by Edie Claire
My pulse hammered in my ears as I looked out the rear window, but there was nothing much to see. Several pairs of headlights were visible behind us on the road, but even the closest remained at a safe distance. I couldn’t really make out any specifics on the car, much less see the driver’s face.
"The thing is," Zane said calmly, "if you tell Matt about this, I’m almost certain he would pull the car over right now and go out to confront the guy, which would be a really bad idea."
"Right," I dared to answer, hoping that the word made sense with whatever Matt was still on about. Apparently it did, because as long as I kept my head turned primarily in Matt’s direction, he seemed content to keep on talking.
He seemed to be on the topic of popcorn, now.
"Perhaps if we could steer Matt to someplace Rod wouldn’t dare pull anything, like a police station—"
Zane’s comment was interrupted by a sharp cry from Matt. I jumped in my seat so much my head nearly hit the ceiling; Zane sat up so fast and so violently that part of his head actually did go through the ceiling.
But Matt merely laughed, and took my hand in his. "Sorry, Kali. Didn’t mean to scare you. Sheesh! It’s just that I forgot I’m low on gas. We’ll have to stop before I get you home. Sorry about that."
"That’s… fine," I said hesitantly, thinking the exact opposite as I turned to catch Zane’s eye again. What now? I mouthed.
"Try to steer him someplace well lighted and busy," Zane responded. "The busier the better. Rod's going to want to get him alone."
The image those words burned into my brain did not make for a very comfortable drive. I did my best to engage myself more fully in Matt’s conversation, but it was tough to appear interested in the contrast between Hawaiian and Kansas City barbecue when all I could think about was an over-emotional Rod lashing out with a knife to skewer Matt’s own rib cage.
It seemed like years before Matt slowed the car and pulled off at a gas station. I scanned the place critically, prepared—if it proved dark and deserted—to pitch an uncharacteristic hissy fit about the state of the bathrooms and demand we move on. But what I saw was reassuring. The brightly lit station had a convenience store attached, and several other cars were also stopped. Furthermore, there was a bar next door at whose outdoor tables a dozen or so surfer types loitered in the night air.
Matt would be fine.
The second my date was out of the car and out of earshot, I pulled my phone out of my purse, put it to my ear, and swiveled to look backward. "I think he’ll be okay, don’t you?"
Zane moved instantaneously into the empty driver’s seat. "I’ll check." He disappeared for several seconds, then reappeared in a blur of muted light. "Rod pulled off, too. He’s parked just around the side of the store, where Matt can’t see him. I don’t think he’ll try anything here."
The tone of Zane’s last word disturbed me. "What do you mean here? Where are we supposed to go, then? How can we lose him?"
Zane considered a moment, then leaned forward. "I don’t think you can. Rod seems determined to have it out with Matt tonight." His steady gaze met mine. "You have two options, Kali. The best one would be for you to let Matt take you home. Then, once you’re safe, you tell Matt everything that’s happened and suggest he call the police, tell them he’s being followed, and let them confront Rod."
"And what if he won’t?" I argued. "What if his response is to storm right out of my house and confront Rod in my driveway?"
Zane looked at me sharply. "Then you call the police. And stay the heck out of it."
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. Clearly, my priorities and Zane’s were not identical. "And the second option?"
He exhaled. "You tell Matt right now and let him confront Rod here, with an audience. You could call the police yourself, tell them everything."
"And how long would it take them to come?" I protested. "If Rod goes wild in the meantime, how likely are these drunks at the bar to intervene?"
Zane’s eyes narrowed. "The important thing is to keep yourself safe. Matt’s a big guy, Kali. Give him some credit. He brought this mess on himself, he can get out of it by himself—without you being collateral damage!"
I started to retort, but stopped myself. Arguing this particular point was hopeless. Zane was an intelligent guy, but he was still a guy, and dead or alive he thought like a guy. Protect the helpless little woman, that was priority numero uno; she couldn’t possibly protect herself in a knife fight. An entirely true fact, but hardly the only consideration. What was it about high testosterone levels that prevented guys from seeing the obvious?
