“Somebody from work.”
“Your boss?”
“Don’t I wish.”
She thought for a second Stan wouldn’t notice her, but his gaze shifted and he suddenly spied her. His eyes narrowed, one lip curling up, and he wove through the crowd of people standing between them, obviously intending to put her in her place.
“Should somebody call the 1970s and tell them they let one escape?”
Lexie sucked her lips into her mouth to prevent a startled laugh from spilling out right into Stan’s face. Damn, Aidan could get off a really unexpected remark now and then.
“Well, if it isn’t Sexy Lexie. What are you doing here?” Stan asked, not trying to hide his true personality since nobody who really mattered was close enough to hear. “Thought you were too sick to work.”
“I wasn’t sick,” she replied, keeping her tone pleasant. “I was working at home. I had to do a lot of research and I didn’t want to tie up one of the office computers.”
Stan’s eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t believe her. Or, more likely, he wasn’t happy that Walter hadn’t shared that tidbit with him earlier today. “Well, why did you come tonight? You shouldn’t be here. Nobody wants you around. Haven’t you gotten that yet?”
Aidan moved closer, until she actually felt the warmth of his tall, lean body just an inch away from hers. They weren’t touching, but almost could have been. Heat rolled off him, and she realized he was genuinely angry—on her behalf.
Interesting. Even more interesting was the sense that despite the inch of air separating them, she would almost swear she could feel him pressed against her. Her skin tingled beneath her clothes and her entire left side felt hotter than the right.
Maybe it was just his presence, solid and powerful. Or his emotions—the sudden, roiling anger and his immediate dislike of Stan, combined with his apparent need to come to her defense. They had become almost tangible.
Her breath caught for a second and she let the sensations wash over her. Lexie knew, somehow, that if she stood here long enough dwelling on it, this strange, non-physical connection was going to arouse some very definite physical reactions in her.
Not the time, not the place. Definitely not the man.
“Who are you, exactly, to tell her where she should and should not be?” Aidan asked, his voice low, his tone as hard as his stiffened jaw.
Stan, though big in the gut, wasn’t particularly tall. He didn’t take a step back, but he did lean backward as much as possible; he was trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated as hell by Aidan’s glower, broad shoulders, and imposing height.
Knowing Stan didn’t have the nerve to answer him directly, Aidan went on. “As for who wants Ms. Nolan around”—his smile glittered under the field lights, though it held no hint of humor—“I do. Now, do you have any more stupid comments to make?”
Stan’s innate pompousness wouldn’t stand for being spoken to like that, no matter how intimidated he was. He shot Lexie a dark glare. “Who’s he?”
Man, the guy just didn’t know when to quit. Aidan’s voice grew even softer, even more dangerous as he replied, “He is a friend of Ms. Nolan’s. He’s also not deaf.”
Stan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“If you have any questions to ask me,” Aidan said,
“you can make an appointment sometime next year. Now, would you get the hell out of our way so we can go sit down?”
Realizing he was outmanned in every way, and that Lexie was doing absolutely nothing to call off her angry companion, Stan took a step backward. He plucked at his sleeve, fussily, trying to appear unconcerned, then said, “See you in the office, Lexie.”
“Sure.”
They watched as the other man turned and hurried away; then Lexie smiled up at her new friend—he’d used the word first, not her. She liked that. Heaven knew she would not have imagined it yesterday when they’d met.
“I am certain I’ll pay for it Monday when he gives me the third degree and plays the he-was-mean-to-me card, but I must say I quite enjoyed that.”
“Not a fan of yours, I take it?”
A barked laugh emerged from her mouth. “Hardly. I don’t think he’d waste a drop of spit on me if my hair caught on fire. He tries every single day to make my life a living hell.”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed and the icy gray overtook the warm blue. His earlier annoyance had segued into near anger on her behalf. “Forget it,” she said. “We’ve got other things to worry about. Oh, by the way, remember those things you can and cannot call me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, uh, Sexy Lexie? Don’t even think about it.” She shuddered, still grossed out that S(a)tan had used the term. “Not ever.”
His tension seemed to ease up, as she’d hoped it would. “Sexy, huh? That’s a little cocky.”
She quirked a brow. “You saying I’m not sexy?”
“Uh-uh,” he replied, not even hesitating. “That’s one thing you will never hear me say.”
She’d been trying to tease him out of a dark mood, but Lexie had to admit, hearing Aidan say that was a nice side benefit. Especially since his innate sexiness had definitely drawn her attention on more than one occasion.
“Now, shall we try this again? Our target is the opposite side of the stadium.”
“After you.”’
She started walking, drawing in a quick, relieved breath when they reached the small concessions building and were blocked from the view of the home-team bleachers. The relief came a moment too soon, as it turned out, since she almost ran right into another familiar person.
“Kenny!” she said, surprised to see the janitor here. He didn’t seem the type who would like to go out in public, knowing he’d draw his own kind of attention. Her heart twisting with pity, she saw the way he hovered in the shadows of the building, separate from everyone else, trying to remain unobtrusive. Whether for his own protection or other people’s sensibilities, she didn’t know.
