by C. J. Hill
A group of senior guys strutting through the hallway saw Jesse and called out to him. Members of the basketball team, probably trying to recruit him for his height alone.
“Talk to you all later,” Jesse said and then headed in the guys’ direction.
* * *
The next time Tori saw Jesse was at lunch. He sat at the basketball players’ table. She wanted to sit with him, but leaving her friends for a guy she’d just met would look odd. How long would she and Jesse have to pretend they didn’t know each other before they could hang out at school without it seeming unusual?
Every few minutes, she glanced at his table. The guys were making a lot of noise, laughing and pounding the table. Jesse smiled and added to the conversation, looking like he fit right in. Once in a while he caught her staring. Every time, he smiled, which sent tingles of happiness through her. And then halfway through lunch, his eyes stopped wandering to her, and his expression had a tightness to it, as though he was ticked off about something.
Maybe he thought she was being too obvious looking at him. But really, that was a normal response. She would have stared at him even if he wasn’t her boyfriend.
The rest of the school day dragged. After classes ended, she was supposed to go to the front lobby, where Lars waited for her. Instead, she searched for Jesse in the hallways. She found him at one of the lockers, twirling the combination.
People streamed by, but none paid any attention to the two of them. It was almost like being alone. She strolled up, chemistry book in hand. “So how was your day? Is all our high-brow classiness rubbing off yet?”
“Oh, definitely.” Jesse opened his locker. “At lunch, the guys at my table had a contest to see who could drink the most hot sauce. I lost. On purpose.”
So that’s what the laughing and cheering had been about. “Sounds totally highbrow.”
“Then they composed rap lyrics about girls in the lunchroom. I didn’t punch Roland when he came up with one about you, but I wanted to.”
Tori stiffened. “What did he say?”
Jesse pulled some books from his locker, and repeated the lyrics. “‘Tori’s story, more sugar than spice. Straight up goddess, not naughty—all nice.”
“Really?” She hadn’t expected Roland to be so good at rap lyrics. “Sounds like he put some thought in to it.”
“Yeah. He obviously did.” Jesse dropped the books into his backpack, then gave her a penetrating look. “What’s the deal between you two anyway? I thought you weren’t seeing other guys.”
“I’m not. Roland and I dated a few times last year. That’s it.”
“That’s not what he claimed in verse two, which was about the delight of being over at your house until midnight. Last week.”
Her head jerked up at the accusation. “He came over for a study group with five other people, and he wasn’t there until midnight. He must not have been able to think of anything to rhyme with ‘ten thirty.’”
Jesse’s dark eyes rested on her.” Roland claimed you were alone—ditchin in the kitchen.”
“He followed me into the kitchen to help me get drinks. Trust me, nothing song-worthy happened.”
Roland had cornered her by the fridge and tried to kiss her, but she wasn’t about to mention that. Jesse still seemed to sense she was leaving something out though. He let out a huff of exasperation.
“Don’t worry. I can handle Roland.” She leaned against the next locker. “I’ve told him I just want to be friends. The problem is, he hasn’t seen me date anyone else, so he thinks there’s still hope.”
Jesse shut his locker and turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell people you already had a boyfriend?”
“Because then they’d want to meet you, and when I refused to make that happen, they’d assume I was, for some unknown reason, faking a relationship. Besides, you can’t give me a bad time. I bet you never told your friends about me.”
“That’s because none of them would have believed I was dating Senator Hampton’s daughter.”
“Now we can both fix our credibility problems.” She smiled, feeling an eager giddiness. “How long should we wait until we let people know we’re a couple?”
Jesse zipped up his backpack. “I’m thinking somewhere around the next time Roland starts rapping.”
Tori turned the problem over in her mind. “We don’t want to look like we rushed into anything—especially since your parents teach here. Everything we do will get back to them. For now, we should let people see us talking at school. And I’ll send you flirty smiles.” She tilted her head seductively and modeled an example.
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t do that. It makes me want to kiss you.”
She shifted away from him in mock offense. “I’m not the sort of girl who makes out with guys in the school hallway. Please refer to Roland’s song, first verse.”
“Maybe it’s love at first sight this time.” Jesse cocked his head, watching her expression. “Or are you embarrassed to admit to your prep school friends you’re dating a guy who doesn’t drive a Porsche?”
“Of course not.” Then, because he still looked skeptical, she added, “I’m fine with your . . .” She didn’t remember what type of car he had, which should have proved that she didn’t care about those kind of details. “What do you drive, anyway?”
“My parents’ eight-year-old Prius, when they let me borrow it. You do realize that most seniors don’t have their own cars, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Actually she’d never given the matter any thought. All of her friends had cars.
He sighed and shut his locker door. Instead of going down the hallway, he leaned against his locker. “Your parents aren’t going to like me, are they?”
“Yes, they will. And they’ll be happy you drive a Prius. Electric cars hardly ever run out of gas so we’ll never be stranded in some deserted, potential make-out spot.” She took his hand, then remembered she couldn’t do things like that yet and dropped it. “We’ll let everyone see us talking together at school, and after a few days of that, we’ll tell people we’re going out.”
