Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

I gazed steadily at him, waiting to hear what he wanted to know. Dreading it.

  His voice softened. “Picture the man with the knife and tell me whatever you see. Anything.”

  An image of Dylan filled my mind, and I looked down. “It was so dark. I couldn’t really see what he looked like.” Shame lanced through me at the lie.

  “I know it was dark, but go back to that night and think about it. How tall was he? Did he have long or short hair? What was his race? Was he wearing a jacket?” He sighed. “We need to narrow down our list of suspects, Courtney, and you’re the only witness.”

  It was all on me, and I was failing. Failing big time. “I guess he was kind of tall. Like around six feet.”

  Turner smiled. “Good.”

  “His hair . . . His hair was short.” What are you doing, Courtney? You can’t tell him it was Dylan. But I had to tell him something, so I kept it vague, but true. “I think he was white.”

  “Okay, good. Any tattoos you could see?”

  I shook my head. That was way too specific. Besides, I only knew Dylan had tattoos because I’d seen them in broad daylight. I hadn’t seen them that night. “It was too dark to tell.” My stomach roiled at the deception.

  “Was he wearing a jacket?”

  “I didn’t notice.” Something true! “I was too shocked by what I saw.”

  “That’s understandable.” He stared at me. “Anything else? Anything at all?”

  I didn’t want to say anything else, I just wanted to get back to work, but I paused a moment as if I was thinking it over. “No,” I said as I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  He smiled. “You did well, Courtney. Thank you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Back at the register, I tried not to think about my conversation with Detective Turner, and prayed I wouldn’t have to be grilled like that again. It had felt like I was the criminal. Then I realized I kind of was. For lying to a police officer.

  Nausea swelled up my throat, and I swallowed several times to push it down, then forced myself to focus on my job.

  A few minutes later a teenaged boy came in and walked up to the counter where I was working and I asked him what he wanted to order.

  “Double cheeseburger with fries,” he said in a low voice.

  “Would you like a drink with that?” I made my voice bright and cheerful, even though I felt the complete opposite.

  “No.” Then he glanced behind him—no one was there—and leaned toward me. “I understand you saw something . . . unpleasant . . . the other night.”

  How would he know that? A sense of unease swirled inside me, and I glanced around to see if Turner had come back, but he hadn’t.

  “The cop left,” the boy said, which brought my unease to a blaring alarm.

  Shocked that he knew that’s who I was looking for, I asked, “What?”

  A sinister smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I saw you talking to the cop.” He gestured with his head toward the door. “Out there. Where it happened.” He stared at me. “What’d you’d tell him?”

  Who are you? Did Dylan send you? Panic tickled the back of my neck, making the tiny hairs stand up. “I didn’t tell him anything,” I whispered.

  His smile grew. “Good. Keep it that way.”

  My mouth was bone dry, and my hands shook, but I managed to press the button on the register for the total and told him what he owed.

  He laughed. “I changed my mind. I don’t want your crappy food.” Then he turned and sauntered out.

  I stared after him, my heartbeat unsteady, tears pushing into my eyes, but knowing I’d made the right decision to not tell Detective Turner what I knew.

  “Courtney?”

  I jumped at the sound of my name and turned to see Steven standing there. “Yeah?”

  He looked in the direction the boy had gone, then looked at me. “I heard him say he didn’t want his order. What happened?”

  “Oh, uh, he didn’t have enough money.”

  Steven nodded. “Okay.”

  Lie on top of lie on top of lie.

  At the end of my shift, I grabbed my stuff and walked toward my car, on alert for the sound of someone approaching me, my eyes shifting from side to side, but I made it to my car without anyone following me. I locked the doors the moment I was inside.

  On the drive home, my mind went back to the boy who’d said he’d seen me talking to Turner, and I wondered who else was watching me.

  The next day I went to my classes but found it difficult to focus. My mind kept going in circles—thinking about the murder, thinking about Dylan, thinking about Turner, thinking about the boy who’d come in the night before, thinking about what other nasty surprises might be waiting for me.

  By the time my classes had finished, I was on edge and ready to run screaming from the building at the slightest provocation. All I wanted was to go home, lock myself in my room, stuff my earbuds into my ears, and crank up my favorite songs.

  With that in mind, I hurried out of the building and toward the parking lot, but as I approached my car, I saw a man leaning against a nearby car. The man’s back was to me, so I couldn’t tell who it was, and even though the sight of him filled me with trepidation, I convinced myself that I was being paranoid and continued on.

  The moment I reached my car, he turned, and I saw that it was Dylan. The blood drained from my face and my hand shot to the door handle.

  “Courtney, please,” he said as he strode to my side and grabbed my arm. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I just need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” I said, my voice low and firm, my gaze glued to the door handle.

  His grip only tightened. “You have to. For your own safety.”

  I turned my head and stared at him. “You just said you’re not going to hurt me.”

  Sadness filled his eyes. “It’s not me you need to be scared of.”

