I winked at her. “No, he totally is. But he's also really nice. He might surprise you. I wouldn't have made it through the first month here without him.” I leaned over and nudged Kelsey with my shoulder. “And this girl right here.”
Bryanna spoke up. “You know, I really didn't see it before, but … you two make an … interesting couple.”
I chuckled at this. So did Kelsey. Interesting? That's an understatement.
“That's one way of putting it, I guess,” said Kelsey.
April reached over and punched me in the arm. It almost hurt. Dang, this girl is strong. Hope Baz knows what he's in for. “So what's this great big surprise you have planned for tomorrow night?”
“April!” Kelsey said in alarm.
“Well, I'm not gonna be there!” April retorted. “You wanna just whisper it in my ear?”
Kelsey sighed in wry amusement. “Don't pay attention to her, Ethan, she's a hopeless flirt.”
April grinned. “No. I'm a hopeful flirt.”
“I wish you could be there, April,” said Kelsey. “But at least Bree will. So will Penny.”
“Really?” Bryanna said, her face lighting up. Then we locked eyes, and she turned away. “That's … great. I guess I'll see you all there.”
The four of us continued to make small talk for the rest of recess period, and by the time the fifth-period bell rang, I felt a lot more comfortable than I was an hour ago. The familiar is always comforting.
We all stood up and hopped off the bleachers. Looking down, I noticed my sneakers were untied.
“You guys go ahead,” I said, bending down to tie them. “I'll see you in class.”
“Okay,” Kelsey said, and she and her two friends headed toward the central staircase.
It only took a few seconds to do up my laces, and when I stood up, I cast a glance across the playground. Something bright and red caught my eye.
Parked on the street, just on the other side of the chain-link fence that marked the boundary of the school, was a red car. A really expensive-looking red car. It was over a hundred yards away, but I could just make out a few details. It looked brand new, streamlined, flashy, and it screamed “I'm rich” louder than a megaphone. And also, the passenger-side window was open.
Good thing this is a safe neighborhood. Only an idiot would leave a car like THAT wide open.
Turning away, I grabbed my backpack and followed the girls to Algebra class.
* * *
As Gillian drove us home, I looked at Logan as he stared out the car window. He had his eyes half-closed and a strange smile on his face.
“Nate?” I asked.
“Yeah?” he replied, turning to face me.
“You gonna miss this place? You know, when we leave?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
My eyebrows raised. “Sophie?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I always thought girls were gross. Icky. They all act like they know everything. But Sophie's … different.” He sighed, his cheeks blushing. “I never thought that a girl could be … funny. And nice. And … a friend.”
“And pretty,” I said, half-teasing him.
“I guess. You know, a lot of the guys in my class make fun of me because of her. They make stupid kissy noises behind my back. Some of the girls, too. And you know what's funny?”
“What?”
A slight smile curled at the edge of his lips. “I don't even mind.”
“I totally get that,” I said, “And I'm glad, Nate.”
He looked at me, and there was a glint in his eye. “Mark?”
“Yeah?”
His face broke into a warm smile. “Call me 'Sketch'.”
I returned his smile. “You got it … Sketch.”
Little man's growing up. Oh, yeah.
Chapter 39
~ DAY 41 (Sat., 4:00 p.m.) ~
KELSEY
Today's the day.
I'd never been to a school dance before. I'd always found excuses not to go – too busy, fake headache, or just plain not interested. The idea of getting all dressed up to spend two hours standing around a dance floor, drinking watered-down fruit punch and being too embarrassed to actually, you know, dance, just didn't do it for me. I'd heard from April that the boys that had the nerve to actually ask a girl to dance were terrible at asking, and even worse at dancing. Plus, you had teachers watching you every second, which pretty much killed any appeal it had left.
Today was different, though. I'd get to spend time with Ethan in a social setting, listen to Baz's band, and forget about all the drama that had gone on over the last few weeks. And with any luck, Bree and Penny would find a way to bury the hatchet and become best friends again. I'd texted both of them this morning, just to confirm that they were coming, and they were. April was still grounded, so she'd be a no-show.
I only owned one Hawaiian shirt, a not-too-loud navy blue button-down covered with yellow flowers. I'd only worn it once before, at a party in Denver last year that Aunt Libby had thrown over Fourth of July weekend just before she jetted off to Bora Bora. When Dad bought it, it was a size too large, but it fit perfectly since I'd grown another two inches. Admiring the shirt, white slacks and low-heeled shoes that I wore in my bedroom mirror, I could only just smile. Ethan's gonna love this.
Dad graciously agreed to drive me to the dance, but we'd have to work his chauffeuring me around his work schedule. He was working the one-to-six shift today, and I spent a few minutes saying hi to a bunch of Dad's coworkers at the precinct that I'd gotten to know over the last few years. Almost all of them had something to say about how tall or how pretty I'd gotten since they saw me last, and I just smiled and thanked them.
I still had a lot of time to kill before the dance, though, so at just before two, I took my leave of Dad and walked the half-mile from the precinct to Westridge Mall. I spent about ninety minutes browsing, checking out the discount clothes outlet, the bookstore and a small salon, where I took the opportunity to have my nails painted. All through the day, I could feel the anticipation building for Ethan's “surprise.” I truly had no idea what it could be, but I was sure I was going to love it.
By mid-afternoon, I had claimed a table in the middle of the food court for myself. With the latest book in the Pretty Little Liars series in front of me, along with a late lunch from Slice O' Heaven – a jumbo-sized piece of spinach-and-tomato pizza – I settled in, hoping the butterflies taking flight in my stomach would settle down with some nourishment.
Thoroughly engrossed in my novel, I didn't even notice that someone had approached my table. “Excuse me, young lady?”
I glanced up to see a man looking at me. He looked to be a few years younger than Dad, with tanned skin, dark eyes and only a thin layer of hair covering his scalp. He wore a Sun Devils jacket and a pair of blue jeans that had definitely seen better days.
He stood, watching me, several yards away. We locked eyes for a few seconds, but I didn't acknowledge him. He didn't appear to be threatening, and besides, the mall food court was probably the worst place to try something creepy or illegal, as there were security officers at both ends.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said politely. He spoke with an accent that resembled Hispanic, but not quite. “Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?” He gestured to the empty seat on the opposite side of my table.
I closed my novel and took a longer look at him. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn't tell what. “Who are you?” I asked warily.
A slight smile crossed his face. “Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Hector Martinez. I'm a private investigator.”
My eyes widened. Ooh, a real P.I.! Dad had known a few P.I.'s over his career, but I'd never met any of them. “How can I help you?”
He took another step toward my table. “May I sit down?”
“Sure,” I replied.
He sat down opposite me, placing his hands on the table. My eyes went to his left wrist, which had an exp
ensive-looking watch on it that partially covered a very elaborate tattoo. I leaned forward, trying to get a better look.
Mr. Martinez followed my gaze, and rolled up his sleeve a little bit. “You like my tattoo?” he asked with a slight smile.
“Yeah, it's wicked,” I said, nodding. “May I see?”
He held out his hand, and, leaning forward, I was able to get a better look. The tattoo was of a bull's head with glowing red eyes and very sharp-looking horns. It covered almost all of the back of his hand. “Nice,” I said in admiration.
“Thank you,” he said. “I understand this place is a popular hangout for kids your age?”
“Definitely. My middle school is only a couple of miles from here.”
He dug a small notebook out of his pocket, and flipped through a few pages. “Would that be James Madison Middle School?”
“That's the one. What about it?”
He looked directly at me. “My client is a woman who is in the middle of a bitter divorce with her husband, a very … terrible man. The judge was just about to award full custody of their two sons to her, when her husband took them and skipped town.”
My mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” I said, shocked. “That's awful.”
“Yes,” he said, his face expressionless. “They've been missing for four months now.”
“Wow. And you're looking for them here?”
He nodded. “Yes, I am. I picked up his trail last week, and I have reason to believe he might be hiding out in this area.”
I returned the nod, but something inside my head clicked. Where have I seen this guy before? “How can I help?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. “This is a picture of the two boys. Do they look familiar to you?” He held it out to me, and I took it from him.
I looked at the photo, and my heart skipped a beat. It was a professional-looking photo, obviously done in a studio. It showed two young, well-dressed boys, smiling for the camera. Their hair was dark, almost black, but there was no mistaking the faces.
Ethan and Logan. Or, as I now knew them, Mark and Nathan Campbell.
I looked up at the man and, in that instant, I recognized him. I'd only seen him once, behind the wheel of the red Cadillac that had been parked just outside the school a couple of days ago.
My mind raced. This guy's no investigator. He's looking for Ethan and Logan, and that can only mean one thing.
Lynch.
Holy crap. This is one of the BAD guys.
Oh my God. Will he be able to tell if I'm lying? Did he see me spying on him before? What if he's … armed? Would he actually shoot me if he knew that I knew?
Using every ounce of willpower I had to keep my face blank, I handed the photo back to him. “Sorry,” I said. “I don't know them.”
He took the photo, but kept his eyes locked on me. “Are you sure?”
Play it up, Kelsey. You're just a dumb, ditzy teenage girl. “Yeah, believe me, I know every cute boy in my school, and if he went there, I'd know. I remember one time my friend Ashley and I double-dated with these two guys from band camp, they were, like, so awesome, I mean, like, smokin' hot …”
Mr. Martinez, or whoever he was, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Keep going, Kelsey, you're on a roll. “And it turned out this guy she hooked me up with, Chad, is best friends with this other guy from my English class, and she told him that I'd, like, been caught making out behind the storage sheds with Brad Steinkemper, who, by the way is such a toad, and so this guy thought he could do the same thing, and I was like, 'Oh, my gawd, Ashley, you're such a liar,' and she's, like …”
In one motion, the man slid his chair backward and stood up quickly, so quickly he almost upended the chair he was sitting on. “Thank you for your time,” he said, and then he walked away from me.
He didn't leave the food court, though. One by one, I saw him approach a few other kids that were hanging out at the mall today. Some of them were with their parents, some weren't. I couldn't tell if any of the kids identified Mark or Nathan, but finally, he put the photo back in his pocket and left the mall through one of the double doors.
I ran to the doors, hoping to see where he went. As I watched, he made his way to a car that was parked about fifty yards from the entrance. A cherry-red Cadillac. He slipped behind the wheel, pulled out of his parking spot and drove away.
My God. They're here. The bad guys are here. In MY neighborhood. What do I do?
Dad.
I pulled my cell out of my small purse and dialed Dad's number within seconds. My heart, which had been thumping rapidly for the last few minutes, slowly sank as the call went straight to his voicemail. I tried again, with the same result. And a third time.
Dammit, Dad! Pick up the phone!
After two more failed attempts, I did the only other thing I could think of. I sprinted out the door, through the mall parking lot and down the street, toward the precinct.
* * *
Five grueling minutes later, I burst through the door of the police station. Totally out of breath, I leaned up against the reception counter. The officer on duty, a lady I knew only as Wanda, looked down at me with concern. “Kelsey? What's wrong?”
“Talk … Dad … now,” I panted. “Bad guy … mall … Ethan …”
She held her hands up, obviously not able to translate my gibberish. “You need to speak to your father?”
Gulping down air, I could only nod.
She smiled, gesturing down the hall. “Go right on in. You know where his office is.”
I nodded, waving thanks as I hared through the station. Rushing past several officers with rather puzzled looks on their faces, I skidded to a halt outside my dad's office. He wasn't there, but I could see his cell phone on his desk, right next to a half-empty cup of coffee.
