Dare You to Lie

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  SEVEN

  Striker agreed to meet me, so I jumped on the highway and headed toward Columbus. The drive took about an hour and a half, and I tried to enjoy the changing landscape as I worked my way north. The rolling hills flattened out to farmland, then turned to a city skyline in the distance. Columbus wasn’t huge by any means, but it was definitely a city. It was also centrally located in the state, which made it the perfect hub for the FBI.

  I wove my way around the outskirts of the Ohio State University campus to finally reach my destination right in the middle of downtown. After parking my car on the street, I walked into the coffee shop Striker had said to meet in and looked around for my father’s ex-partner. It didn’t take long before I found him sitting in the back corner of the tiny mom-and-pop establishment. In fairness, Striker was kind of hard to miss. He had deep brown skin, a shaved head, and was built like a linebacker. Even sitting down, he seemed to take up more space than he should. I used to laugh at him when he’d stop by the house with my father and practically had to pry himself out of Dad’s sedan. He was exactly the kind of guy you wanted to have your back.

  And he did.

  “Hey, little lady. Fancy meeting you here.” He smiled as I approached his table and stood to greet me, opening his arms wide to hug me. I gladly let him. Striker had quickly become a second father figure in my life while we lived in Columbus. He was the same age as my father and had a daughter a year older than me. Our families spent a lot of time together—even after the investigation into my father began. Through everything that happened, Striker’s confidence in my father’s innocence never wavered. He was a stand-up guy, and I had a ton of respect for him.

  “I really appreciate this, Striker.”

  “The hug? Anytime, kid.”

  I laughed and pulled away from his embrace.

  “That, too, but I meant that,” I said, pointing to the massive stack of transcript files on the table.

  He looked down at me, his dark brown eyes assessing me like one would expect a detective to. He was as intense as he was funny and could switch from one to the other at the drop of a hat. It reminded me that I never wanted to be on his bad side. Ever.

  “Of course. You said you wanted to review it all, so I got you all the copies I could.” He indicated that I should have a seat, then called out to the young woman working behind the counter and ordered me a banana muffin and coffee. Two of my favorites. Once she placed them down in front of me, the interrogation began. “So, how was the return home?”

  With Striker, there was zero point in lying.

  “Shitty.”

  “Just like you expected. Anything in particular, or just a general level of shittiness?”

  “It’s pretty general, but it’s clear that I’m still seen as the girl who cried wolf about those pictures.”

  Striker’s face went grim—more so than I’d ever seen. He knew about why we’d left Jasperville. My father had told him the whole story. Striker took it about as well as my dad had when it happened. He had a teenage girl at home. He could clearly relate.

  “Only one way to solve that problem,” he said before taking a big sip of his coffee. He stared at me over the rim of the mug as he did, willing me to see the answer.

  I sighed when it came to me.

  “Figure out what happened that night and expose the guilty party—or parties.”

  He nodded.

  “You know your father would have—”

  “But I didn’t let him.”

  Another nod.

  “He understood why you needed to just get away from that town, Kylene, but maybe now—maybe now it’s time for you to get yourself a little slice of justice.”

  “I don’t think that works out so well for people in my family.”

  He looked down at the stack of files, then back to me.

  “Maybe it just hasn’t worked out yet.”

  I tore into my muffin and coffee like I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for weeks. Hardly ladylike, but Striker didn’t care. He seemed to find it rather amusing.

  “So,” I said, mouth still full of muffin, “what are you up to tonight? Just heading home?”

  He gave his watch a look, then took a big swig of coffee.

  “Actually, no. I have to work late tonight. I just stepped out so I could meet up with you, but now I have to head back. I’m going to go take care of the bill, then I’ll walk you out.”

  I nodded, taking what was left of the muffin and wrapping it up so I could stuff it in my bag. Then I collected the armful of files, putting as many as I could in a different pocket of my bag. I still ended up carrying a few of them under my arm as I followed Striker outside.

  We stepped out onto the sidewalk together, and he saw my car sitting there, looking sad and beat up. “Am I to assume that your windows fell victim to Jasperville’s warm welcome?”

  “That would be some keen detective work there, Agent Striker.”

  His laughter boomed through the street.

  “Be careful driving home, and text me when you get there.”

  “Will do.”

  I smiled at him and turned to walk to my car. As I did, a man approached us. He was young, in his early twenties at best. His short brown hair was clean-cut and neat but still had a style to it that was modern. It greatly contrasted the shirt and tie he was wearing. He looked like a hipster wearing his dad’s clothes.

  A very hot hipster wearing his dad’s clothes.

  “Agent Dawson,” Striker called out from behind me. “You want to work late and do some grunt work for me?”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Striker. His face gave nothing away.

  “If you pick up coffee for everyone, then, yes, you can help out.”

  “Excellent, sir. I’ll see you there.”

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes. And don’t be late. You know I hate that shit.” He looked down at me, an apologetic expression on his face.

  “What? I’m pretty sure I swore first tonight. You’re good.”

  “That’s right,” he replied with a smile. “You did. You should probably go wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “If she’s giving you lip, sir, I’d be happy to take her in,” the young fed said, giving me a playful look.