“Jonathan?” A woman’s voice broke into their conversation.
Tori turned to see a middle-aged teacher walking toward them. She was tall, and her straight, brown hair was cut below her chin in a no-nonsense bob. The woman had to be Jesse’s mother. She had the same dark eyes, and the same way of lifting her eyebrows to indicate disapproval. She was clearly not happy to find a girl at her son’s locker.
“There you are,” the woman said, closing the distance between them. “Your father is in the office with Christian, making a schedule change. Then we’ll be ready to go.”
“Okay.” Jesse gestured toward Tori. “Mom, this is Tori Hampton. Tori, this is my mom, also known as the new history teacher.”
Tori smiled. “Nice to meet you, Doctor . . .” She caught herself, remembering that Jesse went by Richards now, not Harris. “Dr. Richards,” she finished. Tori had to be careful not to slip up by using Jesse’s real name. She mentally repeated Richards, hoping that would help the name stick in her mind.
Jesse’s mom smiled back in a forced, uncomfortable sort of way. “Miss.”
Tori blinked, not understanding. Why was the woman calling her “miss”? How was Tori supposed to respond? And yet, Jesse’s mom was still staring at Tori as though expecting a response. “Excuse me?” Tori ventured.
“It’s Ms. Richards, not Dr. Richards.”
Oh. She’d said “Ms.,” not “miss.”
Tori had used the title doctor without thinking. Except for the PE coach, all of her teachers had doctorates. “Um, sorry,” she said, and then worried that she’d sounded sorry about Ms. Richards not having a Ph.D. “I mean, I’m just used to . . . because my other teachers . . .”
This wasn’t getting any better. Tori cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’re a great teacher.” Still not better. The compliment was transparently unfounded. Tori tried to salvage the situation any
way. “You must be a great teacher, because Je—Jonathan is so smart.”
“We have journalism together,” Jesse said, saving Tori from having to explain how she knew anything about Jesse’s intelligence. To Tori, he said, “You were going to put together a study group for our next test, right?”
“Right,” she said.
“I’ll help you with the drinks,” he said.
Tori couldn’t help smiling. She’d definitely be holding a study group soon. One that would consist of just the two of them.
Ms. Richards’ gaze bounced between Jesse and Tori. She seemed to sense that they weren’t thinking about studying. “We should go. Christian and your father are probably done.”
“Okay.” Jesse slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and gave Tori one last smile. “See you later.”
She watched him go with an inward sigh. She was glad he was going to her school, glad she would get to see him every day, but the relationship wouldn’t be without complications.
Chapter 24
After dinner, Dirk’s father called him into his office. “I have an assignment for you tonight. You’ll be helping out some of my men.”
Dirk shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t like surprise assignments. They were never good news. “Doing what?”
His father walked to the door and motioned for Dirk to come with him. “I’ve tracked down one of your Slayer friends. I want you to ensure my men are successful drugging him.”
Him. That meant Jesse, Kody, or Shang. Dirk felt his stomach tighten, but he followed his father through the house toward the garage. “Who is it?”
His father didn’t answer, just went out to the garage. When they were both seated in the Bentley, Dirk asked the question again. “Who?”
“My men will let you know about the target when you get there. Less chance of leaks that way.”
What he meant was, Dirk wouldn’t have the chance to warn anyone. His father pulled out of the garage and drove down the road that led across their property.
“Why do your men need my help?” Dirk asked. “All of the Slayers would recognize me, and if I’m seen near an attack, the police will suspect me. I should be the last person involved.”
Dirk wanted nothing to do with drugging Slayers. Logically, he knew it had to happen, knew it was for the best if the Slayers lost their powers and their memories. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be the one to face his old friends and see the anger and hatred for him in their eyes.
His father checked the rearview mirror. “When I sent men after Jesse, he was able to fight them off. I’ve realized that the best way to catch a Slayer is with a dragon lord.”
Then do it yourself, Dirk thought. But he didn’t say the words. It wouldn’t do any good.
The drive to the airstrip never took long—fifteen minutes when his dad drove the speed limit. Now the trees rushed by. Dirk tapped his armrest in annoyance. “What does it say about your men that they need your son along to do their job?”
His father brushed off the insult. “Slayers sense elevated levels of adrenaline and fear in those around them. My men won’t be able to hide those things, but you”—he shot Dirk a look—“you don’t fear the Slayers. You should be able to get close to any of them without triggering that type of response.”
Dirk huffed out a breath. “You don’t think my adrenaline will go up while I’m stalking someone who used to be my friend?”
“If you can’t find a way to do it,” his father said with forced casualness, “then perhaps we should abandon the idea of drugging the Slayers and just kill them instead. I won’t always be privy to their locations like I am tonight. We can’t waste the opportunity.”
Not that—not murder. Dirk felt a sharp jab of dread. “You promised you wouldn’t kill them.”
“And I need your help in order to keep that promise.” He gripped the steering wheel with exasperation. “Can I count on you or not?”
A promise shouldn’t be conditional. “If you kill someone, the FBI will get involved. I thought you didn’t want that.”
“I don’t,” his father said. “But avoiding an FBI investigation may be the lesser of two evils.”
