Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero)

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “Great. In truth, crying girls aren’t really my specialty.”

  “Can we maybe just watch some TV until I crash on your couch?” I looked away from him, desperate to escape the vulnerability I felt. “I don’t want to think right now.”

  He didn’t reply, but instead headed down the hall to where the bedrooms were. A minute later, Dawson appeared with a shirt on, a dry one for me, and an armful of pillows and blankets.

  “Here,” he said, handing them to me. “Make yourself at home.”

  So I did. I shimmied out of my wet top while he turned his back, then I put a pillow against the arm of the couch and laid my head on it, curling the rest of me up in a tight ball on my side so I could watch the TV. When I gave him the all clear, Dawson draped a blanket over me, and I burrowed myself into it, making sure every inch of me was covered. It smelled like him—I tried to ignore how safe that made me feel.

  Without a word, he plopped himself down on the far end of the couch and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found some eighties movie with Tom Hanks. Something about him turning into a kid again. I was jealous of the idea. What I wouldn’t have given to go back in time to when life was simpler and far less frightening.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, Danners, but…” He hesitated for a second. “I just need to know one thing so my mind can stop playing over the possibilities.” I craned my neck to look over at him, silently agreeing to answer his question. The look in his eyes was painful, like he was being tormented by what might have happened to me in that cellar. By what likely had. “Did you leave anything out of your statement?”

  “Like what?”

  Silence. “Did he … did he touch you? Hurt you?”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “No. Not like that.”

  The couch creaked under his weight as he relaxed back into it.

  “Thank God.”

  “I’d have found a way to kill him if he’d tried.”

  I opened my eyes to find Dawson staring at me again. “Good.”

  I hesitated for a moment, thinking of one detail Dawson needed to know. One I hadn’t had a chance to tell him away from an unwelcome audience.

  “Matthew knew the AD’s identity.” He turned slowly to look at me with wide eyes. “That lead died with him.”

  He nodded once.

  “We’ll find another way” was his only reply before he turned back to the TV, letting me know that there’d be no more talk of Matthew that night—maybe ever. I snuggled back into the blanket farther and closed my eyes, letting the sound of the movie drown out the thoughts in my mind. Eventually, sleep took me.

  And my dreams were far sweeter.

  * * *

  I awoke to the sound of clanging and scraping.

  I opened my eyes, totally disoriented by what I saw until I remembered recent events—where I was. Groggy and sore, I pushed myself up to sitting and took a moment to get my bearings straight. As I surveyed the living room, memories of a broken glass and Dawson’s pacing came to mind. Then I saw a pillow and blanket lying on the old recliner across from me—the perfect place to watch over me from while I slept.

  “You’re up,” Dawson said, coming around the corner from the kitchen. “You hungry? Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” I nodded, still staring at the chair. “About that,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to leave you alone out here—in case you woke up afraid.”

  By the look on his face, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was as much for his peace of mind as it was mine.

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice rough and scratchy.

  I got up and made my way to the bathroom to get cleaned up as best I could. My eyes were bloodshot, with mascara pooled beneath them like a rabid raccoon. I tried washing the black rings off with water, then brushed my teeth with my finger to get the foul taste out of my mouth. My hair looked like it had been in a fight and lost, so I threw it up in a messy bun and opened the bathroom door.

  “Yes, sir. She’s okay. She came here late last night. She was pretty upset,” Dawson said. I peeked down the hall to see him pace by, my phone in his hand. “I think she does, too. I’ll talk to her about it. Maybe I can convince her to meet with her again.” Silence. “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Dawson stopped at the end of the hall and hung up. I stepped out of the bathroom and he tossed me my phone.

  “Your gramps texted you last night to see how you were doing. I replied from my phone to let him know you were okay and that you were here. He just called and I didn’t want to bother you. I know things were left pretty tense between you two last night.…”

  “I was awful to him, Dawson. He didn’t deserve any of that.”

  “He’ll forgive you. Don’t worry. Family is good for that.” With no further explanation, he turned and started for the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked. I followed him into the room where he stood holding a mug.

  “Do I seem like someone who should be caffeinated to you?” I asked. He cracked a smile. “Water is fine, but feel free to put it in a mug so I can look all mature and cool like you while I drink it.”

  “As if that’s even possible,” he muttered under his breath. “Glad to see your sarcasm has returned.”

  “Me, too.” I took a sip of the water he’d given me, then noticed the amazing aroma wafting toward me from the stove. “Smells good in here, Dawson. What are we eating?”

  “Waffles.”

  “Ooooh … fancy. Do you make those for every girl that shows up at your place crying?” His movement paused for just a second before going back to what he was doing, his back facing me. “Sorry … I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to be funny.”

  “I’m laughing on the inside.”

