“You’ll need these.”
“I’ve needed these since the day I met you.” He glared up at me and I didn’t bother trying to hide my amusement.
“What happened to acting like a normal, happy couple?”
I shrugged. “I never said happy. And couples fight.”
“Did your parents fight a lot?” he asked, setting his handgun up on the counter.
“Is that a serious question?” He nodded. “I mean, I guess they did, but no more than I imagine anyone else’s parents do. A law enforcement family isn’t always an easy one to grow up in. My mom is pretty high maintenance. I think the lack of attention got to her over the years.”
“Where is she now?”
“With her new boyfriend in California. She left right after my dad was sentenced.”
His eyes narrowed. “She just left you behind?”
“Not exactly. We fought over where I’d go until I told her that she could either let me live with Gramps so I could be close to Dad or I’d run away the second we arrived in Cali.” Dawson’s expression didn’t change. “Since it was only going to be a couple of months before I turned eighteen, she signed emancipation papers for me and I came to live with Gramps.”
“But you hate it here,” he said. I thought I heard a note of sympathy in his tone but couldn’t be sure.
“I love my dad more than I hate Jasperville,” I explained. His lips pressed to a thin line as though he was trying to trap a knee-jerk response about my dad from escaping. “What about you, Dawson? What’s your story?”
“That’s a pretty open question. Try to be more specific if you want to interrogate someone.”
“Fine. How’d you end up in the FBI?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Jim Reider was my next-door neighbor and my father’s best friend. He used to tell me stories about cases he’d helped solve and bad guys he’d helped put away. Even though I was only about ten when I heard the first one, I can remember those stories so vividly.” The faraway look in his eyes drew me in, and I took a step closer to him before realizing what I’d done. He, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Reider taught me how to shoot when I was fourteen. He used to take me when things got bad at home. He’d never say anything about it—just come over like everything was fine and pull me away from the chaos. By the time I was seventeen, I swear I was at his house more than my own.”
I felt my chest tighten as realization set in. Reider wasn’t just Dawson’s mentor. He was a father figure when his own dad had failed him. The pain he must have felt at his death shot through me and I fought hard to keep it from my expression. He looked at me, hesitating for a second before turning away to prepare his gun.
“I’m sorry, Dawson.”
He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.
“I guess we both lost someone that night,” he said, his voice low and hollow. As quickly as the moment came, it passed. Dawson turned back around, his impassive expression back in place. “Now, pay attention.”
He loaded his gun, explaining every step of the process as though I didn’t grow up with an FBI father and a correctional officer grandpa. I waited patiently while he droned on until he finally finished.
It seemed like an eternity.
“Are ya done?” I asked, walking up beside him. He scowled and nodded. “Good, then watch and learn, my friend.” I motioned for him to step back, then slipped on my ear protection and picked up the gun.
I took the stance my father had drilled into me growing up and took aim. With a deep breath, I relaxed my shoulders and focused on the target. Gently squeezing the trigger, I shot three times, determined to show Dawson I had skills. When I finished, I realized I fell short. Like way short.
I flipped the safety on and placed the gun down.
Dawson hit a switch that made the target sail toward us and pulled it off.
“Watch and learn, she says,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Danners. It’s not a total loss. At least you hit it.”
“One in the shoulder. One in the thigh. And one in the ear.” Yes. The ear. “Pretty terrible.”
“That’s surprising,” he said.
“Wait, what?” I asked “Why does my suckitude surprise you?”
“Because,” he said, looking at me with faint annoyance, “you don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’s terrible at anything.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of his reply.
“Except discerning fact from fiction when it pertains to my father, right?” I couldn’t help myself. The words fell out of my mouth before I could even attempt to stop them, abruptly undoing whatever moment we’d just shared.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Whatever. Maybe mine weren’t kill shots, but they’d wound somebody pretty badly.”
“They would,” he said, staring me down. “But you should never get a false sense of security because you have a gun in your hand. Guns are not always the trump card people think they are. They can be turned on you at any moment. You can’t depend on them. You can only depend on yourself.”
“Thanks for that PSA, Dawson. I’ll keep that in mind, even though I don’t plan on carrying a hand cannon anytime soon.”
“Damn right you’re not. You leave that to me.”
Before I could reply, he walked over to the counter, slipping his ear protection on. Whether it was to keep his hearing or block me out, I wasn’t sure, but either way, the latter would have undoubtedly been a perk for him. He indicated that I put mine on as well, then pointed two fingers at my eyes and then gestured at himself, telling me to watch and learn this time.
I flipped him off once he turned around.
He found a comfortable, stable stance, then took aim supporting the gun from underneath with his opposite hand. Pop, pop, pop.… Then he put the safety on and placed the firearm down on the counter. I looked over at the target and groaned. Two to the chest and one to the head. Perfect aim, not that I was surprised. Little to nothing about Dawson surprised me.
“Nice,” I said dryly. He slipped his ear protection off and looked at me confused. “I said nice.”
“It’s all about relaxation and focus. You need to be strong, but not rigid.”
