Get Dirty

by Gretchen McNeil

  “Ed!” Kitty barked. Her sense of humor was definitely lacking. “Get out of here.”

  “Fine.” He desperately wanted to hear what Logan had to say to Kitty, but what could he do short of positively refusing to leave? That would piss Kitty off even further, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d just have to take his chances eavesdropping. With a dramatic sigh, Ed slowly dragged his backpack toward the door to the boys’ locker room. “I am considerably—and reluctantly—out of here.”

  Kitty wanted to punch Ed in the face as he sauntered out of the courtyard. How did they ever think it was a good idea to initiate him into DGM?

  “Sorry,” Logan said. His usually breezy smile felt forced. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Trust me,” Kitty said. “You weren’t interrupting.”

  “Oh, good.” Logan shifted his weight back and forth between his feet as if he were standing on hot coals. “I don’t even know if you’re the right person to talk to, but I heard your speech this morning. In leadership. And, well, I thought that you might listen to me.”

  He looked nervous and uncomfortable, like a guy who was keeping a secret. Was it possible Logan knew something about DGM or the killer? “Sure,” she said, smiling. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about Olivia Hayes. Do you know her?”

  Kitty fought hard to keep from showing any emotion at the mention of Olivia’s name. She took a moment to remind herself of their outward relationship.

  You know who she is because she’s the most popular girl in school and you’re dating her ex-boyfriend. Nothing more.

  “Everybody knows Olivia Hayes.”

  Logan laughed nervously. “Right. Sorry. Well, I’m worried she might be involved somehow in all this.”

  Kitty stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “Like . . .” Logan ran his fingers through his longish blond hair. His eyebrows were pinched together and his nose wrinkled up, as if he was grappling with a difficult concept. “A couple of days ago, we were talking about the night Margot . . .” His voice trailed off and Kitty saw a look of pain wash over his face.

  “Opening night of the play?” she suggested, careful not to give anything away.

  Logan swallowed. “Yeah. Well, I told Olivia about how I’d seen something weird that night. While I was on stage. Two dudes in the audience who, like, totally shouldn’t have been there.”

  The Gertler twins.

  “Did you tell the police?”

  Logan nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think that sergeant dude took me very seriously.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I told Olivia, right? Like two days ago. And then last night I stopped by the surf shop where these dudes work, just to look at some new Uggs, and it was empty.”

  Kitty looked at him sidelong. “What do you mean, ‘empty’?”

  “Like, the door was unlocked, the lights were on, but nobody was home.” Logan passed a hand through his hair again. “I checked with the lady who runs the shop next door and she hadn’t seen anything. She called the owner, who was pissed, I think. I left my number in case anyone heard anything, then this morning I got a voice mail from that sergeant guy, asking if I could come down and answer some questions about their disappearance.”

  “They’re missing?” Kitty blurted out.

  Logan shrugged. “I guess so. And, like, just a day after I told Olivia. Don’t you think that’s kinda weird?”

  It was kind of weird. More so than Logan could possibly have realized.

  “Then after that video this morning,” Logan continued, “I thought I’d check out the ’Maine Men meeting. You know, like, if this is all connected to what happened to Margot, I want to help.”

  “Of course.”

  “And when I heard your speech I thought . . .” He heaved a sigh. “I thought maybe you’d listen to me.”

  Ugh. How could she ease Logan’s mind about Olivia without giving away DGM’s secret? “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  “I guess.” Logan hiked his bag up on his shoulder and turned toward the door. “Anyway, thanks for listening.”

  “You’re welcome?” Kitty said as he disappeared from the courtyard.

  Kitty slowly dialed in her locker combination. The Gertler twins were missing? What did that mean? They were the killers? They weren’t the killers? Her head was spinning as she lifted the ’Maine Men shirt out of her locker and stared at it. As much as she loathed the idea of wearing the thing, she had to admit it put her in a position to help DGM, to help Margot and Bree, and to keep everyone she cared about safe.

  That seemed mostly worth it.

  “So it’s true.”

  Kitty swung around, the blue shirt still gripped in her hands, and found herself face to face with Donté. His features were tense, his eyes unusually dark, and Kitty could see anger reflected in his entire body.

  “You joined the ’Maine Men?”

  Dammit. Had Mika told him? “I can explain,” she began.

  “What, you just liked the shirt? It’s a good color on you?”

  Kitty had never seen Donté so angry. He was always good-natured and easygoing. She’d never known a harsh word to pass his lips, not even in regard to his ex-girlfriends, or smack-talking basketball players on a rival team. But now he looked at Kitty like she’d just kicked a puppy, and she didn’t like it.

  “I know how you feel about the ’Maine Men,” she said, trying to suppress the emotional flutter in her voice and afraid she’d burst into tears at any moment.

  “They’re assholes,” Donté said.

  “But there’s a reason I’m doing this.”

  “Which is?”

  Which is I can’t tell you. She couldn’t exactly explain to Donté that she was the person responsible for forming DGM and for carrying out all of their previous exploits. She’d worked so hard to keep her friends and family away from it. If she shared that secret with Donté and Father Uberti found out, he might get kicked out of school and lose any chance at a basketball scholarship. She’d literally be responsible for ruining his life. And so she’d lied to him, kept him in the dark. Even now, when faced with his indignation over the ’Maine Men, she couldn’t bring herself to endanger his future.

