Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  He laughed. “Oh, so what you’re really saying is, you suck.”

  I nodded, a grin on my face. “Most likely.”

  “Good. Then maybe I’ll win for a change.”

  I stood and went to the return to pick up a ball, then looked at him. “‘For a change’? How often do you go?”

  “I take my little brother bowling sometimes. You know—” He glanced away, before meeting my gaze. “To keep him out of trouble.”

  I took several steps toward the lane, then swung my arm back and released the ball. It immediately went into the gutter. I turned to Dylan with a frown.

  Obviously trying to keep from laughing, he said, “You weren’t joking.”

  My lips pushed together in a feigned pout as I shook my head. My second attempt made it nearly to the pins, but rolled into the gutter before it reached them.

  Dylan went to the return and scooped up a ball. “Let me show you how it’s done, my friend.” A moment later he bowled a strike.

  “Oh, come on,” I said with a mock-scowl. “This is so not fair.”

  He walked towards me. “Fairs are where you can ride ponies and eat cotton candy.”

  Laughter burst from my lips. “Okay, okay. Let me try this again.” On my next turn I did marginally better—the ball made it all the way to the pins, and even knocked one down. The second try took down a few more.

  “Now you’re getting somewhere,” he said with a smile that seemed to convey genuine pleasure at my slight improvement.

  A rush of warmth radiated inside me. I kind of like this guy. “So,” I said, curious about him. “You come here with your brother? How old is he?”

  A look of pride filled his face. “He’s eleven, and super-smart.”

  “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “I have another brother. He’s seventeen.”

  Clearly, this brother wasn’t such a source of delight. “Does he bowl too?”

  A snort of laughter filled the air, then he shook his head. “No.”

  I wondered what the story was there, but decided not to probe. After all, I wanted to get to know Dylan, not his whole family.

  “What about you?” he asked as he carried a bowling ball towards the lane.

  “It’s just me and my mom.”

  He glanced at me, then nodded before bowling a spare.

  “I’m glad to see you don’t bowl strikes every time,” I said with a smile.

  I enjoyed the rest of our evening together, learning that he worked at the Sudsy Car Wash, but wanted to go back to school one day.

  When we got back to my house he walked me to the door, but to my disappointment, he didn’t try to kiss me.

  “Thanks for taking me bowling,” I said, then laughed. “Even though my loss was kind of humiliating.”

  He grinned. “You did okay. For someone who never bowls.”

  I nodded.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Maybe we can go again sometime?”

  Excitement rose within me. “Yeah. That would be fun.”

  “Cool.” With a last smile, he sauntered to his car, and a moment later he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Two days later I saw Dylan again. But this time it wasn’t for a date. No. This time when I saw Dylan he was plunging a knife into a man in the alley behind my work. As the terrible scene unfolded in front of me, I gasped in shock to realize not only had I just witnessed a murder, but that I knew the murderer—had gone on a date with him—and I fell back a step.

  A split second after our eyes met, his widened in recognition, and he leapt to his feet. “Courtney?” His voice held a note of surprise. Then he pointed the knife directly at me and his tone changed to one of menace. “You never saw me.” A moment later he dashed in the other direction.

  Stunned, I hardly noticed when Steven, my manager, reached my side moments later, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

  “Courtney? What happened?”

  Trembling began in my hands and soon took over my whole body, and I barely managed to utter, “Someone’s hurt.” I pointed toward the man Dylan had stabbed, and Steven went to his side.

  It took a moment to make my feet move in that direction, but when I reached Steven, he had his fingers pressed to the man’s neck. Dark red blood had pooled beside the man, but all I could see was the image of Dylan stabbing the man, then looking right at me.

  Fresh terror surged through me. He knows where I live.

  “He’s dead,” Steven stated.

  “Dead?” I asked dully, as if I’d never heard the word before.

  “We need to call the police.”

  “Police?” That idea frightened me even more. What would I say when they asked what I’d seen? What would happen if I told them I knew who had done it? Would Dylan kill me? I hardly knew him. Sure, we’d gone on a date, and he’d seemed like a nice guy. But he’d just stabbed a man. To death. I didn’t know him at all. If he was capable of killing someone, what’s to say he wouldn’t kill me too? In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

  “Yes, Courtney. The police.” He stood and faced me. “Do you have your phone?”

  I shook my head. Company policy required us to put our phones in a locker while working.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go back to the store and call from there.”

  On autopilot, I followed Steven to Patty Melt Burgers and Shakes, then listened as he spoke to someone on the phone.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’ll wait here.”

  I want to go home. Desperate to be anywhere but here, I glanced toward the door. But I knew I couldn’t leave. There was no hiding the fact that I was a witness. The police would want to talk to me, and there was no reasonable way for me to refuse.

  Not able to think clearly, I decided I’d deal with their questions when the time came.

  Within minutes, wailing sirens shattered the night air.

