Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero)

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “My point is that knowing you are with me won’t deter him at all. He doesn’t see me as a roadblock—just an obstacle he needs to get around.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but I couldn’t. He was right, plain and simple. I knew what I’d agreed to when I’d signed on the dotted line, so to speak, and I knew that it would limit my social life in some ways—not that I’d had much of one to start with. Those girls needed Dawson’s cover intact so he could crack the case, which meant they needed me to make that possible. Was it unfair that I had to put my conflicting feelings about AJ on hold so I could do that? Yes. But it was even more unfair to leave Jane and the others to their circumstances so I could navigate whatever path AJ and I were on.

  “I won’t let him in,” I said, sighing hard. “I’m still not one hundred percent sure I even want to.”

  When the silence stretched out between us, he finally came to sit beside me on the couch.

  “I’m sorry you’re in this position. You’ve been through a lot already—”

  “I can handle it,” I said, cutting him off. Praise from Dawson was overwhelming and beyond unexpected. I needed to make it stop before I started to overthink.

  “I need you to be sure you can—”

  I turned to my left to look at Dawson, who silently awaited an answer. “I’ve got this,” I said. “I’m as invested as you are.”

  “Good. Now, I heard back from a buddy of mine who works for the military. I had him send me the DNA samples for Tyson and Davies. They’re not matches for Danielle’s killer.”

  I let out my breath. “Thank God.…”

  “But I couldn’t clear Matthew. He served too long before the military started saving samples for body identification.”

  “I thought you said those couldn’t be used in criminal cases.”

  “I called in a favor,” he said with a shrug. “And now I owe him a few.”

  “Well, at least it was worth it. I couldn’t stand the thought of Tyson being involved.”

  “Between his DNA and the lack of connection to all the girls, I think he can be eliminated.”

  “What about Callahan? Any updates?”

  Dawson shook his head. “The team is still investigating all those involved in the allegations. Nothing in the financials so far. No names of students. The only allegation made aside from his wife was by an anonymous caller. She’s going to be hard to track down if it’s even possible.”

  “But he’s still a suspect, right?”

  He merely nodded in response.

  When the quiet settled in between us, I took the hint and headed for the door. He followed me over and reached to open it, then hesitated for a moment, the two of us standing by the exit.

  “Something else you need to tell me, boss?” I asked, looking up at his earnest expression that peeked through his disheveled hair.

  “I’m glad you came to me tonight—that you trusted me. Really.”

  I stared blankly at him for a second then forced a smile. “Seemed like the kind of thing my fake boyfriend should know.”

  He hesitated for a moment before nodding and opening the door. “Goodnight, Kylene.”

  “See you Monday, Alex.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Callahan’s class on Monday morning proved to be a pressure cooker of tension between Garrett and me. Sprinkle in questions from Tabby in both study hall and gym, and I was ready to explode by the time lunch came around. Once the three of us were all seated, I decided to come clean.

  “I made out with AJ in his room.” Tabby’s eyebrows shot up and Garrett swore under his breath. “I’m not proud of this. I already feel terrible about it, so I don’t need any help with that, if you were considering it. I just—I made a bad decision. It won’t happen again.”

  The duo sat in silence for a minute until Garrett dared to break it.

  “Did you tell Alex?”

  “I did. I went over there that night and laid it all out for him.”

  “How’d he take it?” Tabby asked, the shock of the scandal still painted across her face.

  “He was upset. Confused. Disappointed in me.”

  “Did you break up?” she pressed.

  “No. We didn’t.”

  “Ky,” Garrett said, stopping to try and collect his thoughts. The loyalist in him was having a hard time with what I’d done. Cheating was a concept he would never understand, nor condone. It just wasn’t in his nature. “Why’d you do it?”

  Because my relationship is a lie and I might still be in love with my ex?

  “Honestly? I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

  His lips pressed to a thin, disapproving line. “Clothes don’t just magically fly off.”

  “I’m aware of that, Garrett,” I replied, anger seeping into my tone. “I went into his room on my way back downstairs—I just wanted to see how it had changed. I found a picture of the three of us together and it’s like it transported me back to that time. Before everything went to hell.” His expression softened slightly. “We never had closure, you know? We had the rug ripped out from under us and that was it. Then I moved and started over. It’s weird being back here—at this school—and not being with him. Does that make sense at all? It’s like if I was here and you and I weren’t friends. It’s all I knew freshman year. The three of us together. My mind is having a hard time now that AJ isn’t public enemy number one.”

  I don’t know when, but at some point during my explanation, tears started to roll down my cheeks. Garrett leaned forward and wiped them with his sleeve. Then he took my hands in his and said the only words I needed to hear.

  “Ky, I understand. It’s okay.”

  “Yeah,” Tabby said from across the table. “And I’m sorry for needling you about AJ. It’s clearly not making this easier for you, so I’ll stop.”

  I sniffled once, then choked on a laugh.

