The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “Right,” Scott said, and broke the connection.

  I’d only just closed my cell phone when Vee came up behind me. “Let him down easy, that’s my girl.”

  “Do you mind if I borrow the Neon for the afternoon?” I asked, watching Scott slide off the Mustang and place a call on his cell.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “I want to tail Scott.”

  “What for? This morning you made it pretty clear you think he’s a bottom-feeder.”

  “Something about him is . . . off.”

  “Yeah, it’s called his sunglasses. Hulk Hogan, anyone? Either way, no can do. I have my lunch date with Rixon.”

  “Yeah, but Rixon could give you a ride so I can have the Neon,” I said, shooting a glance through the window to confirm that Scott hadn’t hopped inside the Mustang yet. I didn’t want him leaving before I convinced Vee to hand over the Neon’s keys.

  “Of course he can. But then I’d look needy. Guys today want a strong, independent woman.”

  “If you let me take the Neon, I’ll fill up the tank.”

  Vee’s expression softened just a tad. “All the way?”

  “All the way.” Or as much as eight dollars and thirty-two cents would buy.

  Vee chewed her lip. “Okay,” she said slowly. “But maybe I should come along and keep you company, make sure nothing bad happens.”

  “What about Rixon?”

  “Just because I’ve gone and snagged myself a hot boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m going to leave my best friend high and dry. Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to need my help.”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m tailing him. He’s not going to know I’m there.” But I appreciated the offer. The past few months had changed me. I wasn’t as naive and heedless as I’d once been, and taking Vee along appealed to me on more than one level. Especially if Scott was Nephilim. The only other Nephil I’d known had tried to kill me.

  After Vee called Rixon and canceled, we waited until Scott had angled himself behind the steering wheel and backed out of his parking space before we exited the building. He turned left out of the parking lot, and Vee and I raced for her 1995 purple Dodge Neon. “You drive,” Vee said, tossing me the keys. A handful of minutes later, we caught up to the Mustang, and I hung three cars back. Scott got on the highway, heading east toward the coast, and I followed.

  A half hour later, Scott exited at the pier and steered into a parking lot at the edge of the strip of shops leading out to the ocean. I drove slower, allowing him time to lock the doors and walk away, then parked two rows over.

  “Looks like Scotty the Potty is going shopping,” Vee said. “Speaking of shopping, you don’t mind if I have a look around while you run amateur-hour surveillance? Rixon said he likes it when girls accessorize with scarves, and my wardrobe is clean out of scarves.”

  “Go for it.”

  Staying a half block behind Scott, I watched him walk into a trendy clothing store and exit less than fifteen minutes later with a shopping bag. He went into another store and came out ten minutes later. Nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing that made me think he could be Nephilim. After a third store, Scott’s attention was drawn toward a group of college-age girls eating lunch across the street. They sat at an umbrella table on the restaurant’s outdoor terrace, wearing cutoffs and bikini tops. Scott pulled out his camera phone and clicked a few candid pictures.

  I turned to grimace in the plate-glass window of the coffee shop beside me, and that was when I saw him sitting at a booth inside. He was dressed in khakis, a blue button-down, and an ivory linen blazer. His wavy blond hair was longer now, pulled back into a low ponytail. He was reading the paper.

  My dad.

  He folded the paper and walked toward the back of the shop.

  I ran down the sidewalk to the coffee shop’s entrance and pushed my way inside. My dad had disappeared in the crowd. I jogged to the back of the shop, frantically looking around. The black-and-white tiled hallway ended with the men’s room on the left, the women’s on the right. There was no other exit, which meant my dad had to be in the men’s room.

  “What are you doing?” Scott asked from directly over my shoulder.

  I whirled around. “How—what—what are you doing here?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing. I know you followed me. Don’t look so surprised. It’s called a rearview mirror. Are you stalking me for a specific reason?”

  My thoughts were too jumbled to care what he was saying. “Go inside the men’s room and tell me if there’s a man in a blue shirt in there.”