“Easy to say when nobody’s pointing a gun at you.”
“Hence the need for practice. If you can’t do it under controlled conditions, you sure as hell won’t be able to when the shit hits the fan. You should try again.”
I stepped up to the counter and Dawson slid behind me. I took my stance training the firearm on the target. Then Dawson reached his arms around me to tweak my grip and relax my shoulders. The faint smell of his cologne invaded my space and I immediately felt my chest tighten.
Too close—we were way too close.
“You need to relax,” he said, after slipping the cover off my ear.
“I’m trying to, but it’s hard with you suffocating me.”
“Do I make you nervous, Danners?” he asked, punctuating his question with a little laugh.
“Irritated? Yes. Nervous? No.”
He scoffed then pulled away, sounding far too satisfied with himself. Then he put my ear protection back on and tapped me on the shoulder to give me the all clear. I wasn’t sure I could shoot anything in that state.
I wondered if that was exactly why he’d done it.
* * *
We spent an hour there, working on my skills. By the time we left, I felt confident in my ability to wield a handgun, and I was even more convinced that Dawson had to have been a pain in the ass at Quantico. He was just too perfect for his own good and it was annoying as hell.
When he signaled it was time to leave, I handed over my ear protection and walked out to wait by the car. The sun was low in the sky, casting an eerie amber glow around the empty parking lot. Just as Dawson headed my way, the falling sun highlighting his hair, my phone started to buzz.
“Hello?” I said, putting it to my
ear.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jane all but growled at me.
“Excuse me?”
Dawson shot me a pointed look and I turned away from him.
“Your stunt in the bathroom with Missy Edwards.”
“What about it?”
“You grilled her about Coach and then said you knew things that went on in this town.”
“So? I do, but I didn’t name you and I didn’t give particulars.”
“You had no right to do that!”
“But nothing happened, Jane! Missy thinks I’m a nosey pain in the ass, but that doesn’t affect you at all. I didn’t say anything specific—I just tried to get her to admit what was going on with Coach.”
“It’s all she could talk about,” Jane said, breathing hard. By this point, Dawson had his head leaned against mine to listen in to the call. I was thankful I couldn’t see the look of disappointment that was undoubtedly on his face.
“Listen, I saw her and Coach arguing. They were tucked away in the corner of his office with the door nearly closed. Their voices were hushed but I could hear the anger in his. When I sneaked a peek, Missy looked terrified. All I could think of was Danielle’s dead body and Missy’s being next. Coach is one of the top suspects, Jane. I thought risking looking like an asshole in front of Missy was worth it if she needed my help.…”
Jane was silent for a moment and I wondered if she’d hung up on me. Then I heard her let out a breath.
“Missy isn’t in the same mess I’m in.”
I hazarded a glance at Dawson, and he merely nodded at me, encouraging me to ask the question brewing in my mind.
“What mess is she in?” I asked, cold seeping into my veins.
“She’s knocked up.”
I hesitated. “Who’s the father, Jane?”
Another hard exhale. “Coach Blackthorn.”
I pulled away from Dawson and stared him down. What the hell was I supposed to do with that information? I needed his guidance, but he couldn’t give it to me—not without Jane overhearing.
“Jane,” I said calmly, trying hard to think quick on my feet. “She has to report him. At best, he’s abusing his position as a teacher. At worst, he’s having sex with a minor who can’t legally consent. And if he is the one behind everything else—what happened to Danielle—then this is our best chance at putting him away for now until we can get concrete evidence.”
She said nothing for a moment, clearly mulling over my words.
“I’ll talk to Missy,” she said softly. “She said he told her to get an abortion—that if she didn’t, he’d take matters into his own hands.”
My heart stopped for a second before slamming back to life in my chest. That’s the girl she was trying to protect. The baby—not the others.
“Jane, regardless of whether or not Coach is involved with what you’re caught up in, she has to turn him in. And if she won’t, you might have to do it.”
“Me? Hell no—I’m not going to the cops—”
“This isn’t about your mess, remember?”
“No way. I don’t trust them. I’ll talk to Missy, but if she won’t turn him in, I’m not doing it. You’ll have to find another way to get whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Before I could argue any further, she hung up. My arm fell limp at my side, phone still in hand, as I turned to face Dawson.
“I screwed up,” I said, my throat closing around the words. “I think I pushed her too far.…”
“Maybe. Maybe not. All we can do for now is wait and see if Jane can get through to her friend. If not, we’ll figure out plan B.”
“How can you be so calm about this?” I asked, anger bleeding into my tone.
“Because the reality of the situation is that even if what Jane said is true, it isn’t damning evidence against Coach. Sleeping with a student doesn’t make him a killer.”
“No. Just a pedophile.”
He looked at me for a moment, his piercing gaze trying to penetrate my cocoon of growing rage. I wasn’t even sure who I was mad at anymore. I was just mad and frustrated, and in desperate need of an outlet for it all.
“What’s up with you?” he asked, his tone cautious.