  “I can’t explain it right now,” she said, dropping her voice. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?”

  “Yeah,” Kitty said, taken aback. “Just like I’m supposed to trust you. Isn’t that what you asked me to do just yesterday?”

  “That’s different,” he snapped.

  “How?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Kitty didn’t appreciate the double standard. “So I’m supposed to blindly trust you when you say that there’s nothing wrong with our relationship, but when I ask you to trust me with this ’Maine Men thing, you get all bent?”

  Donté jabbed his finger at the packaged shirt. “They stand for everything I hate about this school.”

  “Me too!” Kitty blurted out.

  “Then why did you join them?”

  Kitty clamped her jaw shut. She’d already asked him once to trust her. That should have been enough. It had been when he asked the same of her.

  “I have to go,” she said, and turned back to her locker.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You have a meeting.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kitty watched as Donté stormed down the hallway, and fought back the tears as she wondered if those were the last words they’d ever speak to each other.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-FOUR

  KITTY SQUEEZED HER ARMS TO THE SIDES OF HER BODY AND hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself as thin as possible as she sat sandwiched between Kyle and Tyler in the front of Kyle’s pickup truck. “Are you sure the Cavanaughs won’t mind if I barge into their house?”

  “Nah,” Kyle said. He
took a corner so fast, Kitty smooshed into Tyler. “They’re usually not home so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “I texted Rex that we were bringing you,” Tyler added. “So it’s cool.”

  Kitty couldn’t imagine that Rex would be thrilled about a girl joining up with the ’Maine Men, and certainly not about her being inducted into his inner circle as Kyle and Tyler had so readily done. “Did he ask why?”

  “Nope,” Tyler said.

  “Oh.”

  “But I told him that you had an awesome idea about this new DGM,” Kyle added. “Which he had to hear.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Rex is gonna be so pumped.”

  Kitty had mixed feelings about this field trip to Rex’s house. She’d protested when Kyle and Tyler insisted on bringing her along to visit their de facto leader. They wanted to show her off, share her plan with Rex, and though the visit gave her the opportunity to perv around for the Rolex Amber had supposedly given Ronny DeStefano, the idea of being in his house was almost as nauseating as donning the ’Maine Men shirt in the first place. And that, paired with Kyle’s questionable driving skills, was giving her a raging case of motion sickness.

  The brakes screeched and Kitty’s head whiplashed as the truck lurched to a stop in front of a two-story colonnaded McMansion.

  Tyler and Kyle opened their doors in choreographed symmetry and jumped to the sidewalk while Kitty eased herself across the bench seat, head still spinning from the drive, and heaved a sigh of relief as her feet hit the solid mass of concrete. Her legs felt wobbly as she followed Kyle and Tyler up the front walk.

  Kyle leaned on the doorbell. From inside the house, Kitty heard Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” ring out in electronic bells. They waited for several seconds before Tyler leaned across and rang the bell again.

  “Hurry up, dude,” he said over the Beethoven, as if Rex could hear him.

  Again they waited. Again nothing.

  Kitty felt a gurgling sensation in her stomach. Try as she might to blame it on car sickness, she couldn’t ignore the fact that something felt eerily wrong.

  Kyle took a step off the porch and tilted his head back. “Rex!” he yelled up to the second floor of the house. “It’s us. Open the door.”

  “Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Kitty offered. “About the video.”

  Tyler snapped his finger and pointed at her. “Good point.” He reached out and depressed the door latch. It clicked and he swung the door open.

  “Sweet,” Kyle said. He took the two steps up to the porch in a single bound and barreled past Tyler into the foyer. “Rex! What the fuck, dude? Are you sleeping?”

  “Put your pants back on,” Tyler said as he followed his bromantic partner into the house. “And stop playing with yourself.”

  Kyle turned to him, fist extended. “Nice one, dude.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler returned the bump, then headed up the stairs. “Let’s check his room.”

  Kitty stood on the doorstep as the guys raced upstairs. Front door unlocked, the house silent. Something about it made her uneasy, as if she’d just stepped into a scene from a horror movie.

  You’re being ridiculous. Kitty stomped her foot against the doormat and forced the fear from her mind. Kyle and Tyler knew Rex better than anyone and they didn’t seem apprehensive. Kitty was just tainted by the last few weeks. With shoulders squared, she stepped into the Cavanaughs’ foyer.

  She recognized the decor immediately. Apparently, not much had changed since Rex’s thirteenth birthday party. The foyer was a massive space of gilt paint and marble, with a twenty-foot ceiling and a double-wide staircase that curved up one side. In front of her, an arched doorway led to the living room. She could see the fireplace flanked by floral vases and just a peek of sparkling chandelier above. It was the site of Rex’s humiliation.

  “His cell phone’s here,” Tyler shouted.

  “Seriously?” Footsteps pounded above her.

  “Yeah. See for yourself.”

  “Check the spare bedroom,” Kyle said after a pause. “I’ll hit his parents’ room.”

