Safe & Sound (1D & PLL) *On Hold*

Aria, Spencer, Hanna, and Emily are in for a surprise. Last summer their best friend, Alison DiLaurentis, went missing. Those five used to be inseparable, but why? They were all brought together by Ali. They would always try to impress her, everyone did. Little did they know about Ali's past. Now, they are getting weird texts from an unknown number. They call them self 'A'. The girls have to be careful. Is 'A' with or against them. Or both? Now they meet the love of their life (or so they think) but what happens when 'A' threatens them? Where is Ali? Who is 'A'? Find out for your self in Safe & Sound!

**One Direction and Pretty Little Liars!!**


10. Caught Red-Handed

~Hanna's Point Of View~

I crossed the empty street and walked into the Rosewood Coffee Shop. It wasn't very crowded today. Actually, it was only Noel and his followers and the new kids. I walked over to Harry and his friends and waved shyly. 

"Hey," I said, all of their attention turning to me. I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Harry asked me to meet him and his friends here for some reason. 

"Hey Hanna!" Louis exclaimed, I learned from the night we all went out- along with Emily and Aria, that he was very childish.

"Hey," Harry said. I really like him, and he is really hot. Like really hot. But Zayn intrigues me more. I don't know what it is but he does. Too bad he has a girlfriend. Besides, Mona said Harry's the better option. 

"Hey guys, what's up?" I asked, sitting down at the table. Before any of them could answer, Noel's voice projected over the shop as he made his way towards up with his group following. 

"Hanna! Who are your friends?" I rolled my eyes and turned to look at them. 

"What do you want, Noel?" I asked, annoyed. I really can't stand Noel. After Sean and I broke up he's become a total jackass towards me, he always has but it just got worse. 

"You were friends with Aria Montgomery, right?" 

"Yeah... I was." I answered. What would he want with Aria?

"So, you think I have a chance with her?" I laughed out of my nose, nearly choking on nothing. Why is he asking me this? He should just go ask her.

"I don't know, I'm not the one you should be asking." I informed him, taking a sip from my coffee that the boys got set aside for me. Noel rolled his eyes and walked away, his posse following. 

"What was that about?" Harry asked, slightly confused. I shook my head.

"Noel's just an idiot."

They dropped me off at my house later. Sat on the couch and relaxed. 

I called for my miniature pinscher, Dot, to hop up on the couch. "Did you miss me today?" I squealed as Dot licked my hand. I had petitioned to let Dot come to school in my oversize Prada handbag – all the girls in Beverly Hills did it, after all – but Rosewood Day said no. So to prevent separation anxiety, I bought Dot the snuggest Gucci bed money could buy and left QVC on my bedroom TV during the day.

My mother strode into the living room, still in her tailored tweed suit and brown kitten-heel slingbacks. "There’s sushi," she said.

I looked up. "Toro rolls?"

"I don’t know. I got a bunch of things." I walked into the kitchen, taking in my mom’s laptop and buzzing LG.

"What now?" She barked into the phone. Dot’s little claws tick-ticked behind me. After searching through the bag, I settled on one piece of yellow tail sashimi, one eel roll, and a small bowl of miso soup. "Well, I talked to the client this morning," my mom went on. "They were happy then." I daintily dipped my yellow tail roll into some soy sauce and flipped breezily through a J. Crew catalog. My mom was second-in-command at the Philly advertising firm McManus & Tate, and her goal was to be the firm’s first woman president.

Besides being extremely successful and ambitious, she was what most guys at Rosewood Day would call a MILF – she had long, red-gold hair, smooth skin, and an incredibly supple body, thanks to her daily Vinyasa yoga ritual.

I knew my mom wasn't perfect, but I still don't get why my parents had divorced four years ago, or why my father quickly began dating an average-looking ER nurse from Annapolis, Maryland, named Isabel. Talk about trading down.

Isabel had a teenage daughter, Kate, and my dad said I would just love her. A few months after the divorce, he’d invited me to Annapolis for the weekend. Nervous about meeting my quasi-stepsister, I begged Ali to come along.

