“Yes. Really.”
“What about Loverboy?” he asked. “Does he get to call you babe?”
“Have you been spying on me?” I asked, my tone incredulous.
“Hardly. You were eating lunch. I was getting a water. No spying necessary.”
“Listen, AJ is my issue to deal with, not yours.”
“A fact I’m well aware of, but I can’t stand watching him stare at you with those puppy dog eyes. Just put him out of his misery. It’s the humane thing to do.”
“More blood on the Danners family’s hands? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at me. “I’m not really a big fan of murder.”
“Yeah, I got that message when we met.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles of it straining while he clenched his teeth, undoubtedly an attempt to hold back whatever retort he was dying to throw my way.
“You may be a lot of things, Danners, but you’re no murderer.”
I leaned into him, our bodies close. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dawson. I am capable of murder and probably worse. You think I wouldn’t have shot Donovan dead if I’d had a gun? That I wouldn’t have beaten him to death with his bat for what he did to Garrett? I’d do it now if I had the chance. Premeditated and all. There are few things I won’t do for the people I love, Dawson, because it’s a short list of names. I don’t have friends—I have family. With me, you’re either in or out. And if someone comes after my family, don’t think for one second that I won’t do whatever I have to to stop them.”
Whether it was from the set of my face or the strength of my words, for a fraction of a moment, Dawson looked shocked. Like for the first time since he’d met me, he realized that I wasn’t all talk. This bitch had bark and bite.
Then the moment passed, and his expression returned to its steely resolve.
“Admitting that to an officer of the law isn’t the wisest move, Danners.”
“Oh, but you’re not, remember, babe?” I looped my arms around his waist, pressing my body to his while I pushed up onto my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “And I’m far too smart to ever let you catch me.”
I pushed him away, and, just as expected, his expression was murderous. Irony at its finest.
Silence stretched out between us until he shook his head and walked into the living room.
“I know you’re here for a reason, so why don’t you just fill me in.” He sat down and casually draped his arms over the back of the couch. But there was nothing casual about his stare.
“I got a call tonight. It was a girl—one of the girls.” I waited for realization to settle in, then continued. “She said she wants me to help her. She won’t go to the cops. She’s too paranoid, not that I blame her.”
“She wants your help? Why you?”
The desire to slap him was hard to curtail. “Maybe because I brought down a prescription drug ring all on my own?”
He seemed unimpressed by my argument. “Maybe.” I opened my mouth to argue but he stopped me with a raised palm. “Tell me what she said. Don’t leave anything out.”
So I did. I relayed every tidbit she’d given me. Even those she didn’t. I profiled her as best I could from our conversation—that she was white, likely poor due to her need for money, and around my age—so he could get a sense of who we were dealing with. Then I told him the bad news about his recruiter.
He let out a slow exhale.
“Listen, I know that’s a blow to your case, but at least you have a name now—someone to investigate.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll have someone discreetly search her residence—see if Sheriff Higgins can get into her locker after hours so rumors don’t start flying. We need to keep this under wraps for as long as possible. We don’t want the killer to know that we know. And this girl—Jane—you have to gain her trust. Keep her working with you. We need all the information you can get from her since you’re convinced she won’t come forward.”
“I can do that,” I replied with certainty.
He gave me a wry smile. “Pretty sure of yourself there, Danners. That high opinion is almost warranted. Almost. Pull this off and I might be willing to let that character flaw slide in the future.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that, Dawson. That would mean you’d have to eat shit with a smile, and I don’t imagine you’d like the taste much.”
“I’ve eaten it once before. I’ll manage.”
It took a second for his words to fully register. Dawson admitted to being wrong about someone or something in the past. Very wrong. The way he said it was so acerbic that I could practically feel how much he hated it. Dawson was a lot like me in that regard. Being wrong wasn’t something we did well.
It wasn’t something we did often, either.
“I shall have a spoon ready for you, then,” I said.
Again with the malicious smile. “I prefer a fork.”
“Of course you do.” I sat down on the far end of the couch and stared at him. “So, where do you want to start?”
Without a word, he got up and disappeared down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The floor plan of the home was similar to Gramps’, albeit a decade or two newer. Ranch homes never deviated much from that layout.
He returned with a laptop and sat down beside me, pulling the coffee table over so he could place the computer down. We were so close that our legs kept brushing; I made a point to cross mine away from his. I tried not to notice the upturn at the corner of his mouth when I did.
I watched as he typed in a general search for missing girls in our region of southern Ohio over the past five years. A list of names appeared, far longer than I expected. It made my stomach turn. He looked at me, his tight features telling me he felt the same, then asked if any of the names looked familiar.
A preliminary scan revealed three that I could identify. Two were older than I was. One was much younger. Danielle’s was nowhere to be seen.
For an hour and a half, Dawson dug into whatever information was available online, from the most general demographics to whatever mentions there were—if any—regarding their disappearances. Most of those were found on social media sites and were posted by friends. And there were painfully few of those.
That got me thinking.