  Scott tapped my forehead. “Drugs? Behavioral disorder? You’re acting schizo.”

  “Just do it.”

  Scott gave the door a kick, sending it flying open. I heard the swinging of stall doors, and a moment later he returned.

  “Nada.”

  “I saw a man in a blue shirt walk back here. There’s no other way out.” I turned my attention to the door across the hall—the only other door. I stepped inside the ladies’ room and nudged each stall open one at a time, my heart up in my throat. All three were empty.

  I realized I was holding my breath, and let it out. I had several emotions strung tight inside me, disappointment and fear at the top of the list. I’d thought I’d seen my dad alive. But it had turned out to be a cruel trick of my imagination. My dad was gone. He was never coming back, and I needed to figure out a way to accept it. I crouched down with my back to the wall and felt my whole body shake with tears.

  CHAPTER

  5

  SCOTT STOOD IN THE ENTRANCE, ARMS FOLDED. “SO this is what the inside of a women’s restroom looks like. Got to say, it’s a lot cleaner.”

  I kept my head bowed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Do you mind?”

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me why you followed me. I know I’m a fascinating guy, but this is starting to feel like an unhealthy obsession.”

  I pushed myself to my feet and splashed cold water on my face. Avoiding Scott’s reflection in the mirror, I grabbed a paper towel and dried off.

  “You’re also going to tell me who you were looking for in the men’s room,” said Scott.

  “I thought I saw my dad,” I shot back, summoning up all the anger I could to mask the stabbing pain deep inside. “There. Satisfied?” I wadded up the towel and flung it in the trash. I was heading for the exit when Scott let the door drop closed and leaned against it, blocking me.

  “Once they find the guy who did it and send him away for life, you’ll feel better.”

  “Thanks for the worst advice I’ve received yet,” I said bitterly, thinking that what would make me feel better was having my dad back.

  “Trust me. My dad’s a cop. He lives for telling surviving family members that he found the killer. They’re going to find the guy who destroyed your family and make him pay. A life for a life. That’s when you get your peace. Let’s get out of here. I feel like a creep standing in the girls’ room.” He waited. “That was supposed to make you laugh.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  He laced his fingers together on top of his head and shrugged, looking uncomfortable, like he hated awkward moments, let alone knew how to resolve them. “Listen, I’m playing pool at this dive in Springvale tonight. You wanna?”

  “Pass.” I wasn’t in the mood to play pool. All it would accomplish was to fill my head with unwanted memories of Patch. I remembered that very first night when I chased him down to finish a bio assignment and found him playing pool in the basement of Bo’s. I remembered when he taught me to play pool. I remembered the way he stood behind me, so close I felt electricity.

  Even more, I remembered the way he had always shown up when I needed him. But I needed him now. Where was he? Was he thinking of me?

  I stood on the front porch rifling through my handbag for keys. My rain-soaked shoes squeaked against the boards, and my wet jeans rubbed a rash on the inside of my thighs. After taili
ng Scott, Vee had dragged me into several boutiques to get my opinion on scarves, and while I was giving her my thoughts on a violet silk versus a folksy hand-painted one in neutrals, a storm had blown in from the sea. By the time we’d sprinted to the parking lot and flung ourselves inside the Neon, we’d gone from dry to drenched. We’d blasted the heat the whole drive home, but my teeth were chattering, my clothes felt like ice painted on my skin, and I was still shaken from believing I’d seen my dad.

  I shoved my shoulder against the humidity-swelled door, then patted the inside wall until my fingers fumbled the light switch. In the upstairs bathroom, I peeled out of my clothes and hung them over the shower rod to dry. On the other side of the window, lightning pitchforked down through the sky and thunder clamored like it was stomping on the roof.

  I’d been alone in the farmhouse through numerous storms before, but all the experience hadn’t made me any more accustomed to them. This afternoon’s storm was no exception. Vee was supposed to be here now, sleeping over, but she’d decided to meet up with Rixon for a few hours since she’d canceled on him earlier. I wished I could travel back in time and tell her I’d tail Scott by myself, if she’d make sure to keep me company at the farmhouse this evening.