There didn’t need to be a knife fight. There didn’t need to be a fight at all. The whole situation was just plain stupid, and as far as I was concerned, one helpless little female was exactly what was needed to fix it.
I tossed my phone on the seat, opened the door, and got out of the car. "I’m running to the restroom," I announced to Matt, heading for the building.
Matt merely nodded. Zane was by my side in an instant, shouting into my ear.
"Kali! What do you think you’re doing?"
"Stop worrying about me," I muttered, striding with rapid paces toward the store. I could just see the hood of a rather dilapidated sports car parked around its far side. "I’ll be perfectly fine."
As I neared the door through which the rest rooms were located, I cast a glance over my shoulder. Matt wasn’t watching. I made a sharp left turn and darted toward the corner of the building.
"Kali, NO!" Zane tried to block my path, but I walked right through him. The sensation was unsettling, rather like a mild electric shock, but I forged on. In a few seconds I was around the bend and safely out of Matt’s line of sight.
Six feet in front of me was a car. And in the car was Rod. His windshield was tinted so dark I could barely see him, but his emotional aura was as heated, as violent, and as vile as any I’d ever felt.
I strode up to his window and rapped on it.
Chapter 14
After a second that lasted an hour, the window in front of me buzzed and began to lower. I stood at a comfortable distance; close enough to talk, yet far enough away to make an easy retreat.
"Kali," Zane pleaded, "This isn’t going to help anything. Just go back inside—"
"Hi, Rod," I said calmly, doing my best to tune out Zane’s insistent voice. "My name is Kali. I’m just visiting from Wyoming. It’s nice to meet you."
The dark pair of eyes that met mine were red rimmed. The lids were swollen. His brow was creased into a scowl.
"What do you want?"
His voice, which was higher pitched than I expected, coming from such a large guy, quavered a little. But its tone was less than friendly.
"I want to clear up a misunderstanding," I explained, my voice dropping to a soothing tone. "And I want to do something to help Sofia."
The dark eyes fixed on mine like laser beams. I felt the heat of his anger spike sharply, then recede.
"Why would you?" he growled.
"Because," I continued smoothly, "I agree that Sofia needs to be protected from whoever hurt her. But you’ve got the wrong guy, Rod. I know you do."
His eyes left mine. His fingers clutched the steering wheel in a death grip; his upper body tensed. "You don’t know anything," he said menacingly. "You’re just trying to get your lover boy off the hook."
Zane was saying something else now. Screaming it, actually. But I blocked him out. I knew exactly what I was doing. Despite Rod’s outward bravado, he was clearly unsettled … and uncertain. I could feel it.
"I met Matt for the first time yesterday," I stated matter of factly, "at about four o’clock in the afternoon. His dad and my dad set it up so he could give me a tour of the island. I was with him until late—at our condo on the North Shore. He wasn’t anywhere near Honolulu."
I took in a breath. Matt hadn’t left my house all that late, and I had no idea where or at what hour Sofia had been assaulted. But it was worth a shot.
Rod showed no visible reaction.
"I know Sofia asked Matt to the dance, but I think she only did that as a cover," I rolled on. "There’s nothing going on between them and there never has been. If there were, Matt’s friends would have known about it, and they’re all completely clueless. I asked them."
A little more fudging, perhaps. But I was getting to Rod. He was no less angry… in fact, he seemed to be getting even angrier. But his focus was shifting, his emotions were roiling in general.
"You got a lot of nerve throwing yourself into the middle of this!" he snarled, training his eyes on mine again. "And what’s in it for you, huh? You just met this asshole yesterday and now you’re desperately in love with him?"
My shoulders slumped. Guys were so freakin’ predictable. Feeling sheepish? Strike out harder. Doesn’t matter who—just make a show; pick a fight.
Not this chick. Not taking the bait.
"Somebody hurt Sofia," I retorted calmly. "It wasn’t Matt, so there must be somebody else. Somebody who’s still out there."
