Don't Say a Word

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  I stopped kicking.

  “What are you saying?” I asked him, thinking back to our heated conversation and his unwillingness to see the truth I’d slapped down right in front of him.

  “I’m saying, I need to see it through. Good or bad, I need to know what really happened that night.”

  “Even if it means you were wrong?” I asked, my voice soft and full of surprise.

  “If your dad was framed, I can’t, in good conscience, let him stay where he is. I want the real person responsible for Reider’s death in prison, whoever that may be.”

  While the two of us stared at each other, Tyson yelled, “Switch!” My body moved out of sheer muscle memory, wandering to where Dawson stood behind the bag. He didn’t budge. I looked up at the determination in his face as he stared back at me, jaw flexing.

  “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

  “Danners!” Tyson shouted again. “I mean it!”

  “Sorry!” I replied, shoving Dawson around to the other side of the heavy bag.

  “That’s not an answer,” Dawson said, taking his stance. “Are you in?”

  A mischievous grin overtook his serious expression, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.

  “Hell yeah,” I replied. “I’m so in.”

  * * *

  The two of us walked out together half an hour later, sweating like crazy and laughing at how I’d dropped one of the heavyweights with a leg sweep while we were sparring. Apparently, Dawson found the sound he’d made rather entertaining and couldn’t let it go. Or maybe he just had a lot of pent-up stress that needed to come out, too, and that event set it off. Either way, there was something amazing about a laughing Dawson. Something my mind couldn’t quite interpret.

  He walked me to my car, standing on the passenger side as I threw my gear in the backseat.

  “Kylene,” he started before the sound of my phone ringing interrupted him. I rummaged through my bag until I found it. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”.

  “Jane … I mean, Shayna!” I said, popping out to stare across the hood of my car at Dawson.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said, her voice full of panic. She started rambling on so fast that I could barely understand her. Seeing my distress, Dawson was at my side in a flash.

  “Slow down! You need to slow down and say all that again.”

  She took a few breaths to compose herself, then started over.

  “It’s not Coach,” she said plainly, regaining some of her typically irritated tone. “It can’t be Coach.”

  “You can’t know that yet. The DNA hasn’t—”

  “I can know that because I just got a text saying I have to meet someone at Marco’s tonight.” My eyes went wide. “And it looks like a normal meet, but I have never gotten a message like this—not with this short notice—something’s wrong.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Okay,” I said, turning to Dawson. “We need to talk—in person. We have to come up with a plan.”

  “What if it’s the guy who really killed Danielle?” she said, her panic taking over again.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked her.

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  She took a second to reply. “Yes.”

  “Great, then I need you to meet me at 68 Willow Lane in an hour. Okay?”

  “Yeah … yeah, I can do that. But Ky?”

  “Yeah?”

  “.… I’m scared.”

  I took a deep breath. “I know. I am, too. But we’re going to get this guy.… I’ll see you in an hour.”

  I hung up, hands shaking, and turned back to Dawson, who was staring at his cell phone.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “The DNA results,” he said, disbelief in his voice. “They’re not a match. Coach didn’t kill Danielle.…”

  “I know,” I said softly. “The killer just texted Jane, I mean Shayna.” He looked at me strangely and I realized I hadn’t filled him in on that detail. “Long story. Anyway, she said her pimp set up a date for her tonight, but she doesn’t buy it. She said everything about the normal protocol is off. She thinks someone’s luring her there to take her out like he did Danielle.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said, storming over to his car. “Go clean up and come straight over. We need to go back over all our evidence. We’ve missed something somehow. Maybe if we take Coach out of the running, we can better see who the killer really is.”

  He peeled out down the street, and I wasn’t far behind.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Shayna showed up at Dawson’s looking wary as could be. She asked to use the bathroom and took off down the hall. Dawson and I used that time to have a hushed conversation about our informant.

  “I’m not sure she’s ready for this,” I whispered.

  “We don’t have any other options. I talked to the sheriff. The risks have been addressed.”

  I didn’t hear the bathroom door open—Dawson and I were too embroiled in our quiet argument to notice. It wasn’t until we heard her gasp that we realized where Shayna had gone. We raced down the hall to where she stood in the whiteboard room, her mouth agape. Dawson took that opportunity to explain to her who he really was. She blinked a few times before her face regained some measure of animation, then she turned her attention to the intricate wall of suspects and evidence and we lost her all over again.

  “We’ve narrowed down the suspects using the information we could find on the names you gave us,” I said gently. “You’re the reason we were able to do that.”

  “Lot of good it did,” she muttered under her breath, reaching to touch Danielle’s name. She followed the line that Dawson must have just drawn—the one connecting her to Coach.

