by Karen Rose
“I almost forgot. I have a date tomorrow night with Ned and he has a friend. I—”
“No.” Jenna cut her off with a shudder. Ned was adolescent on his best behavior, but his friends were worse.
Casey frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m having dinner at Allison’s tomorrow night.”
Casey made a grumbly sound. “Blow her off. Ned’s friend is really cute.”
“I can’t just cancel on her. She’d be hurt.”
“She has the hide of a rhino,” Casey muttered. “You couldn’t hurt her with an elephant gun.”
Jenna huffed a chuckle. “She’s a lot more tender than she looks.” Then she remembered the purpose of Allison’s dinner and grew serious. “I can’t cancel on her. Next week is the eighth of October.”
Casey put her small hand on Jenna’s arm and squeezed gently. “I know what month it is,” she said softly. “That’s why I don’t want you staying home by yourself. It’s been two years since . . .”
Jenna pulled her arm free, suddenly irritable. “Since Adam died. You can say the word. D-i-e-d. As you’ve pointed out, it’s been two years. I’m over it. I wish everyone else would be, too.”
“I don’t think you are, but there’s nothing I can do about your being stuck in denial.”
Jenna shoved her desk drawer closed with far more force than was necessary. “I’m not in denial,” she hissed. “Adam’s dead. I was there holding his hand when he breathed his last, two years ago October eighth. I am not in denial.”
Casey set her lips in a firm line. “You’re only thirty. You need to start living your life again.”
Jenna drew a careful breath. Counted to ten. Casey meant well. In fact, every one of her friends and family that told her to start living her life again meant well. “I have a very full life, Casey,” she said evenly. “I don’t need a steady stream of men on my arm to fill it any further.”
“No, you don’t need a stream of men,” Casey agreed quietly. “One would be enough.”
Jenna laughed, a hollow sound. “And I suppose you’re going to find him for me?”
Casey just looked at her in that way that cut through every defensive layer Jenna possessed. “So how about dinner on Sunday night? Or Monday or Tuesday?”
Jenna sighed. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Casey’s smile was triumphant. “Nope.”
“Where are we going?”
“Italian. New place off Capitol. Be there at seven on Sunday?”
Jenna didn’t need to check her calendar to know she was free. Sunday nights normally found her in bed by nine with a good suspense novel, her two dogs curled up beside her. Who knew? Maybe this friend of Ned’s would provide a pleasant evening of company. “Okay. But I’ll drive myself so I can leave when I want to.” Jenna glanced at her watch and grimaced. “Shit. Now I’m late. You go ahead and if you see anyone remotely resembling a parent in the lobby, pass by without a smile or a nod. Understand?”
“Yeah. Spoilsport.” Casey started out the door, then turned around, an uncertain expression on her pixie face. “Hey, Jen? Did you say Brad’s dad is a cop?”
Something in Casey’s face made Jenna’s hands still. “Yeah? Why?”
“Ask him if he knows anything about the missing girls.” A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Jenna’s stomach. “What missing girls? Last I heard there was only one missing girl—the one from High Point High that they found dead on Tuesday.”
“There’s another,” Casey murmured. “This one from DuVal High. It’s been all over the news since last night.”
Jenna bit her lip. “I had karate last night and went right to bed when I came home. I didn’t see the news. God, Casey, two girls? We need to warn our kids.”
“Lucas says he’ll make an announcement on Monday telling all the girls to be careful,” Casey said. “So ask Brad’s dad if he knows anything more, okay? Anything we can do to keep our girls safe.”
“I will.” Jenna glanced at her watch again. “But I can’t if I don’t meet him in three minutes. Go on now. I’ll call you if I learn anything new.”
Now subdued, Jenna checked the lock on the chemical closet, locked the door of her classroom, adjusted the straps of both her purse and her packed-full briefcase, and set out for the front lobby at the fastest pace her high heels would allow.
“Dr. Marshall, can I talk to you?”
Jenna looked over as eleventh-grader Kelly Templeton fell in step beside her as she hurried down the stairs. “If you can run with me, you can.”