  Just as I was about to try and dig myself out of the hole, he turned around with a plateful of waffles and strawberries with whipped cream on top. That alone was pretty impressive, but what stopped my heart for a single beat was the candle burning on top of it all.

  “Happy birthday, Danners.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then brought the plate of birthday awesomeness over and placed it on the table before me. I stared at it like it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. And, in some ways, it was. It was more than just a birthday breakfast. It was a gift. A peace offering. A do-over. In all that had happened, Dawson had remembered my birthday when even I’d managed to forget it. That spoke volumes about who he was as a person.

  And how much he cared.

  I looked up at him with tears burning the backs of my eyes and smiled.

  “I really prefer raspberries.…”

  For a second, he looked like he wanted to murder me, but when I winked at him through a teary eye, his smile returned.

  “You’re a piece of work.”

  “Shut up and help me eat these, would you? There’s enough here to feed Striker.”

  He shook his head and grabbed a fork, sitting down across from me. The two of us dug into the waffles that were so much more than just breakfast and ate until the plate was clean. We were a team now—a partnership, as he’d called it—and I knew from that moment on, we’d work together to bring down the AD and anyone else that got in our way. Maybe we were doing it for different reasons, but that didn’t matter to me anymore. Dawson wanted to bring down whoever had targeted his mentor, and I wanted to free my dad. Either way, we had a common goal.

  Justice for both men.

  And punishment for the AD.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  News vans were parked everywhere outside town hall. Reporters jockeyed to get near the makeshift podium at the top of the steps, which was decked out with a microphone and a tiny American flag that nearly blew away in the harsh fall winds. The unseasonably cold weather didn’t keep half of Jasperville away from the press conference about to be given. News of Matthew’s death had traveled like wildfire. It buried Coach’s impending trial in the headlines.

  Apparently, for
once, the townspeople wanted the real story.

  Sheriff Higgins and Mayor Applewood stood behind the podium, talking quietly between themselves. Behind them was a wall of deputies—basically the entire force. And next to them stood Dawson in all his official FBI jacket-and-ball-cap glory.

  Garrett, AJ, Tabby, and I stood amid the crowd, the three of them discussing what they thought the cops had found. Not one of them had spotted Dawson in the back row. I didn’t bother to point him out. His cover would fall the moment he stepped up to that microphone, and I was happy to put off their collective interrogation a few minutes longer. I was too exhausted to explain.

  Mayor Applewood glanced at his watch then stepped up to the mic, raising his hands to shush the murmuring crowd. Silence fell like a blanket upon us, tucking us in for what promised to be a wild ride for everyone there. Everyone but me.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming out today. Sheriff Higgins of the Jasperville County Sheriff’s Department and Agent Dawson of the FBI will be addressing the events that took place here over the past two days, then they will be available for questions.” The mayor looked back to Garrett’s father. “Sheriff Higgins…”

  “Thank you, Mayor Applewood.”

  As the sheriff began to talk, my mind shut down. I heard him speaking; on occasion a word would slip past my defenses and register in my brain. Words like Amber Alert, kidnapping, police shoot-out, and deceased suspect—prostitution, johns, and ongoing investigation.

  I felt Garrett’s arm wrap around my shoulder, Tabby’s head rest against mine, and AJ’s body press against my back when the sheriff detailed what was found in the basement of Matthew’s cabin. Then I felt them all go stiff as Higgins introduced Agent Dawson and the guy they knew as Alex Cedrics stepped up to the mic.

  “Thank you, Sheriff Higgins,” Dawson said, glancing back at him. Then he turned his attention to the crowd of cameras just steps below him. “As the sheriff has stated, this event was not an isolated incident. The FBI has been investigating a prostitution ring in Jasperville County for the past few months. That investigation led us to the murder of eighteen-year-old Jasperville High School student Danielle Green, whose remains were recovered two weeks ago from the Marchand River.

  “The suspect in the abduction of Kylene Danners, Grant Matthew, has been linked through forensic evidence to Danielle’s death. He was also the primary suspect in the disappearance of at least four other young females from Jasperville County. Our extensive investigation has now linked Matthew to at least twelve missing girls over the past ten years, including Sarah Woodley, who appears to have been his first victim. Matthew admitted to that crime before he was shot and killed by the sheriff’s department. We may never know exactly how many lives he took over those ten years, but the FBI, with the help of local law enforcement and volunteers, will be searching the woods around the Matthew property for human remains.”

  He continued on, connecting the dots between the sex ring and the dead girls for the press. Just when it looked as though he was finished and ready to take questions, he paused for a moment. Then his eyes fell on me.

