df27b)
4.15 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
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7.15 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
7.45 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
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10.20 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
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10.35 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
10.35 PM (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
11.45 AM (#ulink_f085f590-647c-559b-93a5-ea027a8cd33e)
Didi Wood was walking to the mall from her car when her pregnant belly began to tighten until it felt like a taut basketball. She winced through her discomfort and slowed down to a near halt; this contraction was particularly strong. She leaned against a minivan, rubbing her belly with one hand as she wiped her forehead with the other. Maybe she shouldn’t go to the mall. But she had promised Amanda new alphabet blocks a few days ago, and she wanted to keep her promise. Also, she needed new face cream.
Didi thought it was a good day for the air-conditioned comfort shopping provided. Dallas was having a brief heat spell. It was called summer. She contemplated driving to Rich’s office and spending the hour before their lunch date relaxing on his small sofa, but decided to stay. She’d be all right. It was only an hour.
She couldn’t wait to get inside the mall. When she had left the house earlier for her doctor’s appointment, the temperature had already been in the high nineties. A radio bulletin had informed her there was a heat advisory on – for old ladies, for small children, and for women in Didi’s delicate condition.
Perspiring and uncomfortable, she waddled into NorthPark.
Estée Lauder had something for her at Dillard’s. The last thing Didi needed was more cosmetics, but who was she to refuse a little gift from a big department store? She was offered moisture-rich black mascara, two lipsticks whose shades she didn’t particularly like, a perfume sampler, a pocket brush, some hand cream, and a makeup bag. It was the makeup bag she wanted.
The gift was free – with a $17.50 purchase.
Didi thought it was uncanny the way Estée Lauder never priced her products at $17.50. Oh, there was plenty for $15, all kinds of lipsticks and eyeliners and mascaras. And there was plenty for $30, $50, and $72. Nothing actually for $17.50.
To get the free gift, Didi spent $108.75 – plus tax. She bought a jar of Fruition face cream, a rose lipstick for spring, even though it was July, and a teal eye pencil for her brown eyes. While she was waiting to pay, Didi felt the Belly tighten again. She grasped the counter.
‘Oh,’ the girl behind the counter said. ‘Not long now?’
Didi managed to nod.
‘When are you due?’
The contraction passed, and Didi looked at her watch. ‘In about two hours,’ she said lightly.
After seeing the frightened expression on the salesgirl’s pretty face, Didi said, ‘Just kidding. I guess you don’t have any kids – two weeks.’
The salesgirl breathed a short sigh of relief and smiled. ‘Whew,’ she said. ‘You’re right, I don’t have any kids. Not yet, anyway.’ Then, with a little nervous laugh, she asked. ‘You’re not in labor, are you?’
‘No, no,’ Didi said, outwardly smiling but inwardly fretting, wishing the girl would hurry with her receipt. She wanted to get to FAO Schwarz. She added, ‘I’m having these little fake contractions. Braxton Hicks, they’re called. They’re a pain, but they’re not the real thing. Believe me, they’re nothing like the real thing.’
The girl giggled. ‘Oh, gosh, I’m never having kids. It’s just all so scary, the labor, the pregnancy.’ The girl handed Didi the receipt.
‘It’s not too bad,’ Didi said, signing her name. ‘It’s really not too bad at all. You forget right away.’
‘Bet you don’t,’ said the girl.
‘No you do,’ said Didi. ‘You have to. Otherwise we’d never have more than one baby.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ said the girl, looking at Didi’s face. ‘Your skin is so nice. Do you use any foundation?’
Didi pushed the signed receipt toward the girl and reached for her makeup, which the girl wasn’t giving her. ‘I’m done here. Thanks anyway. Can I have my stuff, please?’
‘Oh, sure, sure,’ said the girl, handing her the bag. ‘Well, good luck.’
Didi smiled. ‘Have a nice day.’
In FAO Schwarz, the matronly woman behind the counter complimented Didi on her sleeveless yellow sundress. ‘Banana Republic,’ replied Didi.