  The image of the boy who’d come into my work the night before filled my mind, and I knew he was telling the truth—it wasn’t just Dylan I had to be afraid of. My shoulders sagged and my hand fell away from the door handle.

  Dylan released my arm and frowned. “Thank you for not giving me up to the cops.”

  Fury spiked in my brain, and I wanted to scream in frustration, but I kept myself under control. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter why you did it,” he said, his voice calm. “It just matters that you kept the information to yourself.”

  “Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why did you kill Jeremy Owens?”

  Dylan’s eyes widened. “How do you know his name?”

  “Detective Turner told me.”

  He shook his head. “Look, I can’t go into everything right now, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He chewed on his lip. “Or your mother.”

  “My mother?” Tears sprang into my eyes. The thought of something happening to my mom—all because of me—terrified and sickened me. “Why would something happen to my mom?”

  “Courtney,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anything to happen to anyone, okay? But it’s not up to me.”

  “Not up to you?” I glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then spoke in a whisper. “You’re the one who stabbed him to death. I didn’t see anyone else. Just you.” Courtney, you’re talking to a cold-blooded killer. “Why did you do it?” Don’t make him mad, Court. Make him believe you understand him, that you don’t blame him… “I’m sure you had a good reason.”

  He frowned. “It’s complicated, okay? All I can tell you is that people—dangerous people—know that you know.” He sighed and leaned closer to me. “I did have my reasons, but I can’t explain them to you. The less you know, the better. Just . . .” He looked away, and when he looked at me again, his eyes had hardened. “Don’t tell anyone anything.” He stared at me. “I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you promise.”

  I thought about the lies I’d
told Detective Turner and how sick that had made me feel, but the idea that someone would hurt me—would hurt my mom—was much, much worse. “I promise.”

  “What? What do you promise? I need to hear the words, Courtney.”

  “I promise not to tell anyone that you killed Jeremy Owens,” I said.

  His jaw tightened, then he said, “Swear it on your mother’s life.”

  My mother’s life? “Why?”

  A grim expression filled his face. “Because I have to know you mean it.”

  The face of my mom, whom I’d always been close to but had never appreciated like I did at that moment, floated in front of me. I didn’t want to make her part of this. She hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. All I’d done was be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Why should that put my life, and the life of my mom, at risk?

  My voice shook as I spoke. “I do mean it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem swearing it on your mother’s life.”

  Though pleading shone from my eyes, my voice was strong. “My mom has nothing to do with this.”

  “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Then leave her out of it.”

  Dylan sighed audibly. “Courtney, whether you swear it on your mother’s life or not, if you tell anyone what you saw, you and your mother will suffer.”

  An icy chill shot up my spine straight into my skull, and an ache blossomed to life inside my head. “Just leave me alone, okay?” I grabbed the door handle and pulled.

  Dylan put his hand over mine, stopping me. “I know where you live. They know where you live. Never forget that.”

  Though his words sent a piercing bolt of terror straight to my heart, I stared at him until he moved his hand from mine, and then I climbed into my car. By the time I’d put on my seatbelt and started the engine, Dylan was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I got home, I’d completely forgotten about my desire to disappear into my room and listen to my music. The only thing going through my head was the conversation I’d had with Dylan. Who was he involved with? Who was the boy who’d come into the restaurant the night before? Would they really hurt me or my mom?

  The last question had an obvious answer. Yes, they would hurt us. Dylan had already killed one person. What was one more? Or two?

  With a shudder, I pulled out my textbooks and tried to focus on my assignments, and when Mom got home from work all in one piece, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Are you hungry, Courtney? I can make a chicken salad for us.”

  Ever since I’d witnessed the murder, my appetite had been non-existent. “Sorry, Mom. I should have made something before you got home.”

  “It’s fine. You’re doing homework.”

  My phone chimed a message. Worried it would be Dylan, I glanced at my phone, but when I saw it was from Shelby, my shoulders sagged in relief.

  Shelby: So excited for this weekend.

  I remembered the double date we’d planned and wondered if I could get out of it.

  Courtney: I may not be able to go after all.

  Shelby: What?! Why not? Don’t flake on me now. Do I need to drag you out with us? You can’t be a hermit your whole life.

  Right now that’s exactly what I wanted to be. I didn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone. Lately it seemed I kept running into people tied to the murder, and I wanted that to stop. The only way I knew how to make that happen was to never go anywhere again.

  A soft sigh escaped my lips. I knew that hiding in my house wasn’t realistic. What would Mom say? How could I explain it? No, I would have to force myself to go about my life as if everything was normal.

  Courtney: Fine. I’ll go.

  Shelby: Yay!

  When Friday night rolled around, I went to Shelby’s apartment before our double date so we could get ready together. I had to admit, it was nice to not be at home for a change. Besides school and work—where I’d been scared every time someone had approached the counter—I’d been at home.

  “That blouse looks cute on you,” Shelby said with a smile.