  “Maybe I should cry in front of you two more often. A few tears and you guys are total pushovers.”

  They joined in with my laughter, and the cloud of tension hovering over us dissipated in an instant. Navigating a great friendship wasn’t always easy. It’s important to have people in your life willing to call you on your shit when it’s warranted. But it’s equally important for them to hear your side and not kick you when you’re down. Garrett and Tabby had the friend thing down pat, and I was so grateful to have them. Losing either one of them because of my actions wasn’t an outcome I was prepared to live with.

  * * *

  On my way to fifth period, my tiny-bladder syndrome kicked in and I stopped by the bathroom. When I came out, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see Coach take a girl by the elbow and lead her down the hall toward his office. Nothing else was down that wing other than the equipment storage and the sports teams’ lockers. Judging by the look of the girl he’d grabbed, she wasn’t an athlete in need of some gear.

  Ignoring the bell, I quietly followed them until they disappeared behind his office door. He’d slammed it closed, but it had bounced so hard against the door frame that it popped open a crack, the latch never fully catching. I tiptoed down the hall until I stood flat against the wall, trying to peek in.

  “You’re takin’ one hell of a risk comin’ to me with this,” he said, his voice haughty and angry.

  “I know, but I just can’t do what you asked me to do,” the girl replied, a tremble in her voice. She sounded scared shitless. It was all I could do not to throw the door open and pull her out of there. But I needed to hear more—hear if anything damning would be said. “I can’t do that to her—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” he growled. I saw his silhouette lean in close to hers and she winced away. It was the first time I’d seen her face and instantly recognized it. She was the girl from Marco’s Pizza. The one who had stood up for me. Her name fought hard to come to the front of my mind but failed.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” she said, choking back a sob.

  That was it. I could
n’t take any more.

  I pushed off the wall, having made the decision to intervene, but a hand caught my arm and turned me around. Standing in front of me was a pissed-off-looking Mr. Callahan.

  “Let’s go, Miss Danners,” he said, leading me away.

  “No! You need to go help the girl in Coach’s office. Something’s not right in there!” He ignored me completely and instead hauled me back down to the main hall. Once we were there, I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “What in the hell is your problem? I know you think I’m useless and never going to amount to anything, but I want to know why. Why me?”

  “Because I’m sick of kids like you. Broken. Angry. You think the world owes you something until it proves otherwise. I find you exhausting.”

  “Great, then leave me alone. Problem solved.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, making him look far more menacing than I thought possible.

  “If only I could.…”

  “Is there a problem here?” Principal Thompson called out as he approached us. The concern in his gaze was unmistakable.

  “She was snooping around outside Coach Blackthorn’s office.”

  “Because I saw him drag some girl in there and proceed to all but make her cry! I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  Principal Thompson hesitated for a second, an uncertain gaze falling upon me.

  “Well,” he said, “let’s go see about that.”

  He stormed down the hallway toward the coach’s office and didn’t bother to knock before entering. I followed with Callahan tight on my heels. When Principal Thompson opened the door, I saw Coach sitting at his desk, thumbing through his prized playbook. He looked up at us as though he had no clue why we were there, then slowly stood.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, voice steady and calm.

  The girl was nowhere to be seen.

  “There was a complaint about you accosting a female student in here.”

  Coach made a show of looking around his empty office.

  “Ain’t no female students in here. I think whoever reported that was mistaken.” He made a point of staring past Principal Thompson at me, a silent “fuck you” if ever I saw one.

  Thompson looked torn for a minute, his desire to believe what I’d said about Coach in stark contrast with the lack of evidence before him. Then he gave Coach a quick nod and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. He hovered there for a moment as though he were waiting to see if he suddenly heard a female voice on the other side of the door. Like he was hoping to catch Coach in a lie. But there was no voice, so he eventually walked away, gesturing for Callahan and me to follow. Once we were out of the sports wing, he turned to me.

  “Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard?”

  “Yes. I saw him drag her into his office and slam the door. Then I heard him say something about doing what he told her and she kept saying she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to.”

  Thompson’s brows pinched together. “I wish I could believe you.…”

  Those words were a blow to the gut.

  “Who was the girl?” Callahan asked, butting in.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know her name.”

  He scoffed. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Mr. Callahan—” Thompson cautioned.

  “She’s on a witch hunt of some sort. She’s taking down anyone she’s not happy with.”

  “Donovan tried to kill me, in case you forgot. And I was right about him! This isn’t a weird grudge match, or believe me, I’d be gunning for you—”

  “That’s enough,” Principal Thompson said, his tone heated. “Kylene, we’ve already spoken about your aberrant behavior—”

  “That has nothing to do with this—”

  “So, if you have no evidence, I’m going to have to dismiss this issue and ask that you return to wherever it is you should be right now.”

  I exhaled hard. “I’m not lying.”

  “Unless you can find the girl and get her to come forward, my hands are tied.”