I said the last words slowly, gauging his response at every syllable. He tore his eyes away; stared straight ahead. Breaths came heavy and ragged in his chest. Then he released one set of whitened knuckles from the steering wheel and ran a hand through his inky black hair.
"I just want to beat the crap out of somebody," he muttered. His expression was dark; his tone, laced with venom. But inside, I could tell that his anger was slowly, painfully defusing. It was taking a mortal hit, overcome by guilt… and shame. "Doesn’t really matter who."
"Well, it should!" I blurted. "What good is it doing Sofia for you to chase some random guy around the North Shore?"
"Maybe none," he snapped. "But it will make me feel better."
He didn’t mean it. I knew he didn’t. There was something else here, something eating him.
"Well," I said softly, "It’s not about you, is it? It’s about Sofia."
Rod’s features hardened, but the emotions I felt from him didn’t match. The dominant one right now was hurt.
"Sofia doesn’t give a damn about me," he mumbled.
I allowed myself a smile. The emotions in this very passionate—and potentially dangerous—soul might be complex, multilayered, and churning around in his gut like froth at the Pipeline, but at bottom, he was not evil. He really loved that girl.
"Rod," I said gently, "I think you’re wrong about that. Do you have any other idea who could have done this to her? Some older guy maybe?"
His swollen eyes slid toward mine. "She’s been hanging with some people she’s got no business with. I’ve tried to tell her that, but she won’t listen to me. Her whole family’s tried to tell her."
"Dangerous people? Like what… criminals?"
He snorted. "Whatever. Gang stuff. But I didn’t know there was a guy." He paused a moment, lost in thought. "There’s got to be a guy."
"I think you’re right," I agreed.
"She’s had these bruises," he went on, more to himself than to me. "I saw them, and I kept asking her about it, but she just kept blowing it off. A couple weeks ago her whole cheek was purple, and when I asked her about that, she got mad—told me it was none of my business. Then she started in hassling me about how cute she thought Matt was, and how she was going to ask him to that stupid dance." He snorted again. "She knew that would get to me. Him in particular."
His rage had all but subsided. Regret, irritation, sorrow… then suddenly, a flare of ire again.
"And the day before he’s supposed to take her to the dance, he’s out screwing around with you!" Rod flung at me, his lips curled into a snarl. I was taken aback, but only for a second, until I remembered the scene at Saint Anthony’s. Rod might not have known about the assault then, but he was already suspicious that Sofia was being mistreated. Seeing the guy she claimed to like out with another girl, publicly dissing Sofia without a care, had been too much for him.
The boy had it bad.
He was also not the brightest bulb in the factory. And I was getting a little irritated myself. "Sofia doesn’t give a damn about Matt!" I fired at him. "She never did! Can’t you see that?"
"No!" He said sulkily.
I resisted rolling my eyes, but just barely.
"Whoever beat Sofia up is clearly dangerous, that’s why she’s been keeping her relationship with him a secret—from you, from her family, from everybody. At first, she was probably just afraid her family wouldn’t approve, but then when things got violent, she got scared. Maybe he’s threatened her family if she tells. Did you think of that?"
Rod considered a moment, then shook his head. "She would tell me."
"She would not!" I argued. "She wouldn’t want you anywhere near the guy!"
He scoffed. "So why is she running around with Matt, then?"
I resisted a strong urge to smack him.
"Because she wants to throw you off track, you moron! She’s not running around with Matt; they barely know each other—she only asked him to the dance to keep you and everybody else from figuring out what was really going on!"
The wheels in his brain seemed to turn at last… slowly.
"So," he said flatly, meeting my gaze. "She never did like Matt."
I exhaled with a huff. "If she did, do you really think she’d lead you to believe that he was the one slapping her around? Knowing perfectly well that you’d go beat the crap out of him?"
His tightened lips suddenly twisted into—unbelievably—a grin.
I felt a stab of disloyalty in purporting that Rod would, in fact, get the best of Matt in a fair fight. But Matt would have to forgive me. Rod’s anger was all but quenched—I needed only to pump him up a little, get his focus on helping Sofia and off the macho vendetta.