  Dawson started explaining the plan for the night, how he’d arranged for the sheriff’s department to stake out the parking lot with plainclothes officers to secure the perimeter of the building. He and I would follow Shayna there and enter the building a few minutes after she did, looking like a couple of teenagers on a date. He devised a signal for her to give if someone made contact with her via text, and myriad other precautionary measures that he’d come up with to make sure we wouldn’t be blindsided by anything. In truth, we had the upper hand in the whole thing. Whoever was after Shayna didn’t know that we knew.

  At least, that was our hope.

  By the time he finished, I was pretty sure she hadn’t heard a damn thing he’d said. She was still staring at the whiteboard, presumably trying to make sense of all she saw.

  “This ring here indicates the most likely suspects,” I explained, pointing to the one containing names like Callahan, Coach, and Principal Thompson. “They’re categorized by how many known connections they have with the girls. Coach and Callahan are six for six. Thompson has five. The rest have fewer.”

  She scrunched her face, then looked closer at the connections made and reasoning given. Then she pointed to Angela’s name and tapped the board twice.

  “This one,” she started, pausing for a second. “Why isn’t she tied to Principal Thompson?”

  “Because she graduated before he took over the school,” I said, thinking back over the timeline I’d created. “Thompson’s first day was the beginning of the school year—we confirmed that through records at the School Administration Building. I also cross-referenced it with Principal Haynes’ final day before he retired. He finished out the summer, then passed over the reins.”

  “Right, but Angela had summer school—”

  “Which was done by the time Thompson started to transition into his new role,” I said, not seeing where she was going.

  She shot a dirty look over her shoulder. “It was, but that’s not the point. I knew Angela from the trailer park. She used to get us booze and cigarettes. The neighborhood kids all used to hang out behind her place and party. Anyway, I remember one night sittin’ there with her, s
he was in the best mood. The woman that had been teaching her English class for most of the summer had gotten mono or something and they’d had to find a replacement. I would never have remembered this if it weren’t for how she went on and on about how hot he was for a teacher and how mad she was that he’d be the principal at the school right after she graduated.”

  My body went numb.

  “Thompson has a degree in English,” I said, my voice low and soft and full of disbelief. “I saw it in his office the other day.”

  Shayna nodded. “Angela was most definitely tied to Thompson. He taught her through the rest of the summer.”

  “And she died a few months later,” Dawson added. “Do you know how long she was a part of the prostitution ring?”

  Shayna shook her head. “Not exactly, but it wasn’t very long. I know that much. Do you think it’s him?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Dawson and me.

  “Not necessarily,” Dawson replied.

  “He’s the right build. The right height. He has ties to all the girls—”

  “And he’d have access to all their personal files,” I added. “Their social histories. Information on where they lived, who their parents were. He’d also know if they were having problems at school, who their friends were, if any. He had everything he needed to profile those girls.” My eyes drifted over to Shayna. “Have you had much interaction with him?”

  Her face went pale.

  “Yes. After my mom had her back surgery—when she got addicted to pills—and everything fell apart, I met with him pretty regularly. He wanted to check up on me, see how things were going.…”

  “How much did you tell him?” Dawson asked.

  She exhaled hard. “Everything.”

  I looked to Dawson as he weighed her words, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

  “How long after that did you start … working?”

  “About the time we stopped meeting,” she said, her voice low and distant. “I was a junior.”

  My stomach churned.

  “Do you know if any of the other girls had the same relationship with him?” Dawson asked. She shook her head, and he frowned. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to figure that out now. We’re going to follow through with the plan tonight. Hopefully when it’s over, we’ll know exactly who’s behind it all.”

  * * *

  Before I knew it, it was time to leave. Shayna went and got in her car, which made Heidi look like a dream come true, and Dawson and I got into his sedan. We would trail her at a distance to Marco’s and wait in the parking lot for a few minutes before going in just in case someone had any suspicions about her being followed.

  As I watched her walk into the pizzeria, I wondered if I was capable of pulling off this high-stakes plan or if my paranoia and lack of sleep combined with the rising anxiety I struggled to keep at bay would get the best of me. I could feel my mind spiraling with doubts—my heart racing with adrenaline. Even through the anxious haze, I knew I couldn’t afford to screw up that night. If I did, the consequences would be dire.

  “So now we wait?” I asked Dawson, whose eyes were pinned on where Shayna sat inside.

  “Now we wait.”

  Silence.

  “She’s going to be okay, right?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. I needed to pull myself together.

  “She is. We have every part of the parking lot covered by deputies. Higgins himself is inside eating. We’ll be there, too. There’s no way this guy is getting to her without us knowing.”

  “Okay…”

  “It’s going to work out, Danners. Just breathe and try to remember that once this is over, Shayna and the others can start to get their lives back—things can go back to normal.” Normal. I had no clue what that meant anymore. When I didn’t respond, he hazarded a glance my way. “Isn’t that what you want? To get your old life back?”

  What a loaded question that was.

