Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2)

by Talia Maxwell

  Her phone had been by her bed when she’d gone to sleep and it wasn’t surprising that it wasn’t there during her attack.

  But Holly’s dispatch years meant she was one of the few people in her circle of friends who still had a landline. The unreliability of a cell phone in an emergency was responsible for her keeping the phone available and plugged in. If she could get to the office, she could dial 9-1-1 with her nose.

  By sheer determination, Holly schlepped down the hallway.

  She paused.

  Downstairs, she could hear the rumble of footsteps and voices—too low and fast for her to understand, but she knew immediately: they hadn’t left. The adrenaline kicked into overdrive and Holly started looking for an escape.

  The attackers had returned or they had been lying in wait, and now they pounded up the stairs toward her with menacing stomping—and she wondered if she’d ever feel safe in her house again. She was trapped. She was in the middle of her hallway, tethered to the end table, and both her bedroom and office were out of reach.

  Crouching to protect herself from the impending blow, Holly felt the rush of air past her and a kick to her side. Then nothing.

  Her vision tunneled and everything blurred together.

  She sent up a silent prayer and called out to the universe to spare her life. How many times had she read a true crime novel and put herself in the position of the victim? Scared and terrorized, she’d imagine the fear and the longing for survival. And she’d asked: when did they know they were going to die? Breathless, wounded and tied up, Holly didn’t know if it was the end, but she knew it could be if she wasn’t smart.

  She hadn’t been smart and now she was going to die. Now you know, she thought to herself. Now you know how you’d be.

  The monsters retreated a second time and Holly let the fuzzy pull to slumber seduce her—unable to keep her eyes open, her body stumbled into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Carla brought her lunch into his office and sat down on the chair opposite his desk. Joel spun his chair around and stared at her rectangular container filled with kale.

  “That looks delicious,” he said.

  “I grew it myself,” she said with a shrug. “If you put enough raspberry dressing on it, anything tastes amazing.”

  “Hey, I got a strange email from that Violet student…”

  “Violet Anderson?” Carla’s voice was shocked and she dropped her fork back into her Tupperware. Joel reeled back and stared.

  “Why? Did I miss something?”

  “Did you miss something?” Carla questioned. “The stand-up meeting after school today is about Violet Anderson. I mean, they didn’t say the name in the email, but it’s been rumored. Have you been in a hole today?”

  Joel had to admit that he was in a hole—he was thinking of Alex and Holly. Violet ended up becoming an afterthought.

  “A stand-up meeting… that’s not good.” Immediately, Joel thought Violet had done some harm to herself. He wondered if he should have responded to her message sooner or told someone as soon as he got to school. He began to sweat with anxiety about saying the right thing or doing the right thing, even if the time had passed to help the girl. Shit. Could he prove he’d checked her email too late to respond? Shit.

  “She’s missing,” Carla said. “Not dead.” A beat. “Yet.” She read his mind. “What did her email say to you? Jesus. You’re gonna need to get the SRO in again…what a week you’re having.”

  “She said she was worried about dying. Like Claire.”

  Carla put the lid on her lunch and sat back. “Joel…”

  “I know. I know.”

  “What is going on?”

  He looked at his colleague and slowly shook his head. “I have no idea. But it’s not good.”

  “Is this a bad time to discuss me setting you up on a date?” she sneaked into the conversation as they let a lull form between them.

  Joel nodded. “It’s always a bad time to discuss that.”

  “You hadn’t mentioned the parent much…so…”

  “It fizzled,” he said quickly.

  “See? Come on,” Carla pleaded. “I’m old and married. I need to live vicariously through your dating life and besides…this is a parent. She’s amazing. Fun and beautiful and single and she works in the district…”

  “Holly Gamarra?” Joel asked with a smile, almost too eagerly.

  “What? Who? No,” Carla said. “Ruby and she’s delightful.”

  He tried to mask his disappointment. “Ruby, huh,” he said. “What does she do?”

  “She’s an Educational Assistant and she’s now an assistant dance team coach. You should ask May about her…she was the one who thought you might be interested.”

  He thought he’d seen her around. She was tall and athletic—her ends always perfectly blunt—and she had a perma-smile on her face as she rushed about from place to place. Cute, sure, cute like someone who coached dance in order to stay connected to high school and her youthfulness—which would’ve been the best time of her life for someone like Ruby.

  People like Ruby weren’t content to age; they wanted to hold on to their coolness factor for as long as the world would buy their stories. He realized he might be projecting a bit, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to sit through an awkward date with a peppy mom.

  He wanted Holly.

  He’d never stopped wanting Holly. It was Holly who put the brakes on their relationship and Holly who needed space to fight the battles brewing at home. There was no way a date with Ruby would look like waiting or pining—he’d take long runs and he’d dream of her long red hair pouring down to his chest and he’d wait. He’d fucking wait because she was worth it.

  “I’m not interested,” he finally said and Carla pouted.