  Chapter Five

  “That’s all I know,” Steven told the man who had been questioning him. “Courtney got there before me.”

  The moment I’d heard the sirens, I’d dashed into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. But I’d known I couldn’t stay there forever and I’d come out in time to hear Steven point the man in my direction.

  The man turned towards me, then gestured to an empty booth. “Let’s sit over there.”

  Reluctantly, I followed him and slid into one side while he sat on the other. Trying to get the image of Dylan out of my head, I focused on the man sitting across from me.

  “I’m Detective Turner,” he said with a smile as he set his notepad on the table. He asked me my name and contact information, then said, “I’m sure this is upsetting, Courtney, but I need you to remember exactly what you saw.”

  As if I could forget. Frantically thinking about what to tell him, I nodded.

  “Now,” he said with a warm smile, “tell me exactly what happened.”

  I described what I’d heard as I’d taken out the trash, then how I’d told Steven someone needed help.

  “What did you see when you got to the alley?” Turner’s pen was poised over his notepad.

  “I, uh, I saw, uh . . .”

  “Take your time.”

  This is the moment of truth, Courtney. Once you say something, you can’t unsay it. “I, uh, I saw two men. They, uh, they were fighting.” Swallowing convulsively, I rubbed my face with my hands.

  “Then what?”

  “Then I saw . . . I saw . . . a knife.” Careful, Courtney.

  The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Where was the knife?”

  “He . . . he was holding it.”

  “Who? Who was holding it?”

  Dylan. The man I went bowling with. He killed someone. He killed someone right in front of me! And he knows I saw! “I don’t know.”

  Detective Turner’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”

  Sweat pooled under my arms and I stared at the table.
“I mean, I don’t know who it was.”

  “Courtney.”

  I looked up and met his penetrating stare. “Who was holding the knife?”

  Trying to avoid a direct answer, I said, “He left.”

  Turner jotted a note, then met my gaze. “So it was the perp who had the knife? Did you see if he took it with him?”

  I hadn’t noticed that. I’d been too stunned when I’d realized Dylan was a murderer. Tears filled my eyes at the enormity of what had happened. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” Turner said, then he locked gazes with me again. “Did you see his face, Courtney? The man who stabbed the victim. Did you get a look at his face?”

  Dylan’s handsome face filled my mind, and my eyes widened slightly before I dropped my gaze to my lap where my hands twisted together. I shook my head, not able to voice the lie.

  Turner’s voice was soft, soothing. “Are you sure?”

  Without lifting my gaze, I nodded.

  “Can you tell me anything about him? How tall he was, his build, what he was wearing.”

  Forcing myself to look at the detective, I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  Turner’s chin lowered. “You don’t have to be afraid, Courtney. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  But he knows where I live! He’s been to my house! My mind screamed the reminder, as if it wasn’t already flashing inside me like a neon sign. An ache began in my left temple, and I tried to rub it away as I squeezed my eyes closed.

  “Anything you can tell me would be helpful,” Turner said.

  “I don’t know anything.” The words came out as a whisper, but the lie pounded inside me, making me want to retch.

  Mercifully, Turner closed his notepad and stood. “Thank you, Courtney. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions.” He pulled out a card and set it on the table. “If you remember anything, anything at all, call me.”

  Wanting to avoid meeting his gaze, I picked up his card and stared at it. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.” A moment later he stepped away from the table, then went out the back door, I guess to go to the crime scene where others were gathered.

  “Are you okay?” Steven asked as he slid into the booth across from me.

  I looked at my manager and wanted to sob, but held the tears at bay. No. Definitely not. “I guess.”

  “You can go home if you want.”

  I didn’t need any further prompting as I nearly leapt from the booth, grabbed my things, and raced out to my car. As I drove home, I replayed the horrifying scene in my head over and over and over.

  When I got home, I found Mom reading in her bed, and without a second thought I burst into tears as I raced towards her. Her arms opened, and I went into them, sitting beside her on the bed.

  “Courtney,” she murmured against my ear. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Not able to stop the sobbing, I shook my head against her shoulder. Finally, after several moments, I pulled away, my face tear-streaked, and met her worried gaze.

  “Take a deep breath, Courtney.” Her voice was calm, which helped settle me. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  Her hand went to her chest as I told her the same thing I’d told the detective. I didn’t mention that I knew who the murderer was or what he’d said to me.

  “Oh, Courtney. How awful.” Tears filled her eyes as she pulled me into her arms. I relished the warmth of her body and I wished I could tell her everything, but it felt unwise to reveal the critical piece of information.

  “It was horrifying,” I said as I replayed the scene in my head, shuddering when I reached the moment Dylan had pointed at me and said You never saw me. It wasn’t just the words he’d said that had frightened me, but the tone he’d used. Menace and warning had wrapped around every syllable.

  He knows where you live, Courtney.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to push that thought away, but it refused to be ignored.