  “’Kay.” Tyler darted by the upstairs balcony. “Rex! This isn’t funny. Come on, we need to talk.”

  There was an urgency in their voices that hadn’t existed a minute ago. As normal as it had been for Rex not to answer the door, apparently this was the exact opposite. The gurgling in Kitty’s stomach returned, only now it was more of a thundering wave. She wanted to flee the house, to wait outside and let Kyle and Tyler search for their friend, but she just kept staring into the living room.

  It took her several minutes before she realized why. There was something on the floor behind the piano. Something that shouldn’t there.

  Kitty blinked, her eyes focused on the object. It was a shoe, a brown Oxford worn by a fair number of Bishop DuMaine’s male population. No, not just one shoe. There were two. Kitty took a few steps farther into the living room, rounding the piano, and froze in her tracks.

  Not just shoes; there were legs attached. And a torso.

  Kitty’s mind screamed at her to stop, to look away, but her body had a mind of its own. Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d approached the figure on the floor and was hovering over it.

  It was the motionless body of Rex Cavanaugh with a belt pulled tightly around his neck.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-FIVE

  SOMEONE POUNDED ON BREE’S BEDROOM DOOR, JARRING her from her nap.

  “We go now,” Olaf barked from the hallway. “You get in car. Olaf drive.”

  She slid out of bed, shoving her feet into her black biker boots as she pulled a striped sweater over her rumpled vintage dress. She felt almost as enthusiastic about her first group therapy session as she would be about a trip to the dentist. Except maybe the dentist would be less painful than listening to whiny girls bitch about their lives while trying to pretend like she was “participating in her rehabilitation.”

  Now Bree, how do you feel about the choices you’ve made?

  How do I feel about punishing bullies and asshats? Pretty darn good, actually.

  She found Olaf waiting for her downstairs, holding the front door wide open.

  “Won’t the alarm go off the second I walk outside?” she asked.

  “Olaf disabled alarm.”

  Of course he did.

  Bree climbed into the backseat of the Escalade, so bleary-eyed she almost didn’t see the manila envelope on the seat.

  She wasn’t surprised, really. In fact, she’d been expecting to find one of the hateful envelopes ever since she was sprung from juvie. It had been a pipe dream to think the killer would really leave them alone, and Bree couldn’t help but think that the near accident and warehouse fire were merely preludes to what he had in store for them next.

  With gritted teeth Bree broke the seal and slid a piece of paper from its sheath. Just a simple message: “I will destroy everything you love.”

  Dammit.

  She was still staring at the note as Olaf backed the car out of the driveway. Without thinking, she pulled the seat belt across her lap and shoved it into the buckle.

  It clicked into place.

  “Did you fix the seat belt?” she asked, eyeing Olaf’s reflection in the rear view mirror.

  “Was it broken?” he asked.

  Bree twisted in her seat and squinted at the buckle. The scratches she’d seen two days before when they’d almost been run off the road were gone: the unit had been entirely replaced.

  So the killer wanted to remove all evidence of attempted murder. Bree dug her fingers into the envelope. That could only mean one thing.

  He was going to try again.

  Dr. Walters’ office was less ominous than juvie, and without the security bells and whistles Bree was half-expecting to see as she climbed the exterior staircase to the second floor, Olaf close behind in case she go
t any ideas about fleeing on foot.

  But like the day room at juvie, her waiting room was intentionally cheerful. The walls were painted a pale shade of tangerine, and the waiting area was decorated with a mix of IKEA sleek and kid-friendly savvy. A low table with Crayola-colored plastic chairs sat in the middle of the room, complete with a wooden train set and some Duplo blocks. The “adult” chairs that lined the wall on three sides were plush and comfy, upholstered in a sunny floral print that matched the walls, and each of the three end tables held a lamp shaped like a pineapple surrounded by a bevy of teencentric magazines including Teen Vogue and J-14, both of which showcased smiling, airbrushed photos of the heartthrobs du jour.

  It all made Bree want to puke.

  “May I help you?” asked an overly cheerful receptionist.

  “Bree Deringer,” Bree said, countering the receptionist’s abundance of enthusiasm with a total lack of her own.

  “Ah!” she said, checking a clipboard. “You’re here for our group session.”

  “Unfortunately,” Bree said under her breath.

  The receptionist eyed Olaf, standing silently by the door, hands clasped behind his back so the defined muscles around his chest practically burst through his button-down shirt, and her body went slack. Her eyes traced the bodyguard from his face to his abs and back again. Slowly. Decadently, as if she wanted to make sure she absorbed every morsel of Olafiness. Then she touched her finger to her chin; Bree was relatively certain she was wiping away a line of drool.

  “And how may I help you?” the receptionist said to him at last, her voice throaty.

  Olaf merely nodded toward Bree, looking every bit like a caveman.

  “He’s with me,” Bree said, smiling curtly. “Big Brother is watching.”

  “Yes,” the receptionist said. “Your brother is . . . big.”

  Gross.

  The receptionist’s eyes never left Olaf’s face as she pointed absentmindedly at the office door. “Room B down the hall.”

  And Olaf claims another victim.