  “She’s beautiful and available and interested in you…” she said as if this should carry some clout. Before he could answer, someone knocked on his door.

  It was the secretary. She didn’t hesitate to interrupt, her eyes wide, conveying importance.

  “Hey, Joel, I needed to interrupt. Holly Gamarra is here to see you. She’s got her lawyer with her and she said it’s urgent.”

  “Yuck,” Carla whispered. “Want me to stay?”

  Joel shook his head and looked at the ground. Shit. Not a social call; not alone.

  “Send them in,” he said and stood up to greet her. Carla tucked her half-eaten salad under her arm, gave him a quick salute, and then sneaked out back to her own office.

  Holly entered the office first. Brian after.

  Joel could see the bruising across her collarbone and wrists immediately—he was trained to notice abuse, his eyes were calibrated to notice the hollowness of someone beaten down.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Brian shut the door and put up a hand. “She was attacked in her home.”

  “Robbed?” Joel asked and he resisted the urge to scoop her up and bring her into his chest to protect her, comfort her. He felt useless on the other side of the room, assessing her wounds clinically.

  “No,” Holly said. “By two people dressed in black sweats. And these black masks. Hard and plastic, like you can buy at a party supply store.”

  Joel nodded, his heart pounding. “I should’ve been there,” he said. His eyes went to Brian who seemed unphased by the admission. He wondered why the lawyer was there; why they couldn’t be alone.

  He wondered if she would let him undress her and kiss each tender wound and tend to her brokenness with soft, unending sacrifice.

  Shit. He knew she wouldn’t. He knew the time for that was over.

  “The social club,” she said, moving past the declaration, “thinks, and so do I, that the attackers are connected to the school. The person who Claire was messaging was from Rosa Parks. Alex knows who it is and that person clearly will do anything to keep their secret from getting out.” She lifted her shirt and Joel couldn’t help but cringe as he saw the jagged cut down her ribcag
e. “Superficial,” she said and lowered her shirt. “But since I’m old, I’m sure it’ll scar. Jerks.”

  “I’m so sorry, Holly. I’ll help any way you need.”

  “Brian is here to make it seem like anything we ask is a legal requirement. He’s protection for you. Whoever attacked me will attack you. And I don’t want any suspicion drawn to you. Tell people I’m angry or I’m suing…I don’t care. Don’t tell people you’re helping.”

  “How can I help?” Joel asked.

  Holly flinched as she moved her arm over her body and tried to reach into her purse. When she was successful, she handed him a folder and he opened it. There was a list of names.

  “Which of these people don’t have an alibi for the night Claire died...”

  Joel scanned the list. It was mostly names of male teachers, the ones deemed most likely, he assumed, to be involved inappropriately with the students.

  He was relieved, for some reason, to find he wasn’t on the list.

  “How do you want me to get that information?” Joel asked.

  Holly didn’t answer.

  Brian looked away.

  Any means necessary was how he interpreted their silence.

  “The situation is dire, Mr. Rusk,” Brian the lawyer said with a tiny cough. “We have one dead kid and two missing kids and a teacher with a dating profile they want to keep under wraps.”

  He knew Brian meant the predator who found himself talking to a student, but somehow it felt like the man meant him, too.

  “Sure,” Joel said. He understood the situation just fine. “Can I have a second with Holly alone?”

  Brian looked at Holly and she nodded and he got up and stood outside the door; Joel felt like Brian was a father waiting for his daughter to finish her date, within earshot, within striking distance. He was visible beyond the open blinds with his arms crossed, standing sentry.

  “You brought your lawyer?” Joel shook his head.

  “To protect you from untoward suspicion,” Holly answered in a clinical, measured way.

  “What happened?” he asked and reached out to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away. “Oh, Holly…”

  She cringed at his pity. “They tied me up and…” she paused, unwilling to tell him more. “They were looking for my child, Joel. This is about Alex. We have to find him first.”

  Joel, damning the lawyer and the people in the office, leaned in to hug her, careful to wrap his arms gingerly about her shoulders, avoiding crushing her bruises; she didn’t resist, he noticed. She allowed her head to rest against his chest and he felt their breathing settle into a steady stream together. He liked this—he liked the smell and feel of her.

  The door swung open and Brian entered.

  Somewhere in the building, a bell rang and the sound of thunderous footsteps appeared from all directions—chatter and laughter and the sound of squeaky sneakers on tile.

  Joel looked at the clock and shook his head. “Shit. We have an assembly today.” He turned to Holly and ignored Brian’s steely gaze. “I have a duty on the bleachers. Get to make sure freshmen don’t throw gum on the cheerleaders.” They made their way out of the counseling office and stood at the door, watching the sea of teens push toward the gymnasium. They didn’t dare jump into the abyss. Joel leaned down and put his lips close to her ear.

  Without Brian or anyone else hearing, he asked, “Can I take you out?”

  “You’re incessant,” she whispered back.

  “I owe you a date. It doesn’t have to be now. It can be a year from now. I just want it on the record that I’m waiting. A year, if needed. Two.”