  “Before I finish up and open the floor for questions, I want to take a minute to acknowledge two people who aided in solving these crimes. First is a young woman who was involved in this sex trade and reached out for help. I will not name her for various reasons, but without her knowledge and willingness to come forward, the FBI would not have been able to connect the missing girls to the sex ring, nor would we have known about Danielle Green’s death or where her body could be recovered. Second is the person who that young woman reached out to. Kylene Danners has been an asset in solving this case, and, as a result of her efforts, put her life in great peril to do so. This hometown girl is nothing short of a hero. Both Jasperville County and the FBI owe her a debt of gratitude.” He hesitated for a moment, his eyes pinned on mine. “Lastly, we know that at least some of the girls presumed to have run away over that ten-year period were used and thrown away by Grant Matthew. What makes this even more shameful is that nobody in this town even noticed. Danielle Green, Kit Casey, Rachel Fray, Angela Mercy, and Samantha Dunkley—those girls were someone’s daughters, sisters, cousins, and friends. Remember their names, Jasperville. Remember them so that this town—and its children—never fall prey to someone like Grant Matthew ever again.” Silence. “Now I’d like to invite Sheriff Higgins to come join me at the podium so we can answer your questions.”

  Not surprisingly, the press shouted over one another, each trying to get the best sound bite for their employer. But my friends and I all stood silently alongside the townspeople that had come out that day, the weight of Dawson’s words pressing down on all of us. The shame among the crowd was plain. Jasperville had been complicit in those girls’ disappearances in one way or another. Their blood was on all our hands.

  Garrett took a deep breath and leaned in closer to me.

  “Do you want to go now?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll drive her home,” AJ offered. Garrett looked down at me. I nodded again.

  AJ led the way, pushing through the tightly packed crowd. I followed behind him with Tabby, then Garrett on my heels. We hadn’t gotten far when the silence lifted, and whispers began. My hackles went up in an instant, my armor clicking into place. But, when I actually listened to them, I heard what those whispers said: She’s a fighter … survivor … hero.

  I felt AJ take my hand in his, and I looked up to find him staring back at me, a sense of awe in his eyes. He continued on until we were finally clear of the mob. As the four of us walked away from the spectacle outside town hall, I glanced back over my shoulder to where Dawson stood by the podium, answering questions like a seasoned vet. His mentor would have been proud.

  AJ led me to his truck and hovered next to the passenger door, my hand still firmly held in his. He looked like he wanted to say so much but he didn’t know where to start. The strongest sense of déjà vu shot through me—hurt and love and guilt. I found myself needing to apologize for so much that the word “sorry” felt weak and inadequate. I wondered if it was a scene we were destined to relive forever.

  Instead of speaking, the tears I’d been holding back broke through my guard. They rolled down my cheeks until AJ pulled me into his chest, his shirt absorbing the watery signs of distress.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered against the top of my head.

  I let his question go unanswered.

  I didn’t have one for him anyway.

  While AJ sheltered me from the crisp fall wind, I looked back to town hall where Dawson and the sheriff were still busy with the press. Dawson’s gaze was beyond the reporters and crowd, aimed at where I stood. I gave a little wave, and he—mid press conference—gave me a quick nod in return. I smiled to myself, knowing that Dawson and I were far from through with each other. We were too close to learning the truth about the night his mentor died and my dad became a murderer to walk away.

  That left me caught between two lives: the one any normal high school senior should live and the one I had. I wasn’t sure there would be any going back from what I’d experienced, no way to be the college-obsessed student I was supposed to be. And the longer I watched Dawson at the microphone, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. My life had all the purpose I needed.

  My partner and I were going to bring down the AD.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I always find writing these things stressful because I am certain to leave someone (or someones) out. It takes a lot of input from various individuals to really put a book together—far more than I ever would have thought possible when I started writing. So, with that said, I’m going to try not to screw this up too badly.

  To Amy Stapp, Jessica Watterson, Ali Fisher, Shannon Morton, Marty Mayberry, Caden Armstrong, Kristen Bronner, and the entire Tor Teen team, thank you for helping craft this book from beginning to end. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  To the lovely mods at TBR and Beyond and
the amazing readers in that group, thank you for being so supportive of this series and me, and for making my TBR list even more unruly than before. You guys kick ass.

  To my Baan Muay Thai family, thank you for helping to bring Ky’s character to life.

  To my family, who constantly endures my random outbursts and incessant notebook carrying (because inspiration LITERALLY strikes at any moment), thanks for tolerating the voices in my head when they spill over.

  BOOKS BY AMBER LYNN NATUSCH

  Dare You to Lie

  Don’t Say a Word

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AMBER LYNN NATUSCH is the author of Dare You to Lie for young adults and the bestselling Caged series for adults. She was born and raised in Winnipeg, and is still deeply attached to her Canadian roots. She loves to dance and practice Muay Thai—but spends most of her time running a chiropractic practice with her husband, raising two young children, and attempting to write when she can lock herself in the bathroom for ten minutes of peace.

  Visit her online at amberlynnnatusch.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication