The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  to the couple walking in, I ducked and scooted around to the back of the

  minivan. Pausing there to regulate my erratic heartbeat, I drew in a deep

  breath and ended up choking on the exhaust still leaking from the muffler.

  Crap! I muffled a cough, trying not to breathe while peeking around

  the back fender. Double crap! Ranger just glanced in his rearview mirror. I whipped my head back around. A heart-pounding beat later, I dared another

  peek. It looked like the non-natives were getting restless. Ranger was tapping

  • 95 •

  impatiently on the steering wheel with his thumbs, and Pete was leaning out the open window to get a better view.

  Pete’s window was down! This was my chance. Quickly crossing myself,

  I leaped from the relative safety of my current position and landed in a

  puddle of murky car waste behind them, praying their fancy motion detector

  wouldn’t beep. I didn’t come this far to get busted now! The low rumbles of

  male voices could be heard, but I couldn’t quite make out their words.

  Muscles tightening with apprehension, I slipped around the humongous

  back right tire, flattening myself against the pebbly asphalt. A whimper almost

  escaped me as I scraped my already-scraped knee in the process. (I’d lost count

  of all the scratches, bumps, and bruises I’d accumulated tonight.)

  The murmurs began to translate into actual words I could make out here

  and there. I belly-snaked closer. It was Pete talking.

  “I still don’t think she knows anything,” he insisted.

  Uh . . . wrong-o!

  “That’s because you’re still naïve, rookie.”

  I couldn’t quite make out Pete’s reply.

  “Then why did she take off like she was running for her life?” Ranger

  burst out.

  “Because she’s smarter than the average civilian.” Pete’s words swelled my

  chest. After a disagreeing snort from Ranger, he continued, “Plus, if a scary

  monster like you was chasing me, I’d run for my life, too.”

  Ha! Funny.

  “Not funny, dude.” Ranger began fiddling with the stereo until he landed

  on a country station. “You’re blind when it comes to that bimbo.”

  Pete didn’t bother arguing on my behalf, and a dart of disappointment

  jabbed me, leaking out my earlier smug satisfaction. What did I expect? Birds

  of a feather . . .

  A twangy sad song began playing. Ranger impatiently punched it off.

  “What the hell is taking her so long?”

  “She’s probably just waiting in line,” Pete said serenely. But then he stuck

  his head out the window, craning to see inside.

  I sucked in my breath.

  “I hope she’s adding some Ms. Clairol to her basket,” Ranger sneered.

  Ms. Clairol? What did he mean by— ? I fingered my hair. Oh. What an ass!

  My face burned with indignation.

  Pete returned his head to its original lookout post. “I don’t see her.”

  Ranger guffawed. “She can’t be that hard to track down . . . just follow

  the trail of hillbilly eyes!”

  • 96 •

  I noted that Pete didn’t bother responding again. Another moment ticked by in silence, broken by the hum and scrape of a car exiting the parking lot.

  My ears strained from their eavesdropping effort.

  “I’d better go check.” Pete sounded resolved all of a sudden.

  Shoot! What should I . . . ?

  I was still rolling under the tractor-sized truck when I heard the bing! bing!

  bing! of the door opening. Navy sneakers stepped out followed by the dull

  thwunk of the door closing shut. Whew! That was close.

  Pete leaned back in the window. “You know, if you hadn’t of been such a

  royal ass this whole time, then this mission would’ve been like taking candy

  from a baby . . . and I would’ve been out of here in a couple of weeks max.”

  What?!

  Ranger maniacally laughed from the driver’s seat, a position I was sure

  he was well acquainted with. “Couldn’t make it too easy for you, now could

  I? Where’s the sport in that? We got to see if you can live up to that famous

  last name.”

  Pete cursed then crunched gravel until he hit sidewalk, the sound of

  mocking laughter trailing him.

  Go time! I wormed out from under the truck. Bloody heck! How was I gonna get back inside without being seen?

  I crawled back around the minivan and scrambled to my feet. The timing

  was just right again because the couple was returning. So I hopped on over

  while Ranger’s attention was focused on the sliding door, making it back to

  the shadows clinging to the side of the building. Now what? My heart was

  thrashing against my ribs, my mind tumbling around the disturbing new info

  I’d learned. It all intermingled with my exit strategy, and the possibility of my

  father yelling me to death when I finally returned home.

  I stopped to take some deep breaths. Could a seventeen-year-old die of a

  heart attack? Must. Calm. Down. Maybe I could just get back in through the same door? Even though I knew it would automatically lock behind me, I

  yanked on the doorknob, hoping it would just magically open. Dang it! I

  pounded on the door to no success. The beating on my palms would feel like

  gnat stings compared to what Ranger would do to me if he saw me skulking

  around in the shadows spying on them.

  And then it hit me—I wouldn’t sneak around anymore. I would pretend

  to run away. They’d been expecting me to do that all night, so I would

  actually fulfill their expectations. So I hustled to the back of the building

  and started down the back alley, heading for the street that ran in front of

  the pharmacy. Hopefully, they’d spot me and put another halt to my “escape

  • 97 •

  attempt” and drive me home. Pete had plenty of time to search the store and would probably be headed out any second to report back to Mr. In-Charge.