  “Agent Dawson, this is Kylene Danners.”

  “Hi,” I said, reaching my hand out to shake his. He took it but didn’t say anything at first. All the warmth from his expression disappeared. He just stood and stared.

  “Apparently your beauty has charmed yet another one, Kylene,” Striker said with a laugh. Then his face went deadly serious. “She’s only seventeen, Dawson, so keep that in mind. I’ll kill you if you lay a hand on her.” Dawson flashed a smile at Striker and quickly withdrew his hand from mine. “Fifteen minutes, Dawson. Better quit flirting with the teenager and get your ass movin’.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  With a brisk nod, Striker started down the street to FBI headquarters, leaving me with the selectively mute agent.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I said, heading for my car.

  “You’re Bruce Danners’ kid, aren’t you?”

  I turned to find eyes as cold as ice staring at me.

  “Yeah. I am.” He scoffed at my reply. I took a step closer. “You got a problem with that?”

  “No. No problem at all. I love traitors. I’m sure their progeny are fabulous.”

  “Listen, asshole. You barely look old enough to even be in the FBI, which makes you a new graduate. You’re a glorified gopher until someone in that building over there decides otherwise. So I’d climb my ass down from that high horse real quick before you get bucked. Got it? And as for my father, you should hope to be half the agent he was.”

  “That’s cute. Defending Daddy. So sweet. So juvenile. Maybe when you grow up one day, you’ll actually understand the ramifications of what your father did.”

  “Allegedly did.”

  “There’s nothin
g alleged about it. He shot an agent. He was tried and convicted. He’s guilty.”

  “For now.”

  “Wrong. Forever.”

  “He may have shot him,” I argued, “but the circumstances leading to that event aren’t clear.”

  “Clear enough for a jury of twelve of his peers to convict him.”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself before I did something I regretted.

  “Well, this sure has been a slice and all, but I gotta go. Try not to be late for your ass-kissing—I mean briefing. Striker really does hate that shit.”

  I’d almost made it into my car without saying anything else to that dickhead. Then his next words stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “Did you know Agent Reider?”

  I turned to find him staring at me, unadulterated rage in his eyes.

  “No.”

  “He’s the reason I went to the academy. He’s the reason I wanted to be an agent. He’s the reason I busted my ass to be top of my class. I wanted to be just like him when I got out. And now he’s dead. He’s dead because of your father.”

  There was no way to deny the pain and anger in his hateful stare. No way to ignore how awful that loss had been. Dawson hated my father for taking someone he cared for from him forever.

  I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “My dad did not kill him in cold blood. There has to be a reason why,” I said, though there was no fire in my voice. I sounded weak and sad and rattled.

  “Keep telling yourself that, little girl. Your dad nearly brought down the entire agency and killed the man amassing evidence against him. You think on that for a bit while you pine away for the justice you think your father was denied. Better yet, maybe you should go visit Agent Reider’s grave, then talk to me about justice. Your dad should be six feet under. Not him.”

  That particular sentiment cleared the fog of sadness that had settled over me.

  “Talk shit about my dad some more, and I’ll put you six feet under myself.”

  “Are you threatening a federal agent?”

  “No, I’m threatening some hotshot punk who’s begging for me to bury an elbow in his face.”

  His expression was stone. His eyes raged with fire. “Time for you to go, Kylene Danners.”

  “Gladly, Agent Douchecanoe.”

  I hopped in my car and slammed the door. It took an extra few seconds for Heidi to spring to life, but when she did, she did it with a puff of black exhaust that was aimed right at Agent Dawson. I could see him coughing in the rearview mirror. The sight made me smile.

  With my middle finger flying out my permanently open window, I drove off and headed for the interstate that would take me home. Anywhere far away from Agent Hotshot was fine with me. To say our encounter had left me enraged would have been an understatement.

  I never wanted to see that bastard again.

  EIGHT

  I woke up with paper stuck to my face, glued firmly in place with crusted drool. My alarm hadn’t gone off, leaving me only about fifteen minutes to change, throw my hair up in a topknot, grab a bagel, and go to JHS. Gramps was up and at ’em as usual, making a full breakfast in the kitchen. He was old-school like that.

  “That’s not enough to eat,” he said with a scowl. To humor him, I broke a banana off the bunch lying on the counter and held it up to him for approval. “Better,” he said. I stopped to give him a peck on the cheek as I passed him on my way to the front door. “You wanna tell me what happened to your car, or do we not have enough time for that right now?”

  “No time now. You home for dinner tonight?” He nodded. “Perfect. I’ll give you all the gory details then.”

  “Every last one,” he said sternly.

  I chuckled to myself as I ran out the door. He sounded just like my father would have. No wonder Mom married my dad. She loved what she knew.

  I hopped in the car and sped my way to school, hoping I wasn’t headed for yet another lecture from Mrs. Baber and Mr. Callahan on tardiness. Two for two would have been an impressive record, even for me. Thankfully, I narrowly avoided one, squeaking through the door to physics just as the final bell rang. Garrett shot me an amused look from his seat two rows over. I gave him one in return.