“What’s up with me? Are you kidding me right now?”
“You’re yelling—”
“Damn right I’m yelling! I’m pissed! I’m pissed that I messed up that call. That Coach is probably going to get away with what he’s doing just like his football players did when those topless pictures of me came out. I’m pissed that I live in a town that dictates your worth based on economic status and sports ability—that fails the very people that need their protection. And I’m pissed off because you’re not pissed off enough!” His stoicism wavered under that comment, but it did little to stop me. I was in full rant mode and nothing was going to shut me down, even if it should have. “It’s like you’ve completely forgotten that these girls are victims, Dawson—that some of them are still out there night after night, making money for some skeevy perv because they’re economically marginalized and backed into a corner. I think about these students by day, hookers by night—about Jane and what she’s dealing with—and then I put myself in her place and wonder how she can function. Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t that get to you somewhere inside that cold exterior of yours? Because I’m pretty damn heartless, Dawson, but even I can’t shrug this off.”
“Are you done?” he asked, his calm tone belying the storm brewing in those hazel eyes.
I looked away from him and tried to get control of my breathing. My anger was abating, but the adrenaline coursing through me hadn’t worn off just yet. And it wouldn’t when Dawson opened his mouth, either.
“Unlike you, emotions are something I can’t afford to let cloud my judgment, Danners. If I’m going to help those girls, then I need to focus on the facts, of which we still don’t have a lot. But if you think that means that a moment goes by where I don’t think about them—that I’m not up all hours of the night, poring over evidence and researching whatever I can to try and find who’s behind this before another girl goes missing or Jane gets caught—you’re crazy. And maybe I can’t put myself in her position as easily as you can, but I can pretend that she’s someone like you—someone I don’t ever want to see exploited like that—and get a healthy dose of motivation from that.” He was the one yelling now, and I could feel myself shrinking under the weight of it. Without my anger as a shield, his words cut right through me. What I saw as clinical indifference was nothing more than Dawson’s armor against the Luke Clarks and Coach Blackthorns of the world.
I didn’t realize I was crying until his harsh expression softened a bit and he reached over to wipe my cheek with his thumb.
“I know this case is getting to you, Kylene. I wish there was a way to remove you from it.…”
“I don’t want to be removed. And I know you care about them,” I said, pulling away from him. His arm fell slowly to his side. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“You’re angry at the injustice of it all, and you should be. This whole goddamn town should be, and it isn’t. Be mad, but channel that anger. Make it work for you. Keep fighting for those that can’t fight for themselves. That’s what this job is really about.”
I stared up at him, thinking about how my dad had said something similar about his job once—that he was a voice for those that didn’t have one sometimes. I never thought I’d live to see the day where those two had something in common.
I wondered if my disbelief was written all over my face.
“We’re going to bring Coach down for what he did to Missy—and the others, too, if guilty,” he said, his expression harsh.
I had no doubt he’d make good on his word.
“I should probably get home now,” I said, opening the car door. “Gramps isn’t working tonight. I want to hang out with him a bit. I feel like I never see him.”
Dawson said nothing in response. Instead, he got in and fired up the c
ar, pulling out onto the main road into town. We rode in silence through the rolling hillside, the last remnants of the fall colors highlighted by the dying sun. It looked like the woods were on fire.
“You can’t second-guess yourself,” Dawson said, drawing my attention away from the beautiful yet haunting trees. “All you can do is make the best decision possible and go with it. You did that. Try not to beat yourself up over the outcome. You can’t change it now.”
“Thanks,” I said softly.
He gave a tight nod as we pulled into town. That was the last thing he said until he dropped me off at Gramps’ house and waved goodbye. As I walked up the porch steps, it hit me that, in a strange way, Dawson had given his approval of how I’d handled the call. Praise wasn’t a language he seemed fluent in, but the advice he’d given me all but implied it. As far as I was concerned, if he wasn’t telling me I’d screwed up, it was a compliment of epic proportions.
One I’d gladly take.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I skipped out of school early on Wednesday—I just couldn’t deal.
That feeling didn’t improve when I arrived at my car to find yet another note tucked under my wipers. Whoever was behind it clearly liked to strike when I was at school. Whether that was because he was employed there or just wanted to make it look like he was remained unknown.
I unfolded it to find more of the same.
You’ll be next.…
Fanfuckingtastic.
I stuffed the letter in my pocket, equally riled up as the time before, but with less trepidation. I knew it wouldn’t have physical evidence on it, nor would it point us in the direction of who wrote it. I stuffed it away like my fear and fallout from homecoming night and locked it up tight. If someone was trying to scare me off, I wouldn’t let them.
At least not until I was alone in my room at night and the bad thoughts crept in. Then, I’d freak out.
When I got home, I found a legal file in the mailbox, and a surge of adrenaline shot through me until I saw who’d sent them. The papers Meg needed signed were inside and I yanked them out to look them over. Then I tucked them into the inside pocket of my jacket and drove to Logan Hill Prison with the blind hope that my father would sign them.
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