"Whoever this guy is, he’s seriously dangerous, Rod. And Sofia’s going to need professional help to get out of it. You’ve got to get her to call a hotline—for domestic violence. They know how to deal with this stuff."
Rod scowled again. "If she’d only tell me who—"
"Well, she’s not going to," I interrupted. "And I don’t blame her. Because your hot head would only make things worse. She’s got to want to help herself, Rod. She’s got to make the decision to get away from this guy. You can help her by—"
"She obviously doesn’t want my help!" he snapped. "Don’t you get that? She doesn’t care about me at all!"
Now I really, really wanted to smack him.
"Will you please stop and think about it!" I practically yelled. "She’s kept her mouth shut, she went to all the effort to lay a false trail with Matt, all to keep you from finding out who this guy is! Why would she do that? Because, you idiot, she’s scared to death that if you went after him, this maniac would beat the crap out of you!"
My voice seemed to bounce off the concrete block wall behind me, echoing in an otherwise surprisingly quiet moment. I threw a worried glance over my shoulder, wondering if Matt could hear. Zane, whose presence I had forgotten, caught my eye and promptly disappeared. He returned two seconds later, shaking his head. "Matt didn’t hear," he said quietly. "He's inside."
I turned my attention back to Rod. He sat hunched over the wheel now, shoulders slumped. He looked exhausted. His emotional storm of rage had broken at last, replaced with a gurgling mixture of relief, regret, and—much to my delight—a brewing warmth I could only attribute to love.
He said nothing further.
I took a step away. "Get online and search on domestic violence," I suggested. "Get a hotline number and give it to her. Call it yourself and see what they say. It’s the best thing you can do for her. Really."
He did not look at me again. My words were met with a barely perceptible, grudging nod.
He rolled up the window. I watched him drive away.
Unfortunately, so did Matt.
"Kali!" he called out, nearly colliding with me as I turned the corner of the building. "Where were you? Was that Rod’s Mustang?"
I took Matt’s hand in mine
and led him back towards his own car. "Yes, it was," I said simply. "We had a nice conversation. Everything’s fine." Feeling a sudden, almost giddy surge of relief, I swung our hands merrily in the air. "Do you need to get home," I asked with a smile, "or do you want to take a walk on the beach?"
***
I told Matt everything. Well, everything except the parts that would totally freak him out—like my ability to sense Rod’s emotions, and of course, anything about Zane. It wasn’t all that difficult to let him believe, without my specifically saying so, that I had spied Rod lurking at the school myself, or that I was just particularly good at reading people. The last part was true anyway, or at least I always thought it was. Now I had to wonder how much of my perceptiveness was based on cues anyone could see or hear, and how much was really… something else.
We checked in with my parents, who were still awake and cuddled up on the couch watching a rerun of Hawaii 5-0, then left our shoes on the deck and headed out toward the sand.
It was a relatively windless night. The stars had returned to the sky, and the waves were as low as I had seen them. Zane would be disappointed. I wondered where the surfer had gotten to; I hadn’t seen him since we reached the condo. He hadn’t said a word since the gas station.
Matt took my hand. "Kali, girl," he said cheerfully, "I don’t even know what to say to you. You fly onto this rock and within two days you’ve got everybody at Frederick High half in love with you. You showed all my friends how to Dance with a capital D, you helped some girl you’ve never even met get some real help—hopefully—and you kept me from busting up my knuckles on Rod’s ugly face. Not a bad showing at all."
I smiled back. Matt didn’t know about Rod’s knife. I couldn’t explain how I knew about it, but mainly I’d left it out because Matt was ticked enough already that I had confronted Rod alone in the parking lot. He got over it quickly, but I wasn’t inclined to take chances on an even longer lecture—or add fuel to the fire of the guys’ ongoing rivalry. Matt was under the impression that if he and Rod had clashed tonight, Rod would have gotten the worst of it.