  The bathroom lights flickered twice. That was all the warning I got before they drained, leaving me standing in shadowy darkness. Rain threw itself against the window, streaming down it in rivers. I stood in place a moment, waiting to see if the electricity would be restored. The rain turned to hail, striking the windowpanes hard enough that I feared the glass would crack.

  I called Vee. “My electricity just went out.”

  “Yeah, the streetlights just died on me. Slackers.”

  “Want to drive back and keep me company?”

  “Let’s see. Not especially.”

  “You promised you’d sleep over.”

  “I also promised Rixon I’d meet him at Taco Bell. I’m not going to cancel on him twice in one day. Give me a few hours, then I’m all yours. I’ll call you when I’m done. I’ll definitely be there before midnight.”

  I hung up and squeezed my memory, trying to remember where I’d last seen the matches. It wasn’t dark enough that I needed candles to see, but I liked the idea of lighting up the place as much as possible, especially since I was alone. Light had a way of keeping the monsters of my imagination at bay.

  There were candlesticks on the dining room table, I recalled, wrapping myself in a towel and taking the stairs down to the main level. And pillar candles in the cabinets. But where were the matches?

  A shadow moved in the fields behind the house, and I snapped my head toward the kitchen windows. The sheeting rain spilled down the panes, distorting the world outside, and I stepped closer for a better look. Whatever I’d seen was gone.

  A coyote, I told myself, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline. Just a coyote.

  The kitchen phone shrilled, and I grabbed for it, half because I was startled and half because I wanted to hear a human voice. I prayed it was Vee calling to say she’d changed her mind.

  “Hello?”

  I waited.

  “Hello?”

  Static crackled in my ear.

  “Vee? Mom?” At the edge of my vision, I saw another shadow slink through the fields. Sucking in a steadying breath, I reminded myself there was no possible way that I was in any true danger. Patch might not be my boyfriend, but he was still my guardian angel. If there was trouble, he’d be here. But even as I thought it, I wondered if I could count on Patch for anything anymore.

  He must hate me, I thought. He must want nothing to do with me. He must still be furious, and that’s why he’d made no effort to contact me.

  The trouble with that train of thought was that it only made me angry again. Here I was, worrying about him, but chances were, wherever he was, he wasn’t worrying about me. He’d said he wasn’t going to just swallow my decision to break up, but that’s exactly what he’d done. He hadn’t texted or called. He hadn’t anything. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a reason. He could knock on my door right this very minute and tell me what he’d been doing at Marcie’s two nights ago. He could tell me why he’d driven off when I told him I loved him.

  Yes, I was angry. Only this time, I was going to do something about it.

  I slammed the home phone down and scrolled through my cell phone, looking for Scott’s number. I was going to throw caution to the wind and take him up on his offer. Even though I knew it was for all the wrong reasons, I wanted to go out with Scott. I wanted to give Patch the finger. If he thought I was going to sit home and cry over him, he was wrong. We’d broken up; I was free to go out with other guys. And while I was at it, I was going to test Patch’s ability to keep me safe. Maybe Scott really was Nephilim. Maybe he was even trouble. Maybe he was exactly the kind of guy I should stay away from. I felt a hard smile cross my face as I realized it didn’t matter what I did, or what Scott might do; Patch had to protect me.

  “Have you left for Springvale yet?” I asked Scott, after keying in his number.

  “Hanging with me isn’t so bad after all?”

  “If you’re going to rub it in, I’m not going.”

  I heard him smile. “Easy, Grey, I’m just playing with you.”

  I’d promised my mom I’d keep my distance from Scott, but I wasn’t worried. If Scott messed with me, Patch would have to step in.

  “Well?” I said. “Are you going to pick me up or what?”

  “I’ll swing by after seven.”

  Springvale is a small fishing town, and most of it is crammed onto Main Street: the post office, a few fish-and-chips diners, tackle shops, and the Z Pool Hall.

