“Hey, I just spoke to Meg. Can we talk for a minute?”
“Of course,” I said, standing up. I tried to wipe my eyes without him noticing. If he’d seen me do it, he had the good form not to mention it. “Listen, I know what you’re going to say—about representing some of those guys—”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” he blurted out, cutting me off. “Sorry—I just had to get that out. Also, I don’t want this to be super awkward, but I feel like you need to hear this, too, so you’re not worrying about it later.” I folded my arms across my stomach, trying to hold it together a bit longer. Standing there before him, knowing what he’d heard and seen about that night, was almost too much to bear, especially after everything I’d just read. Luke, seeing my distress, softened his expression. He looked away from me and ran his hand through his hair. The gesture reminded me of Garrett. Somehow, that tiny similarity helped set me more at ease. “Kylene, I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just say it: I never saw the pictures from that night. When the sheriff briefed me on the evidence, he offered to show them to me, and I declined. No charges had been made, and I had all the pertinent information regarding the phone and social-media distribution of the photos. Had push come to shove, I would have had to look them over, but at the time I saw no need to do that. I knew your father through mutual friends. Out of respect for him, I decided to wait until seeing the evidence firsthand was absolutely necessary.”
I let out a loud exhale. “Thanks for that.”
He nodded.
“If there had been more evidence, the sheriff might have been able to file charges and have the charges stick, but there just wasn’t.”
I let out a mirthless laugh.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Not a lot of faith in the local police, huh?”
“You could say that.…”
“Well, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for in that file, but I’m not sure you will,” he said, trying to land that blow as gently as possible.
I dropped my arms from my stomach and shrugged.
“Gotta start somewhere, right?”
He nodded again, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good luck with it.”
“Thanks. I’ll probably need it.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not so sure about that. If I were a betting man, I’d be inclined to put my money on you.”
With that, he disappeared back down the hall, leaving me to my boxes of files and the determination to prove him right. I walked across the room to where the file in question had fallen and I tucked the stray papers back inside. If I had to walk through fire to get out of hell, then I would. My past didn’t get to own me forever.
NINETEEN
Meg and Luke both stayed late that night and offered to give me more hours if I wanted to continue filing. Marcy had given her nod of approval, so as long as I stuck to what I’d learned. Nobody seemed too worried about me screwing up.
Two hours later, Meg said they were shutting it down for the night soon and told me to head home. I slid the box of files I’d been working on up on the shelf and grabbed my bag.
“See ya, Meg,” I said before heading for the front door. I stepped out into the near dark of night and made my way to my car. With every step I took, I felt like someone was watching me. But every time I turned to search the area, there was no one there.
I jumped into my car after doing a quick scan of the back seat. Even then, I still couldn’t shake that feeling. My gut was rarely wrong.
Wasting no time, I fired Heidi up and pulled out of the parking lot. Traffic was light at that time of night, so I easily made my way onto the main road, headed home. As I drove, I passed a familiar truck. Donovan rolled by while I stopped at a four-way. He sneered at me while his passenger, Mark Sinclair, did his best to avoid eye contact. I did my best to remember Garrett’s words and look like Donovan was winning—I was backing down. That basically translated to me looking away without doing something to antagonize him.
It was the best I could do.
I turned right at the stop and drove along through town, the sun rapidly falling from the sky. Streetlights were sparse on that side of town, so I drove in the darkness. Only the occasional set of headlights passed by. Just as I made a right onto the main road leading to Gramps’ street, a truck pulled in behind me, riding my bumper so hard it looked like he was in my back seat.
“Asshole,” I muttered, speeding up enough to put some distance between us. But that was eaten up in a hurry. Whatever I did to gain some space, the truck countered seconds later.
Doing forty-five in a twenty, I sped toward Gramps’ street, banking a tight left without signaling first. I hoped the dickhead wasn’t following me, but the screech of brakes followed by lights in my rearview and the roar of an engine shot that fantasy down in a hurry.
“Shit!” I shouted, slamming my hand on the wheel. Was Gramps home? Could I get to Garrett’s with this guy trying to run me down? Could I park and get into the house before he could get to me? All I could do was drive down the winding street and hope that an idea came to me.
As I neared Gramps’ house, I could see lights on inside. Daring to push my speed to fifty, I raced toward the driveway, slamming on the brakes so I could make the turn. I threw it in park and ripped the keys from the ignition before bolting for the house. I heard the squealing tires of the truck as it came to a stop and the slamming of doors.