  “I’m going to go to bed,” I whispered as I pulled away.

  Mom smiled softly. “Okay, sweetheart. But I’m here if you want to talk.”

  I nodded, then stood and left her room.

  That night as I lay in bed, my mind refusing to shut down, I ran through my options.

  Tell Turner who did it, keep the information to myself, talk to Dylan and get his side of the story, or pretend like it was all a nightmare and try to forget about it.

  The last option was the most appealing, although I knew there was no way I could ever forget seeing the plunge of the knife, hearing the cry of pain, and then grasping the reality that I knew the person who had committed the crime—the murder. On top of that I couldn’t erase the image of the dead body lying in a pool of blood.

  Rolling over in my bed, I squeezed my eyes closed, desperate for it all to go away. But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. And I would have to deal with it.

  Chapter Six

  “I can’t believe it,” Shelby said when she saw me on campus the next day. “Someone was murdered at your work? That’s insane.”

  I’d purposely avoided telling her what had happened. I knew she’d hear about it soon enough, and I didn’t want to have her badgering me to tell her what I’d seen.

  “It wasn’t at my work,” I said in a weak attempt to deflect her inevitable questions as we continued walking.

  She grabbed my arm, stopping me, and directed me to sit on a nearby bench under a tree. “Behind your work. Whatever.”

  I set my backpack on the ground, then forced myself to meet her gaze.

  “Courtney,” she said, her eyes wide. “What happened? What did you see?”

  Panic shot through me as I tried to remember what I’d told the detective. It wouldn’t do to tell him one thing and then tell Shelby another. I had to keep my story straight. I decided to take the easy way out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Conflicting emotions swept over her face—curiosity, understanding, then resignation. “Okay.” Then she smiled. “Have you heard from Dylan?”

  Fresh panic engulfed me. How does she know? Is it written all over my face? Did the detective know I was lying?

  “Has he asked you out again?” she asked, her voice calm.

  Oh. She’s talking about my date. Relief, and the realization that I had to control my reactions when it came to Dylan, rolled over me. “Uh, no.” Wanting to close off that line of questioning from any future conversations, I said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  I’d told her about my bowling date right after I’d gotten home that night, but that was before I’d known Dylan was a cold-blooded killer. “You know, there just wasn’t a spark there.”

  She gently shoved my arm. “You lie. You told me how much you like him and how sweet he is.”

  He’s a freaking murderer!

  “Come on, Courtney. You can’t give up that easily.” Her lips curved into a smug smile. “Unless you want me to set up more blind dates.”

  Forcing a laugh, I said, “No, please, none of those.”

  “Okay then. You need to let him know you’re still interested.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  With a shake of her head, she said, “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone. Let me see it.”

  “Why?”

  She held out her hand.

  Not wanting to raise her suspicions, I warily handed it over.

  She punched in my security code—what was a security code between friends?—then pulled up my contacts.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as I watched her scroll through the list.

  She grinned at me. “Nudging you in the right direction.”

  Then I saw her select Dylan and press the button to compose a new text. Without a second thought, I snatched my phone from her hand, startling her.

  Her gaze shot to my face. “What the—?”

  “No, Shelby. No.”

  “Okay.
Fine.”

  Obviously I’d offended her. But that was the least of my worries. What if she’d texted Dylan on my behalf? That was not going to happen.

  “Don’t blame me when you’re sitting home alone this weekend,” she said with a sniff.

  As long as I’m still breathing, I’ll be fine with that. “I’m gonna be late for class, Shel.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  We headed in different directions, and the first thing I did after I left her was to change the security code on my phone.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said to my mom as she prepared to head to work that evening. Her shifts were often at night, so I was used to her being gone.

  She brushed my hair out of my face as we stood in the entry. “I hate to leave you alone. You know, after what you saw last night.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Maybe you can spend the night with Shelby or something.”

  I hadn’t spoken to Shelby since the phone incident earlier that day, and I had no desire to be with her—or anyone else. Being alone didn’t sound great either, but what could I do? “I have a paper I need to work on.” That was a lie—I was telling a lot of lies lately. But I wanted to reassure her. “Okay.”

  A moment later she left.

  As soon as I heard the car start, I made sure all the doors were locked and all the blinds were drawn, then I went into my room and closed the door, pushing my dresser in front of it for good measure.

  I grabbed one of my textbooks and began reading, although nothing seemed to penetrate the fog that had settled over my brain. Fifteen minutes later my phone chimed a message.

  Glad for the distraction, I picked up my phone. But when I saw who had sent the message, I dropped my phone like it was a hot coal.

  Oh my gosh, it’s Dylan. What does he want?

  Terrified to know, but terrified not to, I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and read the message.

  Dylan: We need to talk.

  Chapter Seven

  “What?” I said out loud, my voice breathless.

  I reread the message, then another arrived.