Kelly hastened her step. “It’s about my test. I should get partial credit on four problems.”
Kelly Templeton always thought she should get partial credit. Rarely did Jenna agree. “Tell you what, Kelly. You come by Monday morning and we’ll talk. Right now, I’m in a rush.”
“But Monday morning I have a cheerleading meeting.”
“I can talk at lunch on Monday, then. Just not now.” She softened her refusal with a smile. “You got a ninety-two, Kelly. How much more partial credit can you expect?”
“Eight more points,” Kelly muttered, then tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. “All right, Dr. Marshall. Monday at lunch.” She veered off toward the lockers without a goodbye.
“Kelly?” Jenna called and Kelly looked back, impatience on her young face. “Be careful, okay? Miss Ryan just told me there’s a second missing girl.”
Kelly’s eyes grew large. “Oh, wow. Which school?” “DuVal.”
Kelly bit her lip. “That’s close. I know kids at DuVal.” Then a beat later her expression brightened as she shook off the worry as only a teenager could. “See ya, Dr. Marshall.”
And watching her flounce away, Jenna turned for the lobby at a quick clip on aching feet, wishing she had a tenth of the sixteen-year-old girl’s energy.
“Dr. Marshall, may I speak with you for a moment?” Jenna skidded to a stop, this time at the sound of the principal’s voice, wincing when her ankle wobbled in her damn high heels. Last time she’d go shopping with Casey, she thought irritably, resisting the urge to hop on one foot and massage her ankle. Drawing in a breath to slow her racing pulse, she turned to find Dr. Blackman standing near the office door, his expression grim. Distaste instantly bubbled up at the sight of him. He was an overtly political man and . . . sleazy.
“I’m late for a parent conference, Dr. Blackman. Can I meet you when I’m finished?” By that point it would be after five on a Friday. Blackman would be long gone by then, sitting on the front bleacher of the football game scheduled to begin in less than an hour.
“This can’t wait, Dr. Marshall,” he answered, his voice glacial. “Come with me, please.” And without waiting for her response, he turned crisply on his heel.
Jenna searched the front lobby. No one resembling a parent waited, so she bit back her annoyance and followed Blackman into his office, hoping whatever was so cataclysmically important would also be short.
A man waited in Blackman’s office, staring out the window with his back to them. He was huge, his shoulders at least two feet wide. A black fedora covered his head, a black overcoat draped over one arm. Jenna raised a brow at the sight of the coat. It was brisk for fall in North Carolina, but the coat was surely overkill. Then he turned and Jenna’s heart stopped for the briefest of instants at the expression in his narrowed black eyes, the clench of his square jaw. His very body seemed to vibrate although he stood perfectly still.
He was angry. He was angry with her. And she was sure she’d never met the man before.
Dr. Blackman closed the door. “Dr. Marshall, this is Mr. Lutz. I take it you’ve met before?”
Oh, God, Jenna thought, her pulse scrambling now. Lutz. The father of the star quarterback of the high school team. The star quarterback who’d be warming the bench until he brought his grade in her science class up to at least a C. It was school policy, she thought a little frantically as her brain reacted to her last conversation with Mr. Lutz. He’d been furious that she�
��d given his son’s last test a failing grade. He’d called her foul names. She’d shaken for a full hour after hanging up the phone. He was staring at her now from beneath the brim of the fedora, his eyes oddly gleaming.
He thinks he’s won, Jenna thought, a spurt of anger supplanting the fear. He thinks he’s got me cowed. He’ll think again. “We’ve spoken on the telephone, briefly,” she said, gratified her voice was cool and steady. Grimly satisfied that at just over six feet tall in her four-inch heels she didn’t have to look up to meet the arrogant you-know-what eye to eye. “Mr. Lutz’s son, Rudy, is in my second period science class.” Remedial science, she added mentally, then aloud, “When he chooses to come to class, that is. He is currently failing.”
Lutz’s dark eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. “My son has been suspended from the team.”
“As dictated by school policy,” Jenna supplied smoothly. And waited for Blackman to back her.
And waited. The silence became stifling as she and Lutz continued to lock glares.