“Miz Lexa,” he said, his eyes wide, stricken, as if he feared he’d get in some kind of trouble for doing something as innocent as going to a local sporting event. “I was just watching. Mr. Walter’s girls are doing their cheering, and Mr. Stan’s boy got a little playtime.”
“Of course, I’m sure they appreciate you being here to support them,” she said, smiling warmly. God, she just couldn’t imagine that kind of life, always skulking in the shadows. People joked about journalists living that way, but Kenny’s life was no laughing matter.
“Gotta be here, anyways,” he mumbled, pointing to a groundskeeper’s cart parked between the building and the fence. He apparently had more than one part-time job. She could only imagine how hard it would be for him to come to work and be surrounded by hundreds of teenagers, who could be so incredibly cruel. Fortunately, most adults treated the man with kindness.
“Okay, then, good seeing you,” she said.
He touched the brim of his cap as they moved away, melting into a group laden with popcorn and drinks. As they walked, Aidan murmured, “So what’s his story?”
“Kenny? I don’t know,” she admitted. “He works part-time for the paper, doing odd jobs and cleanups. Walter has been good to him; obviously he was in some kind of accident.”
“Very sad. It takes courage to come out in public like this.” His voice lowered and he sounded thoughtful as he added, “He must really like football.”
“Well, he works here part-time, so he probably had to be here for the post-game cleanup. But coming early and being part of the crowd can’t be easy.”
As they reached the bleachers and picked their way up to a couple of vacant seats at the very top corner, Lexie took note of the atmosphere. The home team was winning out on the playing field. But in the stands, among the crowd, there was such a sense of anger, mistrust, and resentment, that nobody was doing a lot of cheering. Glares and sneers had replaced cheers and applause. Noticeably absent were any hints of sportsman-ship, community, or camaraderi
e.
The divide at the fifty-yard line had absolutely nothing on the separation between the residents of “old” Granville and those from below Woodsboro Ave, who eyed one another across the expansive field like two opposing armies sizing up a battlefield just before bloodying it.
The tension was so thick, the two sides so distinctly separated, it was like being in a gangland turf war rather than at a high school stadium. Lexie had lived in Granville for six years and had never seen anything like it. People in line for the bathroom or snacks jostled and shoved, insults were shouted, elbows flew. Several members of the police force were on hand to watch the game, and while they didn’t wear uniforms, they made their presence known, shouting down anybody who got a little too aggressive. Especially anybody from the opposing team’s side.
“It’s not usually like this,” she mumbled to Aidan. “I mean, there’s always the typical tension, but I’ve never felt this much . . .”
“Rage?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “You can almost smear it on, it’s so thick.”
“Powder keg,” he said with a matter-of-fact shrug.
“People are afraid, pointing fingers. The tension’s going to cause an explosion if something doesn’t happen to release it. Dunston’s a fool not to see it.”
She only hoped they weren’t in the vicinity when it all exploded. Since she and Aidan were sitting on the visitor’s side, with those Dunston would undoubtedly call “rabble,” the last thing she wanted was to be caught in a riot. She’d probably get arrested for incitement.
Lexie had drawn a few curious glances, and wary nods from those sitting around them when they’d arrived at their seats. People were whispering about her articles, wondering if they’d been too quick to believe the chief who, the Boro folks now recalled, they pretty much hated anyway. Sensing their desire to question her, she figured if she’d been alone, a few would have done it. But Aidan’s presence at her side kept them from asking anything. They didn’t recognize him, saw only a stranger in their midst. With his dark good looks, his frown, and his deep, gleaming eyes, he didn’t inspire quick trust and ease. More like excitement and wary interest.
While he’d done as she’d asked and gotten rid of the black-on-black-on-black look, the dark jeans and navy jacket didn’t make him look any more like a typical guy next door. She didn’t think he was capable of that look. Not unless one lived next door to a mysterious wind-swept old mansion on the English moors. He resembled one of those alpha men who would inhabit an old Gothic novel.
She laughed at herself for the thought, knowing it was as much his personality—his innate draw—as his looks that put that strange image in her mind. But not entirely. Because even if she had no clue who he was, and just walked past him on the street, she somehow knew goose bumps would rise on her skin and she would tingle with awareness. He was just so there. Intense. Unlike anyone she’d ever met before.
Lexie had enjoyed her share of sexual affairs, though none recently. But she’d never known a man, not even one with whom she’d been intimate, who could glance at her and cause shivers of excitement to run up and down her spine. Not until Aidan.
This was utter physical attraction at its most pure, basic level.
“The chief’s making the rounds. Who’s that he’s talking to?” he asked, nodding toward the other side of the field, where Dunston stood with a small group of men.
“The one bursting the seams of that letterman’s jacket is Mayor Bobby Cunningham.”
“Reliving his own jock glory days?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “I think he bought that jacket at a thrift shop or on eBay. I snooped into his background a little bit and he never made it higher than batboy when he went to school here. That’s our illustrious mayor, all flash and show, nothing underneath to justify it.”
“The others?”
Shifting in her seat, she peered at the chief and his cronies. After naming two she recognized as members of the town council, she added, “The gray- haired guy is Principal Steele, and the tall one in the navy sport coat is his vice principal, Mark Young, who I told you about.”