  Forty-five minutes of torture later, the bell rang, and I bolted from the room. Anything was better than enduring Mr. Callahan’s pompous, overinflated ego. Anything. At least that was what I’d thought. But the second I laid eyes on Donovan and Amy walking toward me from the far end of the hallway, I reconsidered my stance.

  His arm was draped over her shoulders like the curtain of ownership it was. The vision made me gag. I instinctively looked to her, searching her face for any sign of what she was feeling, and was mind-blown with what I found. Glaring at me with hateful eyes was the petite girl I’d rescued only one day earlier. I’d have been lying if I said her reaction to me wasn’t a surprise. In truth, it shocked the hell out of me. As if it wasn’t enough that her penetrating stare all but said Leave me the hell alone, she wound her arm around the small of Donovan’s back for good measure. If I’d been in an alternate universe—somewhere in which the day before hadn’t taken place—I’d have thought she was jealous of me and letting me know that he was as much hers as she was his.

  But I wasn’t in the twilight zone, and the previous day had transpired.

  As they neared me while I stood unmoving in the middle of the hallway, I finally managed to get past my shock and walk to the far staircase, which would take me down to the cafeteria. It would also take me right past Amy and her gorilla of a boyfriend. She looked over at me right as our shoulders brushed one another’s, and she mouthed the words “Back off” to me.

  Message received loud and clear.

  Whatever had gone on between them after I’d intervened seemed to have made everything right as rain, and my concern was no longer appreciated. Maybe I didn’t understand it. Maybe I didn’t like it. But that changed nothing. At least her one-eighty with Donovan would keep him off my back. He’d gotten what he wanted.

  I reached study hall just before the bell rang. Tabby was sitting at the same table that we had shared the day before, wearing a smile from ear to ear. The second she saw me, she patted the table, beckoning me to her.

  “Cutting it close today, eh?” she asked as I threw my bag down on the table.

  “I like to live on the edge—makes me feel alive.”

  I pulled out a chair and quickly sat down before the teacher made a fuss.

  “After what I saw you do yesterday, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

  “Speaking of … guess who I just saw all cozy-cute in the hallway outside Mr. Callahan’s room?”

  She stared at me blankly for a second, then her eyes went wide with realization.

  “Noooooooooooo! No way. I don’t believe it.”

  “And yet it’s still true. The two of them were clinging to one another, parading their sick love through the halls.”

  “That’s totally messed up.”

  “Agreed.”

  I started to rummage around through my bag for my Spanish assignment, while Tabby told me all about what happened in her first-period class. By the time I had dumped all my belongings on the table, I realized I’d left my homework in my locker the day before.

  “… You should have seen the look on Ms. Bevins’ face,” she said as I tuned back in.

  “Shit! I forgot my Spanish.”

  I raised my hand, and Mrs. Summers started over toward us.

  “Oh! That reminds me. I have to tell you something. I saw—” Tabby started before the teacher cut her off.

  “Ms. Newberry,” she said as she approached. “Do I need to reiterate the purpose of study hall to you again?”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Summers,” Tabby replied, slouching into her seat. “I’ll be quiet.”

  “See that you are.” Mrs. Summers turned her eyes to me. “What is it that you want, Ms. Danners?”

  “I forgot my Spanish. Can I have a hall pass
to go get it?”

  She reached into the pocket of her oversized sweater and handed it over.

  “Five minutes.”

  “Thanks!” I replied, jumping out of my seat.

  I was out of the room in no time, rushing up to my third-floor locker. I rounded the final corner to find that someone else was there. Someone like Donovan Shipman. He hadn’t seen me, so I jumped back around the corner and tried to spy on him. He was crouched down at the foot of his locker, fishing through a pile of something. He looked flustered, slamming his stuff around. Then, when he found what he was looking for, he stopped. I saw him pull an orange prescription bottle out and open it up.

  “Pretty sure those should be in the nurse’s office with Mrs. Henry,” I muttered to myself. The school policy was that all prescriptions be locked up in the nurse’s office. That under no circumstances were you to carry them on you. If Donovan had a legit script for those drugs, I couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t want Mrs. Henry to have them.

  I watched as he dumped what looked like a handful of pills into his palm, then tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them easily without water.

  “I guess that’s why.…”

  He stuffed the bottle into a pocket of his backpack before he stood up to leave, and the sound of his locker slamming shut echoed through the hall. Thankfully for me, he headed the opposite direction and disappeared down the stairs. He never saw me.

  Knowing I’d just wasted four minutes watching Donovan’s shadiness, I quickly got what I’d gone up there for and ran back down to study hall, handing the hall pass back to Mrs. Summers before sliding back into my seat. Tabby took one look at how hard I was breathing and cocked her head.

  “What happened?” she whispered, trying to hide her face behind a raised textbook.

  I put my head down to stare blankly at my homework. “I saw Donovan at his locker. He took a fistful of pills, then went back to class,” I said.

  “What kind?” Tabby asked, leaning closer to me.

  “No clue.”

  “Do you think that maybe it’s something to do with—”