“C’mon,” I said, fumbling with the keys in the lock. I opened the door, then shut and locked it, running over to Gramps’ landline to call the cops. My cell was in the car and I didn’t dare go out to get it.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“Someone just tried to run me off the road,” I said, my voice shaky. I provided the dispatcher with all the details, and he told me to remain inside until the sheriff arrived. What seemed like an hour later, a cruiser slowed to a stop out front. I hung up and raced out there, stopping by my car to see if they’d taken my stuff. To my surprise, my backpack was there, my phone still lying on the passenger seat in plain view. What was missing, however, was the thin manila folder that Meg had given me—the one with all the evidence from my photo scandal.
“Son of a bitch…”
“Kylene,” a voice called. A voice I knew well. I climbed out of the car and found Sheriff Higgins standing there, looking all kinds of official. No greeting beyond my name.
“Some dickhead just chased me halfway through town.”
“We got some complaints about speeding in this neighborhood. I imagine that was you?”
“Me and the aforementioned dickhead trying to run me down.”
He took a deep breath.
“You get a plate number?”
I looked around at the two nearest streetlamps—both lights were dead—then back to him.
“No.”
“Make and model of the vehicle?”
“Big truck. Loud engine.”
“Do you have anything at all I can use to actually find this person?”
My growing rage was about to spill over when something dawned on me. Fingerprints. Nails in the coffin for criminal rookies.
“You got a print kit on you?” I asked, cocking my head.
“No. But I can call for one.”
“Then you might want to do that, Sheriff, because whoever did it was dumb enough to ransack my vehicle for something.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then gave me a nod as he radioed back to the station for a deputy to bring the print kit. I stepped back onto my porch when my phone started ringing.
Garrett.
That boy never could turn the police scanner off.
“I’m fine,” I said by way of greeting.
“What happened?” The concern in his tone was plain.
“Somebody wanted to play NASCAR in my hood. When I pulled off into the driveway and ran for the house, the asshole stole something from my car.” The
sheriff shot me an irritated look while I filled his son in. “I think I should go. Your dad’s giving me the hairy eyeball right now.” I said those words loud enough for Garrett’s dad to hear me.
“Do you want me to come by?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Call me when my dad leaves.”
I said goodbye and hung up just as the deputy pulled up. He was out of the car and gloved up in a heartbeat. He probably didn’t get to do it often. His eagerness to play CSI was obvious.
The sheriff and I hovered while the younger man dusted Heidi’s handle, the door, and various places inside. Once he finished, he climbed out and informed Sheriff Higgins that he had all he needed. He walked away, leaving Garrett’s dad and me in awkward silence.
“So … you need anything else from me? Prints to rule mine out?”
He shook his head.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m pretty sure we still have them on file. You remember the tractor incident, I’m sure. The one where you, AJ, and my son thought it would be cute to steal Mrs. Flanagan’s tractor and take it for a spin.”
“The keys were in it—”
“Opportunity is not synonymous with permission, Kylene.”
My hair bristled at his words. I was well aware how true they were. Funny how no one else in town seemed to grasp that.
“She never pressed charges,” I argued, focusing on the subject at hand.
“No, but only because your father and I paid for the damages.” I cringed, remembering how the three of us were made to pay that money back. The words “backbreaking labor” came to mind.
“Okay, well … if you don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to go,” I said and turned to walk away, but Sheriff Higgins’ words stopped me cold.
“I need you to tread lightly, Kylene.” I looked back at him, the surprise I felt undoubtedly written all over my face. “You’ve got enemies in this town.” His eyes darted over to the plywood on Gramps’ house, then back to me. “I suspect you already know that.”
I eyed him tightly.
“Are you one of them? Should I be worried that your deputy isn’t going to come up with anything conclusive?”
His chest rose and fell, his jaw working hard to suppress his anger.
“I can’t manufacture evidence to suit your claims, young lady.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “But I wonder if you can make it go away if need be.…”
His eyes went wide at my thinly veiled accusation. Maybe he was offended, or maybe I’d hit a nerve. I didn’t really care either way.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, leaning toward me. “And if I were you, I’d heed my warning, Kylene Danners. This town don’t want you here. They’ll keep making that point until you get it through your head.”
“Guess I’m lucky to have cops like you here to protect me then,” I deadpanned before walking back to Gramps’ house. “You be sure to let me know if you find anything conclusive, Sheriff.”
I closed the door behind me and locked it. The night’s events had me rattled for more reasons than I could count. Not the least of which being Sheriff Higgins’ warning. The town didn’t want me back—not really news to me. But to assume they’d resort to scare tactics seemed a bit extreme, even for a football-obsessed town like Jasperville. And that also didn’t explain the file missing from my car. That car chase was no random incident. Neither was the disappearance of the file inside. Whoever chased me down knew that I had a copy of the sheriff’s notes.
I whipped out my cell and dialed Meg, quickly bombarding her with the details of what had happened. She was silent for a second, absorbing all I’d said, then told me she’d call me back in a minute. I sat in Gram’s recliner and waited for Meg’s call. When my phone finally rang, I scrambled to answer it.