“Perhaps young Rudy’s test could be given another look,” Blackman suggested from behind her, his tone artificially mild. “Perhaps his answers might have been ...misinterpreted.”
Jenna slowly turned her head and stared at Blackman, for a moment too appalled for words. “It was a multiple choice and true-false test,” she said coldly. “You know, true or false. A, B, C, or none of the above. Misinterpretation would be difficult especially since Rudy wrote nothing but his name on the paper. He didn’t even try to guess. Rudy failed the test, Dr. Blackman. Just like he failed the one before it. He failed because he never comes to class and when he does he sits in the back and flirts.” With any girl whose self-esteem is low enough to be impressed, she added to herself, then drew a careful breath. “His grade stands.”
Dr. Blackman’s thin face became beet red. She noted his trembling hands just before he shoved them in his pockets. “Dr. Marshall, I don’t think you fully appreciate the severity of this suspension, to both Rudy and the team.”
Oh, for God’s sake, she thought, feeling the surface of her skin begin to tingle. “What I appreciate is my responsibility to ensure Mr. Lutz’s son gets an education.” She turned to Lutz, then felt a spurt of alarm at the cold expression in his eyes. She pushed the alarm away, focusing on the boy, on his future. “I hope you agree that your son’s education is more important at this stage of his life than his extracurricular activities.”
Lutz’s square jaw tightened. He deliberately removed his hat, revealing well-tended dark hair, with the hint of silver at his temples. A distinguished thug, Jenna thought, fighting the shrill warning bells going off in her head. His eyes ran the length of her. His expression was one of cultured disdain, of blatant sexual disrespect. It made Jenna feel as if she were wearing a thong bikini instead of the tailored suit that came modestly to her knees. Again she waited for Blackman to intervene. Again she waited in vain.
Lutz took a step forward and smiled. Chills ran up and down Jenna’s arms. It was not a pleasant smile. This was intimidation, in its purest form.
Jenna cleared her throat. “You do agree, don’t you, Mr. Lutz?” she asked pleasantly.
Lutz smiled again, a mere baring of teeth. “Miss Marshall—”
“Dr. Marshall,” Jenna corrected with a brittle smile. A muscle quivered in his cheek.
“Miss Marshall,” he repeated from behind gritted teeth and Jenna lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
“Now I see where your son has learned such impressive disrespect,” she murmured, not breaking her gaze. Mr. Thug would look away first, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to.
Lutz took a step closer, the toes of his black wing tips even with her open-toed sandals. Now she was looking straight up as Lutz had a good five inches on her, even in her heels. “You don’t seem to understand who I am, Miss Marshall. I could buy and sell the school like this.” He snapped his fingers next to her ear and Jenna managed not to flinch. “I could have you fired like this.” He snapped his fingers again, his hand closer this time. “You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, Miss Marshall. I was conducting an important business meeting in Boston when my son called to tell me he’d been suspended from the team. I had to leave my business unfinished to fly home and reassure my wife that the scout her father arranged to see our son play would indeed see Rudy play.”
“The scout will not see him play today.” Jenna met his anger with what she hoped was cool firmness, because her heart was knocking like an unbalanced piston. “The scout can see your son play as soon as he brings up his grade in my class.” She stepped back and drew a breath. Decided to be the only grown-up in the room. Grace under pressure, her father used to say.
“You may be able to buy and sell this school, Mr. Lutz, but you can’t buy and sell me. If money were important to me, I can assure you I wouldn’t be here. I am here, however, and I’m here to see children learn. I can’t do that without parental support. If we can’t find a way to work together for Rudy’s benefit, then you’ll get the opportunity to attempt to intimidate Rudy’s next remedial science teacher next year, when he repeats the class. Good day, sir.” Jenna turned and found Dr. Blackman’s face pale, mottled with red splotches of rage. She inclined her head, fighting the urge to smack him. “And thank you for your support, Dr. Blackman.”
Shouldering her briefcase, Jenna walked out of the office and let the trembles take over.
FOUR
Friday, September 30, 4:20 P.M.