“Dawson,” I began, still staring at the screen. I could feel his body shift to face me. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. “How does someone go missing—or run away—and next to nobody cares? Not the family? Or the media?”
His silence disturbed me enough for me to turn and look at him. When I did, I could see the anger in his eyes.
“Because you don’t matter.”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the connection between all these girls? That’s the profile.” He nodded once, a slow deliberate movement that made my heart stop. “Jane’s right. The ones she knew—they really didn’t run away.…” This time, a shake of his head, his nose slashing a horizontal line in the air.
Some of those girls—their names little more than a reminder of their existence—were gone, and I could think of only two fates they’d met. The first being that they had just run away. The second being the more obvious given Jane’s insistence on the use of past tense when describing them. Death had found them because either they were no longer of use to whoever was exploiting them, or—like Danielle—they’d tried to leave and got caught. How they’d gotten caught was what left me the most unsettled. Jane had said she couldn’t go to the cops because nobody would believe her, but maybe it was deeper than that. Maybe she couldn’t go because she, like me, knew that the corruption in this town ran far too deep and was far too insidious to navigate. One wrong word to the wrong person and you were dead. Jane hadn’t called me because she thought nobody else would believe her.
She feared the wrong people would.
EIGHT
Mr. Callahan wasn’t a complete dick when I rolled into class late Tuesday morning
. My surprise must have been evident in my expression because he actually made a point of telling me to sit down before he had second thoughts and decided to send me down to the main office. I could get my poker face on to avoid a trip down to Mrs. Baber’s lair of doom. No problems there.
At least, not until gym class.
The second I set foot in the gymnasium, I knew I was in trouble. Instead of the track-pants-clad teacher I expected to greet me, I found a balding, misogynist football coach standing in the middle of the gym talking to a couple of his players. He glanced over at me and scowled. Coach Blackthorn was hardly a Kylene Danners fan, since I’d screwed his perfect season.
Nothing good could come of his substituting for Ms. Davies.
“Looks like the trash won’t stay out,” he said to the kids around him, loud enough for me to hear. Which, of course, was his intention.
“Sure doesn’t,” I replied, eyeing him up.
“Tell me something, Danners. Did Shipman really hit you or did you give yourself those bruises so you could get yourself some sympathy ’round here? You don’t look that banged up. He would have done more damage than that.…”
My cheeks flushed with anger just as the rest of the class started filing in from the locker rooms. Exactly what I needed—an audience.
“What would you know about it? You’ve probably never taken a real hit before in your life—not without a full set of pads on.”
His eyes flashed with anger. My insult had hit the appropriate nerve.
“You ain’t so tough.”
“Neither is your boy Donovan. At least not without his steroids,” I said.
It was so quiet in the gym you could have heard a pin drop.
His face turned red with anger, and I wondered if he’d explode or have a heart attack if he didn’t calm down. I didn’t want his blood on my hands—or the rest of me, for that matter—so instead of prodding him further, I turned and headed for the locker room to get my backpack.
“Get out of my class!” he shouted after me.
“Gladly.”
* * *
I went straight to Principal Thompson’s office, Coach’s implied destination when he tossed me from class. Mrs. Baber looked at me suspiciously when I walked in. I raised my hands as I stepped up to her massive wooden fortress of a desk.
“I didn’t start it,” I said. “Coach sent me to see Principal Thompson.”
She eyed me tightly for a second before picking up her phone and buzzing his office—the office that was only ten feet away.
“I have Kylene Danners here. Okay … I’ll send her in.”
With a jerk of her hair-helmeted head, she granted me safe passage to the principal’s office.
I opened the door to find the forty-something salt-and-pepper-haired man awaiting me. He was leaning back casually in his chair—an attempt to look less official, no doubt. When I walked in, he stood up and indicated that I take a seat in one of the two mismatched chairs.
Then he came around to sit on the edge of his desk in front of me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Kylene?” His tone was full of optimism I knew he couldn’t have felt. Me showing up at his office was an ominous sign at best. At worst, he already knew what I’d said in gym class, thanks to the efficiency of the JHS rumor mill. I hesitated at first, wondering what my best angle was.
Eventually, I decided on blunt-force truth.
“Coach Blackthorn and I got into it in gym class.”
His brow furrowed at my revelation. “What happened?”
I told him what Coach had said to set me off. His anger at the scenario was thinly veiled.
“Before you say anything,” I said, warding off his reply, “I should tell you that I may or may not have, in fairly colorful language, told him off.”
Principal Thompson looked at me for a moment before his gray-blue eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Exactly how colorful was your language?” he asked, maintaining a straight face. It was no big secret that Thompson wasn’t a fan of Coach Blackthorn. To his credit, he did his best to remain professional, though I was pretty certain he was cursing the fact that he wasn’t there to see our little showdown.
“I mean.… on a scale of pale pastel to electric rainbow, I’d say it was a vibrant watercolor.”
He had to turn away and cover his laughter with a cough. Then he sat down in his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk.