Oh, come on. This is NOT happening!
Turning around, I flagged down the nearest officer, a man whose name I couldn't remember. “Have you … seen my dad?”
Smiling, he pointed down another hallway. “He's in the main briefing room, down at the end on the right.”
“Thanks,” I said, and walked at a brisk pace down the hall. I pushed open the door – which sported a large sign that read 'Authorized Personnel Only' on it – a few inches, and through it, I saw my dad. He was on the far side of the room, talking with Uncle Walter. The rest of the room was bustling with activity. Other officers, as well as a couple of others that looked like Federal agents, judging by their dark clothes, were milling around. Several sections of wall were covered with papers, photos and maps.
I walked determinedly into the room, making a beeline right for my dad. I was about ten feet away when he turned toward me with a stunned look on his face.
“Kelsey, what are you doing? You can't be in here!” he said.
“I tried calling you … you left your cell in your office,” I said. “I need to …”
“Kel, you need to leave. Right now,” he said curtly, cutting me off.
“Dad, I need to tell you something,” I pleaded. “It's important!”
He grasped my arm firmly, motioning me toward the exit. “Kel, I don't have time for this.”
Roughly, I shook my arm free. “Dad, you have to listen to me! It's about Lynch!”
At the sound of his name, every face in the room turned towards me. A puzzled look crossed Dad's face. “What are you talking about?”
Now that I had an audience, I made sure everyone in the room could hear me. “There was this guy … at the mall just now. He told me he was a private investigator. He showed me a picture of Mark and Nathan Campbell.”
One of the federal agents, a tall, stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair, stepped toward me. “How do you know those names?” He turned to face my dad. “Who is this child?”
“This is my daughter, Kelsey.” To me, he said, “Answer Agent Meadows, sweetheart.”
“They go to my school,” I said sheepishly. “Mark is … kinda … my boyfriend.”
Dad's eyebrows raised, and his jaw dropped. “He's what?”
“I mean, uh,” I stuttered, “he's my friend. Who's a boy. And he told me. Who he really was.” God, I could just DIE right now …
“I don't believe this,” Dad said, rubbing his eyes. “Kelsey, you know how big this case is … and you chose to keep this to yourself?”
“I didn't tell anyone, I promise!” I said, my emotions churning to the surface.
“We'll talk about that later,” Dad said, holding his hands up. “Tell me about this man you saw.”
I nodded, momentarily relieved. Calling upon my above-average memory and eye for detail, I went on to describe what “Mr. Martinez” looked like, what he'd said, and the car he drove off in. When I mentioned the tattoo, the blood drained from Uncle Walter's face.
“Did you say it was a tattoo of a bull's head?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, with glowing red eyes.”
Walter took me by the hand and led me to one of the nearby poster-boards, upon which many photographs were taped. He pointed at one in particular, a close-up of the exact tattoo I'd seen on the man at the mall. “Is this what it looked like?”
There was no doubt about it. It was the same tattoo. “Yeah, that's it.” I looked up at Walter, who had turned back to my dad and Agent Meadows.
“My God, Marty, it's Ramiro Sosa.”
The name obviously meant a great deal to them. The two men stood in stunned silence for a few moments, after which Dad turned to Agent Meadows. “Pull 'em out, Bill,” he said. “Pull 'em out now.”
Within seconds, the room had exploded into activity again. Agent Meadows rushed to the nearest phone, as did Walter. Dad reached down and took my hand, leading me to an old leather sofa next to the door. “Sit down right here, Kelsey, and do not move from this spot.”
I certainly wasn't going to argue with him. I sat down, watching Dad and his fellow law enforcement officers go about their business. Inside, though, my mind was going at full speed.
Holy crap. This guy, Sosa, was probably sent by Lynch's business associates in Argentina to kidnap Mark or Nathan. He was right outside my school. Does he know what they look like now?
Ethan's Secret (James Madison Series Book 2) Page 23