“DAMMIT,” STEVEN MUTTERED, APPROACHING the front of
Brad’s high school at a fast jog. He was late for his meeting with Dr. Marshall by twenty minutes. He was lucky she’d agreed to stay at all on a Friday afternoon. That she’d stand around waiting for him was a virtual impossibility. If only he hadn’t stopped by the Egglestons’ house on his way from Pineville. No, he thought, taking the steps in three giant leaps, that had been the right thing to do. Samantha’s parents needed to know he was working to find their daughter. They needed the consideration of human contact when he asked if they knew anyone with a propensity to mutilate animals. They’d needed his quiet strength when they fell apart, clinging to each other while silent sobs shook them until Steven wasn’t sure they were even aware of his presence anymore. Seeing the Egglestons had been the right thing to do.
But now he was late for an appointment critical to his own son’s life. Dammit. Someday he’d find a way to juggle it all. Yeah, right.
Steven searched the school lobby, but no one resembling a chemistry teacher waited. She’d probably gone home. Steven sighed, feeling the weariness of the day overtake him. He’d have to call Dr. Marshall on Monday and reschedule. And in the meantime worry himself senseless over what she would have told him about Brad, although Steven wasn’t certain it was possible to worry any more than he already was. He knew better than most parents what kids could get involved in these days. He knew better than most how dangerous it was. Too bad his knowledge hadn’t saved Brad from whatever had changed his boy to a sullen stranger in four short weeks.
“Couldn’t she have waited a lousy twenty minutes?” he muttered, and made his way to the office to leave her a message for Monday, simultaneously turning his body to scan the lobby, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He’d walked a grand total of three steps backward when he slammed into something that cried out and fell to the tiled floor like a brick.
Years of habit had him reaching for his weapon even as he spun around and looked down to find a woman sprawled on the floor, her face hidden behind a curtain of shiny black hair, her lavender skirt hiked high on her thighs, exposing the top edge of silk stockings, the bottom edge of an honest-to-goodness garter, and a set of legs that seemed to go on forever. He heard the hiss of his own indrawn breath, felt his heart thump hard, his fists clench, felt every drop of blood drain from his head.
Oh, my God, was all he could think. Oh, my God.
Then she looked up and pushed her long hair from her
face with both hands, revealing dark blue eyes that snapped with fury and full red lips that frowned with authority. Twin flags of color stained high cheekbones. Mesmerized, he could only stare.
Until she opened her mouth. “You incompetent idiot.” Steven blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Excuse me?”
In response she rolled her eyes and blew out an explosive sigh, throwing one arm wide. “Just look at what you’ve done.”
Steven’s eyes looked around the school lobby, seeing at least a hundred papers strewn across the lobby floor, her soft leather briefcase turned on its side. Lipstick and pens and keys had dumped out of her purse. Then he saw her massage her ankle and her face tightened, her eyes sliding shut as dismay gave way to pain.
He dropped to one knee. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you.”
“You weren’t looking,” she snapped back, her lips quickly returning to a firm line.
“No. No, I wasn’t.” He laid his fingertips against her ankle and her eyes flew open, alarm mixing with the pain. Quickly he pulled his hand back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice gone low and shaky. She scooted back a foot on her bottom, her eyes dropping to her thighs. Her face flushed dark red. “Shit.” She struggled with her skirt, pulling it down to cover most of her thighs.
Damn. Gone were the garters and the tops of the silk stockings. He should feel guilty for having looked, but somehow couldn’t find it in him. He did, however, regret that he’d frightened her, on top of knocking her down. He held up a hand meant to soothe. “I didn’t mean to scare you, miss. I was just trying to see if you’d broken your ankle.” He moved his hand to her ankle, stopping an inch away to look for permission. “Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes now wary, and he went still. This close he could see her eyes weren’t blue, but a deep purple. Violet. The combination of violet eyes with her black hair was... striking.
“It’s okay,” she said, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Her ankle. Her potentially broken ankle. She frowned again. “I can sign a waiver if you’re worried I’ll sue you,” she added sarcastically when he still didn’t move.