Dirk had no choice, really. If he didn’t agree to help his father drug one of the Slayers, his men would use guns on the next one they found. “I can do the job,” Dirk said. “You don’t have to kill anyone.”
His father slid him another appraising look. “Good. Then I trust you to take care of it. Don’t mess up.”
“I won’t,” Dirk said. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep his friends alive.
* * *
As soon as Dirk walked off the plane and onto an airstrip in New York, two Chinese men greeted him. They introduced themselves as Feng and Yen, employees of his father. Which pretty much told Dirk which Slayer was being targeted. “So,” he said. “I take it we’re going to see Shang.”
Feng and Yen didn’t comment on that, just sent him stiff smiles, and motioned for him to follow them across the airstrip.
Dirk did, inwardly cursing Shang for bringing this on himself. He knew better than to do anything that would give his location away. Dr. B had told them all repeatedly not to take chances or be careless. So what had Shang done to let Dirk’s father find him?
While they walked, Feng handed Dirk a white garment bag. “Your clothes for tonight.” No other explanation. Was this a disguise? Where were they going?
They headed down the tarmac toward a parked SUV, where another man waited for them behind the wheel. Also Chinese.
As Dirk made his way to the car, he unzipped the garment bag. It held a gray suit, a pale blue shirt, and a silver tie.
“Shang must be doing something fun tonight,” Dirk said. “Am I going to a formal dance?”
The men didn’t reply. They just got into the SUV, checking as they did to make sure no one was following them.
Dirk climbed into the backseat. “If it’s a dance, I’ll need a date. I hope you found someone gorgeous. Right now, I could see myself with a shapely blonde.”
Feng and Yen said nothing as they clicked their seatbelts on. They apparently had no sense of humor. They probably didn’t have personalities, either.
“Is it a funeral?” Dirk pressed, pulling the shirt from the garment bag. “Or a job interview for someplace with a really lame dress code?”
The driver started the ignition and drove toward the airport exit. Yen cast Dirk a look over his shoulder. “Shang’s cousin is getting married today. You’ll be attending stag. Sorry for the lack of shapely blondes.”
A wedding? “Who gets married on a Wednesday?”
“Today’s date is auspicious,” Feng said. “Chinese families take such things into consideration.”
Yeah, today was going to turn out to be real auspicious. Dirk pulled off his T-shirt, trying not to scowl outright. Shang should know better than to go to a family wedding. He should have realized that his enemies would find out about those kinds of events. But that was Shang’s weakness; he was not only loyal to the Slayers, he was unwaveringly loyal to his family.
That loyalty was about to cost him.
* * *
At nine o’ clock, Dirk was dressed in the suit and standing by the large stone fireplace in a hotel lobby. Wooden pillars ran the length of the two-story room, and a deep maroon carpet covered the floor. The whole place looked warm and glowing.
Dirk hadn’t gone into the room where the wedding ceremony, tea ceremony, and seven-course banquet had taken place. He’d arrived after all of that. Most of the guests were dancing now, but a few strolled around the building.
Girls in silky dresses and guys speaking Chinese passed Dirk without giving him much notice. He stood by one of the pillars and pretended to text while he waited. Well, it wasn’t all pretend. Every ten minutes, Feng texted him, wanting to know his progress on finding Shang.
Patience was never the strong suit of his father’s employees. Dirk kept replying with the same reminder: no one was to come i
nto the building until he gave the signal.
Dirk had a tranquilizer gun tucked into the inner pocket of his suit coat, but he didn’t expect Shang to stroll into the lobby and present himself an open target. No doubt he was in some secure corner of the ballroom where he could keep an eye on everything.
Dirk had stationed himself near the fireplace because it was the perfect spot for a photo opp. The huge stone mantel looked like it had been carved in some elegant European village just so people could pose in front of it. Every time someone did, Dirk offered his services.
At nine thirty, two women walked up to the fireplace, cell phones in hand. They were in their early twenties, black hair pulled into sleek buns, and both women wore matching pink bridesmaid dresses. They giggled as they posed for selfies.
Dirk stepped toward them, his flirty smile going full blast. “Need someone to take your picture? I can get a shot so you can see more of those gorgeous dresses.”
The taller of the girls gave him an appreciative grin. “Could you? Thanks.” She handed him her phone. He took it and then held out his hand to the other girl. “I can take one on your phone too.”
She handed it to him, blushing slightly. “Thanks.”
Dirk backed up, the phone held in front of him. He’d already closed the camera function and opened the girl’s contact list. “Lean closer together,” he said, going through the S’s. “Your skirt needs to be smoothed down.” No sign of Shang’s number. He checked Lao, Shang’s last name. Not there, either. Sheesh. Didn’t anyone have Shang’s number?
“You look great now,” Dirk told the girls. “Hold it right there.” He switched back to the camera function and snapped a couple of pictures. Had it been too much to hope the bridesmaids would know the cousin of the bride?
Dirk switched to the taller girl’s phone, holding it up as if framing a picture, while he went through her contact list. “Are you family of the bride or the groom?”
“Friend of the bride,” the shorter girl said. “Min here is Serena’s sister.”