  She paused.

  “You’d wait a year for a date,” Holly repeated with laughter and doubt on her voice and Joel only shrugged, sincere, and hopeful.

  He kept his eyes on her, “I’ve been waiting since high school.”

  She froze.

  “Joel,” she said and she grabbed his arm. He mistook her sudden excitement for attraction, but soon he realized she had gone pale. “Brian…”

  A group of kids trotted down between the lockers, rushing straight by the counseling office.

  They were dressed in black sweatpants, their hair tucked up into tight buns and on their faces, or sitting on top of their heads: black plastic masks.

  “That’s what they looked like,” she said breathlessly and she lifted a finger as the giddy children passed by. Five or six, all girls, unaware of Holly’s terror. Brian lifted his phone and took a picture of the girls before Joel had time to ask him to put his phone away and Holly shook her head and seemed dazed.

  She crouched and Joel went down beside her.

  “The dancers?” he asked.

  “What?” Holly lifted her head. Her lips were trembling and she stared at him with such confusion and panic that it took everything in Joel’s power not to pick her up and carry her home. “Dancers?”

  “The people who attacked you,” he said slowly, “they were dressed like those girls?” He pointed to the emptying hallway and Holly nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the dance team,” Joel said to Brian.

  Brian scrolled through the pictures on his phone. He’d been able to capture a few close-up shots of the girls in the masks, black, faceless, their bodies hidden under sweatpants and sweatshirts.

  “Yeah,” the lawyer drawled, pursing his lips. He pointed at Joel, his focus narrowing “I want a list of everyone on that dance team.”

  Joel didn’t want to get Brian a list of all the girls on the dance team. He didn’t want to corner his fellow colleagues in the staff lounge and casually say, “So, what were you up to the night Claire Gregor was killed?”

  He didn’t know what Holly and the pony-tail man wanted from him other than information he wished he could get, but couldn’t. Not easily. Not without violating all sorts of trust.

  She’d been beaten up and her son was gone and they’d been intimate, and maybe she thought—oh, god. For the first time he wondered if he was being used.

  During lunch, Joel logged on to his email.

  There it was.

  An email sent four minutes ago. He hesitated before clicking on it.

  dont worry mr.rusk. i am safe. w/AG.

  He read it two, three times and then it dawned on him. With Alex Gamarra.

  Now things were getting out of control.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was a mistake.

  It was a big fucking mistake.

  She called Maeve in the car after Brian dropped her off and paced outside in her driveway. Maeve answered and asked how she was feeling. The cut along her side was barely a flesh wound and the rawness around her wrists and ankles was getting better with cortisone cream and bandages. She didn’t care about the pain; Joel was on her mind.

  Holly knew she’d have to use him to get the answers she needed. But she knew she might lose him if she did.

  The back and forth was driving her insane. As though she had to choose between love and her child.

  She took Brian to the school so she could maintain a healthy distance; Holly was nervous that she’d do something stupid if left to her own devices. And it was true. She couldn’t be left alone ten seconds with that man before she allowed the self-talk to hush for a bit and she followed desire alone.

  When Brian went chasing down the halls toward the assembly to take pictures of the dance team, she found herself alone for a brief moment with Joel in his office.

  It was just a moment.

  The whole time, she tried to remain neutral, professional. She couldn’t lead him on, it wasn’t fair, but she didn’t know what was leading him on and what she truly wanted. She felt confused and a little bit like she was coming down with the flu.

  Joel said, “Before I head down to the assembly, I have something to get,” and he touched her gently on the shoulder and motioned for her to follow. Everyone else in the office was gone; the counseling center empty—his half of the building cleared and all the activity ha
ppening at the other end. Joel closed the blinds. He shut the door. He brushed his hand over her cheek.

  She turned away. This had been why she brought the lawyer. She had a fleeting image of Joel just turning her around, letting her use his desk for leverage, and just—

  “I didn’t know if you’d follow me in here because you seem a bit…distant,” he said to her.

  Holly felt the skip in her heart and then she said, “I don’t know if I can stop following you…but you’re right. I told you. Alex. I’m singly focused.”

  He ran his nose over hers; his breath danced on her lips, but they didn’t kiss. His hands found her hips.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Come over,” she invited. “I mean…yeah…come over…” She hated how she waffled, how she couldn’t just tell him what she wanted.

  “No,” he said. “When Alex is found, we’ll go on a date.”

  “But I’m saying you can come over,” she amended. Maybe, she thought, with him in front of her; his muscles apparent in his school-themed t-shirt. She ran a hand across his bicep without thinking and he brought her into a hug.

  “If I come over,” Joel whispered. “I can take care of you. I’ll be your friend…”

  “I want that.” She did. She wanted that. Somehow though his use of friend seemed bitter—she wondered if Millie was already right: he’d decided there was no future for them and he was protecting his heart.

  Holly couldn’t blame him.

  But she also didn’t want to let him go.