  The Z stood one story high, with a plate-glass window offering a view inside to the pool hall and bar. Trash and weeds decorated the exterior. Two men with shaved heads and goatees were smoking on the sidewalk just outside the doors; they ground out their cigarettes and disappeared inside.

  Scott parked in an angled slot near the doors. “I’m going to run down a couple blocks and find an ATM,” he said, killing the engine.

  I studied the storefront sign hanging above the window. THE Z POOL HALL. The name tickled my memory.

  “Why does this place sound familiar?” I asked.

  “Couple weeks back a guy bled out on one of the tables. Bar brawl. It was all over the news.”

  Oh.

  “I’ll come with you,” I offered quickly.

  He swung out, and I followed suit. “Nah,” he called over the rain. “You’ll get soaked. Wait inside. I’ll be back in ten.” Without giving me another chance to tag along, he hunched his shoulders against the rain, shoved his hands in his pockets, and jogged down the sidewalk.

  Slicking rain off my face, I tucked myself under the building’s overhang and summed up my options. I could go inside alone, or I could wait here for Scott. I hadn’t waited five seconds before my skin started to itch. While the sidewalk held little foot traffic, it wasn’t completely desolate. Those who were out in the weather wore flannel shirts and work boots. They looked bigger, tougher, meaner than the men who loitered around Main Street in Coldwater. A few gave me eyes as they passed.

  I looked down the sidewalk in the direction Scott had taken off and saw him round the building and disappear down the side alley. My first thought was that he was going to have a hard time finding an ATM in the alley next to the Z. My second thought was that maybe he’d lied to me. Maybe he wasn’t going in search of an ATM after all. But then what was he doing in an alley, out in the rain? I wanted to follow him but didn’t know how I was going to stay out of sight. The last thing I needed was for him to catch me spying on him again. It certainly wouldn’t promote trust between us.

  Thinking maybe I could figure out what he was doing by watching through one of the windows inside the Z, I tugged on the door handle.

  The air inside was cool and coated with smoke and male perspiration. The ceiling was low, the walls concrete. A few posters of muscle cars, a
Sports Illustrated calendar, and a Budweiser mirror offered the only decoration. No windows paneled the wall dividing me from Scott. I strolled down the center aisle, wading deeper into the shadowy hall, and kept my breathing shallow, trying to filter my intake of carcinogens. When I got to the back of the Z, I fixed my eyes on the exit leading into the rear alley. Not quite as convenient as a window, but it would have to do. If Scott caught me watching him, I could always feign innocence and claim I’d stepped out for fresh air. After making sure no one was watching, I opened the door and stuck my head out.

  Hands grabbed the collar of my jean jacket, yanked me out, and backed me against the brick exterior.

  “What are you doing here?” Patch demanded. Rain hissed down behind him, spilling off the metal awning.

  “Playing pool,” I stammered, my heart still frozen from the surprise of being ripped off my feet.

  “Playing pool,” he repeated, not sounding even close to buying it.

  “I’m here with a friend. Scott Parnell.”

  His expression hardened.

  “Do you have a problem with that?” I shot back. “We broke up, remember? I can go out with other guys if I want.” I was angry—at the archangels, at fate, at consequences. I was angry for being here with Scott, not Patch. And I was angry at Patch for not pulling me into his arms and telling me he wanted to put everything that had happened to us in the past twenty-four hours behind him. Everything dividing us was washed away, and it was just me and him from now on.

  Patch dropped his gaze to the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose. I could tell he was summoning patience from deep within. “Scott’s Nephilim. A first-generation purebred. Just like Chauncey was.”

  I blinked. It was true, then. “Thanks for the info, but I already suspected.”

  He made a disgusted gesture. “Quit with the bravery act. He’s Nephilim.”

  “Every Nephil isn’t Chauncey Langeais,” I said testily. “Every Nephil isn’t evil. If you’d give Scott a chance, you’d see he’s actually quite—”