“Meg! What’s up? What did you find out?”
Silence.
“I called the sheriff’s office demanding another copy of the file.”
A pause.
“Yeah? And…?”
“It’s gone, Ky.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“I mean I had three deputies tear that place apart, and not one of them can find the file your copies came from earlier today. They can’t find the digital copy, either. They said they’d call me as soon as they tracked it down, but you know as well as I do that they’re not going to—”
“Because someone made it disappear.…”
I could hear Meg talking in the background. Something about seeing what she could scrape together but not to get my hopes up. My mind couldn’t quite wrap around her words; it was too busy trying to piece together my own thoughts. In that moment, I knew that the sheriff wouldn’t be calling me with any news. That all those fingerprints pulled would lead nowhere.
It was no coincidence that the file had gone missing that night. I was closing in on a scandal of a different sort—one involving dirty cops and football heroes and those who didn’t want a nuisance case to get in the way of a football legacy. Because that just couldn’t be allowed to happen. The Badgers had nearly made it to the state finals my freshman year, and everyone was convinced we were a shoo-in for next season. But my inconvenient accusation that someone had taken those pictures against my will would have put quite a dent in that goal: the removal of any one of those players could have paralyzed the team. And this year would be no different.
Whoever wanted to make Boobgate disappear had a vested interest in either keeping the players safe from the law or making sure we made the state finals. I could think of one individual in particular who wanted both. One who’d boasted that he was above the law in our town. One who’d driven by me earlier that night in his hulking truck.
Was Donovan Shipman really immune from the cops in Jasperville?
All signs pointed to yes.
TWENTY
Back when Boobgate actually happened, I just wanted it to all go away. One sit-down with the sheriff and his deputies had made certain of that. With my father at my side, I weathered all sorts of questions that I never had expected to. Had I ever had sexual relations with any of the accused? How many drinks did I have? What was I wearing? Did I tell them to stop? After each one, I could see Sheriff Higgins’ expression change. That he was starting to see me—and the case—in a different light. The rest of the town wasn’t far behind. I was young and still naïve enough to believe that the law would be on my side.
How wrong I’d been.
My father, seeing that the kids were going to walk because of “insufficient evidence,” told me that he would keep investigating until he could prove that this wasn’t a case of postpicture remorse, which I’d quickly become accused of by virtually everyone around—including the boys. That, in fact, I had been an active participant in the whole thing until the repercussions came down upon me. Only then did I cry foul. As much as my need for justice remained, I couldn’t bring myself to fight for it any longer. I told him to let it go.
All I really wanted was to escape the ridicule I faced on a daily basis. Escape the town determined to put the victim on trial.
I sat in my room and stared at the stack of files Striker had given me to investigate my father’s case. But the longer I stared at them, the more I realized that I was useless to Dad until I put to rest the demons still haunting me. One way or another, I needed to prove what happened that night.
With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes and sorted through what bits I remembered from the aftermath. It was all jumbled together in my mind, but I knew that every one of those guys alibied another until there was no one left standing capable of having committed the crime. How terribly convenient for them. But what if someone could poke holes into their stories? Someone who remembered that night a little differently. Someone who never came forward or whose account was dismissed. If Sheriff Higgins was shady back then, it seemed totally plausible, if not probable.
I was so not above that.
As I listed off names, Meg called me to check up.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I know you’re an independent kid and all, but…”
“Totally fine, Meg. Frustrated, but fine otherwise.”
She let out a breath.
“I’m so angry with myself for not making another copy just in case.”
“Why would you, though? You should have been able to just get another one from the sheriff’s office if you were ‘representing’ me in a civil suit. That was the cover you used, right?”
“It was. And, yes, you’re right.”
“I wish I’d read the whole thing when I was supposed to be in the back office filing,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Meg totally took the bait.
“I’m sure your boss would have loved that if you’d gotten caught.”
“Not so much, I don’t think.”
She paused for a moment, creating a looming silence on the line.
“Ky, I know the subject isn’t your father’s favorite, but have you asked him about his investigation of what happened?”
His investigation?
“No, because he didn’t really do any. He started to, and I asked him to stop—that I just wanted to ride out the rest of the year, then leave.”
Meg hesitated.
“Listen, kiddo. I’m invoking the cone of silence on what I’m about to tell you, got it?”
“Okay…”
“Your father did investigate your case as much as he could off the books. More specifically, he reached out to one of his friends at FBI headquarters in Columbus—one of the cybercrime guys. He had him look into the photos and how they were shared, posted, et cetera. From what I gleaned from your mother, there might have been something there, but I never heard anything after that. I wondered if you’d found out and pitched a fit or something.”
Dare You to Lie Page 14