  I looked at the turquoise blouse, paired with my favorite jeans, then smiled in return. With all the turmoil in my life, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be a regular college student going out on a date. It felt good to not think about Dylan and the murder, and to just be.

  When the guys arrived, I smiled at Tyler. With my focus so much on Dylan, I’d forgotten how hot Tyler was.

  “Hey,” he said as he met my gaze. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks.” Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Shelby watching us. Ignoring her obvious interest, I focused on Tyler. “Shelby and I thought it would be fun to go miniature golfing. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

  “It could be chilly, so you might want to bring a jacket,” I said, then felt blood rush to my face. I sounded just like my mother.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. I brought a sweatshirt.”

  “You guys ready?” Shelby asked.

  I turned to her, glad to take the attention off myself. “Yeah.”

  On the drive to the miniature golf place I sat in the backseat with Tyler and tried to get a conversation started. “How’s your semester going?”

  “Good. Just another four weeks until finals, so that’s awesome.”

  “I know. I can’t believe how fast school’s going.”

  “A year from now I’ll be graduating,” he said with obvious happiness. “How much longer do you have?”

  “This is my first year, so probably three more years.” For the most part I was enjoying school, but I wished I was as far into it as he was.

  “It’ll go by fast.”

  A short time later Jack pulled into a parking space and the four of us got out.

  “I have to warn you,” I said to Tyler. “I’m not that great at miniature golfing.” The words reminded me of what I’d told Dylan when we’d gone bowling just over a week earlier. Has it only been a week since I witnessed the murder? Technically it would be a week the next day, Saturday, but regardless, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since I’d seen Dylan stab Jeremy Owens to death.

  “That’s okay,” Tyler said. “It’ll still be fun.”

  I turned my attention back to Tyler, trying to shove aside the image of Dylan thrusting the knife into Jeremy Owens’s chest.

  “We should do teams,” Shelby said with a glance in my direction. “Me and Jack against Tyler and Courtney.”

  “That’s not fair to Tyler,” I said with a laugh.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s just for fun.”

  “So everyone’s okay with it?” Shelby asked.

  I shrugged. If Tyler was okay with losing, then I was too.

  Things started off fine, and to my surprise, I was doing better than Shelby. When we’d completed four of the eighteen holes, our score was several points better than Jack and Shelby’s.

  On hole number five, which required hitting the ball over a bridge, Shelby hit her ball right into the water.

  “You kind of suck at this,” Jack muttered to Shelby. I was close enough to hear, and I saw Shelby bristle at his words.

  “So sorry to mess up your score,” she said. “I didn’t know it was so important for you to win.”

  He laughed. “I like to win at everything I do.”

  Shelby shook her head, then reached into the water and pulled out her ball.

  The four of us continued playing, and I could tell Jack was getting more and more irritated that they were losing—and losing badly.

  “You’d better up your game, bro,” Tyler said with a laugh as he hit a hole-in-one.

  I had to admit, it felt good to be on the winning team, and I appreciated Tyler’s skill all the more.

  “Maybe we picked our teams wrong,” Jack said loud enough for all of us to hear.

  I glanced at Shelby and saw her chin quiver just a bit. Hold it t
ogether, girl. He’s just being a jerk.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Tyler said to Jack, “you’re not doing all that great yourself.”

  A small smile of satisfaction curved Shelby’s mouth at that, but Jack glowered. “Shut up,” he said, then he proceeded to overshoot his target and it took four strokes before his ball went in the hole.

  Tyler softly chuckled, and I held back a smile of my own. When we finally got to the end, Tyler and I were clear winners, and Jack and Shelby were hardly speaking to each other. Well, it was mostly Jack who was angry.

  “Let’s go into the arcade,” Tyler suggested, then he patted Jack on the shoulder. “At least you’re pretty good at that.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Jack said.

  Shelby and I hung back a bit as the guys turned in our equipment, and I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Everything okay?”

  She frowned. “You mean besides Jack being such a jerk?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Besides that.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. He gets like that sometimes. But he’ll get over it.”

  “You girls ready?” Tyler asked, but his gaze was on me.

  I smiled, pleased by his attention. “Yeah.”

  He opened his palm to show us the handful of tokens he held. “We bought some tokens so let’s get started.”

  At first we all played on machines near each other, but eventually we broke into two groups, with Tyler and me going off by ourself.

  “Do you like Skee-ball?” Tyler asked as we walked toward the row of machines where you rolled a small wooden ball up a ramp and tried to get it into one of the concentric circles.

  “I’ve never played before.”

  He laughed. “Well, it’s kind of like bowling, but a lot easier.”

  My last bowling attempt hadn’t gone well, but I was willing to try. “Sure. Why not?”

  He dropped the required number of tokens into the slot, and several wooden balls rolled down the chute. “You go first.”

  “Okay.” I picked up a ball and rolled it up the ramp. The machine dinged and I turned to Tyler with a smile. “I got points?”

  “You always get points, but you want to aim for the smallest hole at the top. That’s worth the most points.”