"Don’t worry, Han," Ali assured me. "We’ll outclass whoever this Kate girl is." When I looked at her, unconvinced, she reminded me of her signature phrase: ‘I’m Ali and I’m fabulous!’ It sounded almost silly now, but back then I could only imagine what it would feel like to be so confident. Having Ali there was like a security blanket – proof I wasn't a loser my dad just wanted to get away from.

The day had been a train wreck, anyway. Kate was the prettiest girl I ever met and my dad had basically called me a pig right in front of Kate. He’d quickly backpedaled and said it was only a joke, but that was the very last time I’d seen him . . . and the very first time I ever made myself throw up. But I hated thinking about stuff in the past, so I rarely do. Besides, now I got to ogle my mom’s dates in a not so will-you-be-my-new-father? way. And would my father let me have a 2 A.M. curfew and drink wine, like my mom did? Doubtful.

My mom snapped her phone shut and fastened her emerald green eyes on me. "Those are your back-to-school shoes?"

I stopped chewing. "Yeah."

She nodded. "Did you get a lot of compliments?"

I turned my ankle to inspect my purple wedges. Too afraid to face the Saks security, I’d actually paid for them. "Yeah. I did."

"Mind if I borrow them?"

"Um, sure. If you wa—" My mom’s phone rang again. She pounced on it. "Carson? Yes. I've been looking for you all night . . . What the hell is going on there?"

I blew at my side-swept bangs and fed Dot a tiny piece of eel. As Dot spit it out on the floor, the doorbell rang. My mother didn't even flinch. "They need it tonight," she said to the phone. "It’s your project. Do I have to come down and hold your hand?"

The doorbell rang again. Dot started barking and my mom stood to get it. "It’s probably those Girl Scouts again." The Girl Scouts had come over three days in a row, trying to sell us cookies at dinnertime. They were rabid in this neighborhood.

Within seconds, she was back in the kitchen with a young, brown-haired, green-eyed police officer behind her. "This gentleman says he wants to speak with you." A gold pin on the breast pocket of his uniform read WILDEN.

"Me?" I pointed to myself.

"You’re Hanna Marin?" Wilden asked. The walkie-talkie on his belt made a noise. Suddenly I realized who this guy was: Darren Wilden. He’d been a senior at Rosewood when I was in seventh grade. The Darren Wilden I remembered allegedly slept with the whole girls’ diving team and was almost kicked out of school for stealing the principal’s vintage Ducati motorcycle. But this cop was definitely the same guy – those green eyes were hard to forget, even if it had been four years since I’d seen them. I hoped he was a stripper that Mona had sent over as a joke.

"What’s this all about?" My mom asked, looking longingly back at her cell phone. "Why are you interrupting us at dinner?"

"We received a call from Tiffany’s," Wilden said. "They have you on tape shoplifting some items from their store. Tapes from various other mall security cameras tracked you out of the mall and to your car. We traced the license plate."

I started pinching the inside of my palm with my fingernails, something I always did when I felt out of control. "Hanna wouldn't do that," My mom barked. "Would you, Hanna?"

I opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. My heart was banging against my ribs.

"Look." Wilden crossed his arms over his chest. I noticed the gun on his belt. It looked like a toy. "I just need you to come to the station. Maybe it’s nothing."

"I’m sure it’s nothing!" My mom said. Then she took her Fendi wallet out of its matching purse. "What will it take for you to leave us alone to have our dinner?"

"Ma’am." Wilden sounded exasperated. "You should just come down with me. All right? It won’t take all night. I promise." He smiled that sexy Darren Wilden smile that had probably kept him from getting expelled from Rosewood.

"Well," She and Wilden looked at each other for a long moment. "Let me get my bag."

Wilden turned to me. "I’m gonna have to cuff you." I gasped.

"Cuff me?" Okay, now that was silly. It sounded fake, like something the six-year-old twins next door would say to each other. But Wilden pulled out real steel handcuffs and gently put them around my wrists. I hoped he didn't notice that my hands were shaking. If only this were the moment when Wilden tied me to a chair, put on that old ’70s song ‘Hot Stuff,’ and stripped off all his clothes. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

The police station smelled like burned coffee and very old wood, because, like most of Rosewood’s municipal buildings, it was a former railroad baron’s mansion. Cops fluttered around me, taking phone calls, filling out forms, and sliding around on their little castor-wheel chairs. I half expected to see Mona here, too, with her mom’s Dior stole thrown over her wrists. But from the look of the empty bench, it seemed Mona hadn't been caught.

My mom sat very stiffly next to me. I felt squirmy; my mom was usually really lenient, but then, I had never been taken downtown and had the book thrown at me or whatever. And then, very quietly, my mom leaned over. "What was it that you took?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"That bracelet you’re wearing?" I looked down. Perfect. I’d forgotten to take it off; the bracelet was circling my wrist in full view. I shoved it farther up my sleeve. I felt my ears for the earrings; yep, I’d worn them today too. Talk about stupid!

"Give it to me," my mother whispered.

"Huh?" I squeaked. She held out her palm.

"Give it here. I can handle this." Reluctantly, I let my mom unfasten the bracelet from my wrist. Then, I reached up and took off the earrings and handed them over too. She didn't even flinch. She simply dropped the jewelry in her purse and folded her hands over the metal clasp.

The blond Tiffany’s girl who’d helped me with the charm bracelet strode into the room. As soon as she saw me, sitting dejectedly on the bench with the cuffs still on my hands, she nodded. "Yeah. That’s her." Darren Wilden glared at me, and my mom stood up.

"I think there’s been a mistake." She walked over to Wilden’s desk. "I misunderstood you at the house. I was with Hanna that day. We bought that stuff. I have a receipt for it at home."

The Tiffany’s girl narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "Are you suggesting I’m lying?"

"No," She said sweetly, "I just think you’re confused." What was she doing? A gooey, uncomfortable, almost-guilty feeling washed over me.

"How do you explain the surveillance tapes?"  Wilden asked. My mom paused. I saw a tiny muscle in her neck quiver. Then, before I could stop her, she reached into her purse and took out the loot.

"This was all my fault," she said. "Not Hanna’s." She turned back to Wilden. "Hanna and I had a fight about these items. I said she couldn't have them – I drove her to this. She’ll never do it again. I’ll make sure of it." I stared, stunned.  My mom and I had never once discussed Tiffany’s, let alone something I could or couldn't have. Wilden shook his head.

"Ma’am, I think your daughter may need to do some community service. That’s usually the penalty."

My mom blinked, innocently. "Can’t we let this slide? Please?" Wilden looked at her for a long time, one corner of his mouth turned up almost devilishly.

"Sit down," he said finally. "Let me see what I can do." I looked everywhere but in my mom’s direction. Wilden hunched over his desk. He had a Chief Wiggum figurine from The Simpsons and a metal Slinky. He licked his pointer finger to turn the pages of the papers he was filling out. I flinched. What sort of papers were they? Didn't the local newspapers report crimes? This was bad. Very bad.

I jiggled my foot nervously, having a sudden urge for some Junior Mints. Or maybe cashews. Even the Slim Jims on Wilden’s desk would do. I could just see it: Everyone would find out, and I’d be instantaneously friendless. From there, I’d recede back to dorky, seventh-grade Hanna in reverse evolution. I’d wake up and my hair would be a yucky, washed-out blond again. Then my teeth would go crooked and I’d get my braces back on. I wouldn't be able to fit into any of my jeans. The rest would happen spontaneously. I’d spend my life chubby, ugly, miserable, and overlooked, just the way I used to be.

"I have some lotion if those are chafing your wrists," my mom said, gesturing to the cuffs and rooting around in her purse.

"I’m okay," I replied, brought back to the present. Sighing, I pulled out my BlackBerry. It was tough because my hands were cuffed, but I wanted to text Harry to distract myself for all of this. As I stared blankly at the screen, an e-mail popped up in my inbox. I opened it.

Hey Hanna, 

Since prison food makes you fat, you know what Harry’s gonna say? Not it!

I was so startled that I stood up, thinking someone might be across the room, watching me. But there was no one. I closed my eyes, trying to think who might have seen the police car at my house. Wilden looked up from his writing.

"You all right?"

"Um," I said. "Yeah." I slowly sat back down. Not it? What the hell? I checked the note’s return address again, but it was just a mess of letters and numbers.

"Hanna," my mom murmured after a few moments. "No one needs to know about this."

I blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I agree."


I swallowed hard. Except . . . someone did know.

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