“The one organizing search parties,” he said, quoting her.
“Right. The one with the Jay Leno jaw is Principal Ziegler from Hoover. I don’t know as much about him, except that he wouldn’t meet with me when I was working on the story.”
“At least the school administrators haven’t come to blows,” he said.
“Not yet,” she muttered. “Though the evening is still young.”
The only place the hits seemed strictly sports related was out on the field. Lexie wasn’t much of a football fan, but she knew a little about the game. Though she watched for any after-the-call strikes or low blows, she didn’t see any. The teams were playing their hearts out, just like any other Friday night under the lights; they seemed oblivious to their parents’ bad behavior.
Or maybe not so oblivious. She had to wonder when halftime rolled around. Because instead of running off the field with their teammates, suddenly the captains of each team, as if by unspoken agreement, strode to the fifty-yard line. They met face-to-face, each removing his helmet to engage in a serious conversation, appearing tense but cordial.
“What’s going on?” someone nearby whispered.
“Probably getting ready for a speech for the late coach they’re supposed to be honoring tonight,” she said, pulling a small notebook out of her pocket so she could jot down a few comments. Walter had given her a story to cover, after all.
“I don’t think so,” Aidan murmured.
The two boys—young men—spoke for a few moments, ignoring the shouts from their coaches. Gradually, everyone in the stands noticed. Conversations quieted, the spectators watching closely as the boys were joined by two teenage girls, one from each side’s cheerleading team. Lexie immediately recognized one of the Kirby twins, likely Taylor, who was captain of the squad. By virtue of her peppiness as opposed to her sister’s academics, Lexie assumed.
“This should prove interesting,” Aidan said.
“What?”
“I believe we’re about to see these kids put their parents to shame.”
She understood, and suspected he was right when the four young people moved in unison toward the sidelines, where a microphoned announcer had been calling the game. Though the two school principals waved the coaches over and tried to intercept the kids, they would not be deterred. The young man in the red and black Hoover uniform muscled past all of the adults, pulling the microphone right out of the volunteer announcer’s hand. He said something, realized the microphone was turned off, and flicked a switch. A sudden blast of screechy feedback got the attention of the few oblivious people who hadn’t already been glued to the unfolding spectacle.
“We got something to say,” the boy said into the mike, his voice echoing across the suddenly quiet stadium. “All of us.”
He waved an arm back, gesturing toward all the other students. Every member of both teams, and all the cheerleaders, had come forward, shoulder to shoulder in one long, uninterrupted line of solidarity across the football field. The coaches appeared beside themselves, running back and forth, shouting at their players, who completely ignored them.
The boy was joined at the mike by the other three, and Taylor handed him a folded sheet of paper, nodding her encouragement and squeezing his hand.
Lexie muttered, “That oughta send the old-guard racists running for their white sheets.”
“No shit,” said a woman sitting beside her. They exchanged a smile.
Unfolding the paper, the boy began to read, his voice a little shaky—nervous—yet his posture firm and resolute. “We the students of Granville High School and Hoover High School want to dedicate this game to . . . Vonnie Jackson.”
Even from here, Lexie heard the collective gasp rising from a number of people sitting over in the opposite bleachers. That had not been the name anybody had expected to hear.
The first boy offered th
e microphone to the captain of the Granville team. He took it, and the note, and read, “Today is Vonnie’s eighteenth birthday. We ask all of you to join us in a moment of silence to show our solidarity in hoping that she’s okay and that somebody finds her, and all the other missing kids, and brings them back home.”
Wow. Direct hit, right at the chief of police. And right in front of his most rich and powerful constituents.
“Nice,” Aidan whispered.
“Very nice,” she agreed. “Especially because that kid from Granville High is the son of a well-known local attorney.”
The four students took each other’s hands, boy-girl, boy-girl—different races, schools, and backgrounds—looking like a commercial for racial harmony and peace. They lowered their heads and fell silent. As Aidan had predicted, they humiliated everybody else in the place, including the inept police chief and the pig mayor, into doing the same thing.
Lexie joined them, pausing to send heartfelt good wishes to Vonnie. But as soon as it ended, she knew she would need to get to work. Though Stan would be covering the game itself, she would tell this part of the story in the paper, no matter what anybody had to say about it.
It was going to be a lot harder now for Dunston to try to keep her quiet. A big spotlight had been shone on the darkest corners of the town, courtesy of a group of teenagers who were able to see past their own differences to that which united them: Vonnie and the other victims.
It was one of the bravest things she’d ever seen, a moment she would never forget. And one she suspected also would be remembered by all the mostly decent, rational people who lived in this town and were sitting quietly in their seats, joining in the resounding silence.
Friday, 9:05 p.m.
You’ve pleased me in other ways.
At first when she woke from her brief, fitful sleep, Vonnie thought the monster was back, that his evening had ended sooner than he expected and he’d returned to read to her some more.
Or to beat her. Or to kill her.
But it was merely a whisper in her mind, the echo of the words he’d said earlier lingering like a wisp of smoke in her memory.
Cold Sight Page 13