  “Fine,” I said, hitching my bag up higher on my shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I walked away, leaving Callahan and Thompson behind to have a sidebar conversation. I’m sure it was littered with asshole remarks from the former and weak attempts to cover for me from the latter. Since I couldn’t do anything about that, I trudged my way to class, trying to figure out how to track down the girl Coach had gotten rid of before he could get caught.

  Before she became the next Throwaway Girl.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I didn’t tell Dawson about what I saw in Coach’s office. Mainly because I had nothing concrete to tell. It was all a lot of cryptic nothing unless I could give it context. And to do that, I needed details. Details I couldn’t get without the girl.

  Imagine my surprise when I walked into the bathroom at the beginning of last period to find her fixing her eye makeup in the mirror. It was pretty clear by the shape it was in that she’d been crying.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She looked over at me and gave a small nod before she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

  “I never properly thanked you for the other night—at Marco’s,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  She shot me an irritated glance. “I guess you don’t remember?” The incredulity in her tone was thick, and it slapped me hard. “I’m Missy Edwards. I lived in your neighborhood growing up—until my mom lost her job and we were forced to move.”

  I felt like a total dick. I did know Missy. We’d played together as kids. She was a couple years younger than me, but nobody cared about details like that when they were seven. She’d been a sweet, happy kid, but there was no evidence of that in her dull eyes and permanent frown. There was no joy to her existence anymore, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that had to do with what she and Coach were arguing about. If maybe she, too, like Jane and Danielle, was caught up in this prostitution mess.

  The conversation she’d had with Coach ran over and over in my mind as Missy stared at me. She was protecting someone—keeping someone from whatever the coach had wanted to do. A chill shot down my spine as my thoughts grew darker. Thoughts of Coach slitting Danielle’s throat and putting Missy in her place—the new recruiter of girls for his sex ring. His new puppet. She’d looked so frightened when he spoke—like she knew that the consequences for not doing his bidding would be dire.

  Maybe she knew he’d killed Danielle, too.

  “Oh yeah!” I said, trying to save face. “I’ve been gone for a while.…” She didn’t say anything in response. “Missy, are you sure you’re okay? I was outside Coach Blackthorn’s office. I heard you two talking.” At that, she turned white as a sheet. “Is he trying to hurt you?” I asked, hoping to gently pull the truth from her. “Maybe I can help—”

  “You can’t help me,” she said, her tone so condescending it surprised me. “You need to forget what you heard and leave it alone. I mean it.”

  “What does he want you to do?” I pressed, my anxiety spiking. I couldn’t help but think of Jane’s words and how Danielle had met her terrible fate because she’d gone against the wishes of whoever was in charge. In her case, she’d wanted to leave and start a new life. In Missy’s, it sounded a lot like she didn’t want to involve someone else in what she was caught up in. She fit the profile to a tee, according to what those two hillbillies had said at the pizza place. I was terrified that if I did nothing—if I didn’t push a little—that she might be the next to go missing.

  I wasn’t willing to sit back and let that happen.

  “If you’re caught up in something—something dangerous—I can help you. I know about things going on in this town—”

  “You can’t help me,” she repeated, her voice cold and low—just like the girl outside Tyson’s gym that night.

  Without another word, she grabbed her bag off the floor and stormed out of the room.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  I spent final period fe
eling utterly shell-shocked. Then I ran into Dawson on the way out and that luxury disappeared. I filled him in on what happened, and all I got in return was one of his pensive stares. The kind that gave nothing away except his general level of irritation. Whether or not that irritation was with me remained to be seen.

  “Go home,” he finally said as we made our way to the parking lot. “I’ll meet you at your place in twenty.”

  I opened my mouth to ask for further explanation, but he was already out of earshot. The guy walked like a man possessed.

  Thirty minutes later, he rolled up in front of Gramps’ house and waited for me. I got in with him and drove off.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “The shooting range.”

  “Should I be nervous?”

  “Shooting helps me think,” he replied as though that answer was all I needed.

  “Guess it’s a good thing you weren’t allowed to bring firearms to your tests at Quantico.” I tried to keep a straight face when he turned to glare at me and failed.

  “Do you take anything seriously?” he asked.

  “I took Donovan pretty seriously,” I fired back, uncertain why he was being extra prickly.

  “Not seriously enough,” he muttered under his breath.

  Dick.

  “Hey! I’ve got a wild idea,” I said. “How about we actually act like a couple? Have a normal conversation that doesn’t involve you being a moody jerk who always has to be right or me being forced into ultrasarcasm mode to put you in your place. Can you handle that?”

  “I’m not sure what that leaves us with, but we can try.”

  Then the smile he’d been withholding finally broke free, and I punched him in the arm. Whether I was angry or just jealous that he could deadpan better than I could, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.

  I shot daggers at him as he drove. Then he launched into an unnecessary gun safety lecture that left me sliding down in my seat as my eyes rolled. He finished not long before we pulled into the parking lot.