  I contemplated it for a moment as I watched Shayna hunched over her soda. Could anything go back to normal after all that had happened? After dead bodies and murder attempts and topless pictures? After an imprisoned father and a turncoat mother and a town that abandoned me?

  No. No it couldn’t.

  But even deeper than all that was an implication I couldn’t ignore. One of the boy I used to love and may love still. AJ was a piece of that normalcy Dawson was hinting at, and the fact that he did gave me pause. Maybe AJ could help balance my life—help fill a gaping void that had existed since I left Jasperville—but something about Dawson suggesting that hurt. Like he was happy to pawn me off on someone else. Like he wanted to bail after all we’d been through together. He’d suggested it so casually, like it didn’t faze him in the least.

  That stung more than it should have.

  “Yeah,” I said, voice soft. “It’ll be great.”

  He said nothing for a minute, then opened his car door.

  “It’s showtime, Danners.”

  He waited for me at the back of the car. When I stepped up beside him, he could clearly see my nerves fraying, so he reached over and took my hand in his to lead me into the restaurant. In that moment, his hand was a lifeline, a grounding force that I needed. His confidence was contagious, and I could feel it easing my fears with every passing second.

  We got settled into a booth on the far side of the pizzeria and waited to be served. Dawson was positioned with his back to the door so he could better keep an eye on Shayna. I let my eyes drift around the place, casually scanning the faces of everyone there. It didn’t take long for that activity to spike my blood pressure.

  It seemed like every potential suspect was there.

  Gotta love small towns on a Saturday night.

  Callahan was in a corner booth surrounded by a few other JHS staff. He caught me looking at him and his expression soured. I quickly looked away.

  Principal Thompson wasn’t with them, which was a relief in some ways and not in others. If he really was the guilty party, I needed him to show himself so we could get this over with.

  Just as I finished assessing who was there, Mr. Matthew walked out of the hallway that housed the bathrooms and made his way to a table. He picked up his leftovers box and headed past us to the door. He noticed me along the way and smiled.

  “You comin’ by the shop for an ice cream after this?” he asked.

  “Maybe. If I leave enough room,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

  He laughed and shook his head. “There’s always room for ice cream, Kylene. At any rate, I’ll leave you kids to your date. Tell your gramps I said hello again for me.”

  I let out an exhale as he disappeared through the entrance.

  Dawson ordered something small when the waitress came, but I didn’t pay any attention. I just kept running over the possibilities in my mind as I looked at everyone in the restaurant. Was it Callahan? Or was he working with someone else? Was a woman involved, too? Or was it Principal Thompson after all? Or Coach, even if he wasn’t the killer? Or maybe it wasn’t any of them at all. Maybe Tyson really was involved, even if he didn’t kill Danielle. Maybe that was a one-off somehow. Maybe he really had killed the others.

  Or maybe we’d overlooked someone altogether. Someone like Marco, who had a criminal record and access to everyone in town. Surely one or more of the girls could have worked there, too? Maybe under the table? I looked over to find Marco’s hulking frame turned toward where Shayna sat, his eyes clearly pinned on her.

  My mind started to race even more.

  I was wound so tight that I nearly screamed when Dawson reached across the table and rested his hand on mine.

  “I just got a text from Shayna. She said that her date is over fifteen minutes late and that never happens.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a cleansing breath. “So now what?”

  “I’m going to go pay for our food, and we’re going to head outside. She’ll be out right behind us. Wait here.”

  The cold swea
t of realization ran down my spine. Nobody was coming for Shayna. We’d either been made or Shayna had been wrong.

  “Time to go,” Dawson said, leading the way to the door.

  Once we were by his car, I found my voice again.

  “Do you think someone tipped him off? One of the deputies?”

  “It’s possible,” Dawson replied. “Which is going to be a problem for them tonight when I threaten to tear their lives apart until I find out who, if any of them, it was.”

  Shayna strolled outside, looking calm and collected. She gave us a little wave like we were old friends and she’d just noticed us, then came over to Dawson’s car.

  “Now what?” she asked, her eyes filled with fear.

  “We go back to my place and regroup,” Dawson said.

  “You should go with Shayna,” I suggested. “She shouldn’t be alone right now. I’ll take her car and follow you.”

  “No!” Dawson said brusquely before lowering his voice. “You take my car. I’ll drive Shayna’s. I don’t want you alone in her car. If someone follows, they could mistake you for her.”

  “But if she’s in her car—”

  “She’ll have me,” he said, his expression stern. “And I can handle it.” I worked through the potential downfalls to his plan and found very few. He was right, so I did as he asked. He threw me the keys as he headed to Shayna’s car with her at his side. “And Danners?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to see so much as a scratch on it when we get to my house, got it?”

  I opened my mouth to launch into a rant about my perfect driving record but stopped when he looked back at me and smiled.

  It was all I could do not to key it right then with him watching.

  “I won’t promise that,” I replied, mimicking his expression.

  “Stay behind me, and keep close, got it?”