“You know I can’t sanction that kind of behavior, Kylene.” When I opened my mouth to apologize, he stopped with a raised index finger. “But, I know how Coach can be, and he was clearly in the wrong here, so I’ll make you a deal. You keep that colorful mouth of yours closed during gym, and I’ll make sure he does the same. Okay?”
Okay? It sounded too good to be true.
“You drive a hard bargain, sir, but I’m in.”
“Good. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Nope. I’m just going to go wait for lunch to be served.”
He stood. “Then I won’t keep you. I believe it’s burger day.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss that.…”
“Definitely not.” He walked me to the door and opened it for me. “Please come see me anytime, Kylene. My door is always open.”
“Providing you can get past the front desk,” I said quietly enough that Mrs. Baber wouldn’t hear me.
At that, he laughed.
“I’ll let her know you get a free pass.”
He gave me a little wave before heading back to his desk to do whatever it is that principals do when they’re not disciplining unruly students like myself. I headed down to lunch, hoping I had enough time to at least get a few calories in me before the second half of the day. If not, I would fall asleep in class for sure.
I was certain Principal Thompson didn’t want to see me again that soon.
NINE
I tore out of the cafeteria as fast as I could, needing to stop by my locker on the way to class—a detour I rarely, if ever, took. As I slammed the metal door shut, I found Dawson looming.
“Jesus!” I shouted.
“Any phone calls?” he asked, his voice hushed, his hazel eyes keen. I glared at him for a moment, trying to calm my breathing.
“No. Did you hear anything yet?”
He shook his head no, letting his façade fall for a split second, revealing his frustration.
“Hopefully I’ll hear from my contact later today.”
That made two of us. Something good needed to come from the search of Danielle’s home and locker.
While possibilities ran through my mind, Dawson’s arms wound their way around my neck. I glared up at him like he’d lost his mind and he smiled. We looked like a couple at an eighth-grade dance. People were rushing past us, staring baldly as they did, and it was all I could do not to knee him in the balls just to get away from their scrutiny, but I didn’t want to cause an even bigger scene. Had we been alone, his nuts would’ve required an ice pack.
Possibly two.
Remembering to play the role of someone who had once loved him—possibly still did—I beamed up at him, a sure warning of what was to come from anyone who really knew me. Then I remembered that Dawson may have known things about me—facts he’d read and profiling he’d done—but he didn’t really know me. Not the way Garrett or Gramps or my dad did—AJ, too. But he was about to learn.
I mimicked his gesture, looping my arms around his neck while making sure they were inside of his. I reached up on my tiptoes so I could cup my hands around the back of his head right where it met the neck, then I started applying pressure, pulling his head down toward me. He resisted, as I knew he would. Leaning in closer, I continued my controlled attempt to pull him into a clinch.
“I think now is a good time to set some rules, Alex,” I said, my words like shards of ice. “I don’t do the word ‘babe’ and I also don’t do public displays of affection—ever. Got it?”
“You did yesterday,” he countered,
his voice strained.
“You caught me off guard yesterday, and I capitalized on the moment to piss some people off.”
“So what don’t you do under normal, nonpetty circumstances?”
“No hugging. No kissing. No holding hands. No ass grabbing, or arms over my shoulder. Nothing that resembles you attempting to claim territory in any way. I’m not a tree to piss on. Try again and you’ll see.”
I adjusted my hands and pulled down harder, his head jerking for a split second before he resisted with ample force to maintain an upright position.
“You done?” he asked, his voice straining slightly.
“That depends. Are you?”
I took his lack of response as a yes and let go. Dawson’s face was flushed, which could have been played off as my charming effect on him, but I knew otherwise. He’d had to work a lot harder than he’d expected to against my hold. He hadn’t planned on my Muay Thai training, that much was certain.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure we hadn’t unintentionally made the wrong kind of scene—that we looked like exes flirting between classes. From what I saw, students were just stealing glances at the new kid and his train wreck ex-girlfriend. I was thankful for that, because I feared if we’d made a spectacle of ourselves, I would have been forced to do something drastic to dig our way out of it. I shuddered to think about how deeply that would have offended my PDA rules.
“So basically, I’m not allowed to act like I like you?” he clarified, his lips at my ear.
“Yes. That.”
He pulled away, shaking his head in frustration. Then the warning bell rang and the halls began to clear.
“You know your plan will never work, right? Teenagers are like dogs in heat. They’re all over each other—especially when they’re trying to get back together.”
I cocked my head at him. “Are you implying I’m a bitch?”
His incredulous glare made him look so terribly put-upon. “At the moment, no. But my point, that you so obviously missed, is that your rules aren’t even remotely believable.”
“You have met me, correct? Do I scream warm and cuddly, ‘get your free hugs here’ to you?” I stared at him in awe for a second, wondering how he ever became a detective if he was truly that clueless. “Saying that me not partaking in PDA isn’t believable is like saying it’s not believable that a junkyard dog tore your arm off when you stuck it through the fence to pet it.”
Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero) Page 5