  As I stumbled along the depressing strip of dirt, I thought how bizarre

  it was to find myself in another lonely, bleak alley. It was like my night was on constant repeat: two birthday cakes with corresponding wishes, two guys’

  laps, and two kidnapping attempts followed by my bungled attempts at

  escape. Felt like I’d landed in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

  The thunder of an engine roaring to life followed closely by wheels peeling

  off pavement let me know I was found out. I ran and made a hard right at

  the end of the alley, hustling over to the main street so they could see me. Aw man! My heart sank to my dusty boots. I got to the street just in time to see the electric-red taillights of their Hummer skim through the yellow light . . .

  and keep on going, driving way too fast to be able to see me.

  And then I realized—with another hard jolt—that they were not looking

  for me. I was stranded again. And just like that, I watched them evaporate into

  the night . . . like a wisp of smoke from one of my birthday candles.

  • 98 •

  10

  IT WAS ALL A BAD DREAM

  When I regained consciousness the next day, I knew it was late

  because the birds had ceased chirping, and the shadows in my

  room had rearranged themselves in all the wrong places. I peeked

  out from under my comforter and immediately retreated, like a turtle back

  into its shell.

  I was battered, bruised,
and confused. It felt like I’d just been through an

  epic war, had a secret midnight encounter with the devil, or quite possibly a

  tête-à-tête with the man-of-my-dreams. The possibility of all three occurrences

  happening in one night seemed too much for one mere mortal to bear. My

  mind was reeling.

  Had I fal en through the magic rabbit hole only to reemerge a few hours later

  in my bed?

  I could barely lift the covers. If it weren’t for an achingly full bladder,

  I would’ve succumbed to the exhaustion that held me hostage to my bed.

  I finally managed to rouse myself into upright position. Dag nab! Amid all my various aches and pains, the two stuffed sausages I called feet required

  my immediate attention. I cautiously drew them out to inspect the damage.

  They could’ve passed for nine-months pregnant. And the blisters would’ve

  been curling my toes, if I could’ve moved them.

  I threw my legs over the side of the bed and realized I was sore in places I

  didn’t even know existed. With fascinated horror, I inspected the large array

  of scratches and bruises decorating my arms. They also felt leaden as if I’d

  been boxing against heavyweights all night. My mind automatically flashed

  to Ranger’s hateful face.

  Even though I didn’t believe in the power of my sixth sense as strongly

  as Mama did, I had to admit: he had my internal alarm bells ringing. I could

  • 99 •

  tell he had more than just a passing dislike for me, like when two people meet and their chemistry doesn’t mesh. Somehow, it was personal, his hate. I could

  feel it. He seemed like some kind of sinister, larger-than-life character right

  up there with Voldemort, Dracula, and Darth Vador. Even his handsome face

  seemed a grotesque masking of an evil villain.

  A tremor shook me as I remembered the brute force he had used to subdue

  me, the stinging backhand I received as payback. His face exposed a barely

  veiled pleasure when I cried out in pain. I felt lucky a tattoo of contusions

  was the only physical reminder left of our encounter. That, and the ongoing

  reel of bad memories since the day we met, had me feeling like I was living

  in a nightmare.

  But intermingled with the slides depicting horror, were images of a

  different genre. Pete’s otherworldly face filled my vision. Even though I was

  unaccountably angry with him for leaving me in the lurch, an involuntary

  smile curved my lips at the memory of his mouth hovering close to mine. My

  face burned at the memory, but my body heated in a whole different way.

  The thought of him nearly kissing me nearly took me to my knees. I

  recalled the smell of his skin, the way I felt with his arms wrapped around

  me, and a crushing wave of desire overcame me. I’d never felt anything like

  this. Heady stuff. I could see how lust could strike down the most rational

  of human beings with bouts of insanity. I gave myself a mental shake; had to

  keep in mind whom he was running with—wolves ran in packs.

  As I limped across my child-size bedroom, a glint of sapphire caught my

  eye. It was the jacket Pete loaned me last night . . . well, gifted me, since I

  wouldn’t see him again to return it. My hand clutched at my chest—it was

  physically painful to realize that was a likely possibility; my whole being

  repelled the idea I would never lay eyes on him again. It was an entirely

  automatic response, like my immune system fighting off a viral invasion.

  I had to squash these feelings like a bug. They were unhealthy and un-

  useful to me. I’d been taught to focus on reality. And my reality was school

  was tomorrow. And I had a very busy day ahead of me preparing for that and

  trying to convince Mikey that cowboy boots and a cape did not constitute

  appropriate school attire.

  It required a lot of energy to go against him—energy I didn’t have today.

  Not to mention the fact that I had to celebrate my birthday. Again. It was

  the last thing I wanted to do (right behind going for a nice long walk), but it

  would disappoint the boys not to celebrate with me.

  It seemed especially off to me in light of last night’s bizarre events. It was

  like I’d woken up an entirely different person, who was sucked back in time

  • 100 •

  to her old life. Maybe it was being in the presence of their disturbing mix of good looks and charisma. Or knowing something was going on that somehow

  involved me. Something had changed. I wasn’t exactly sure what, but I kinda felt as though I’d been sleepwalking for the past couple of years.

  . . . And suddenly just woke up.

  I was hobbling down the hall when my father’s gruff voice accosted me.

  “Katie-girl, you up?”

  “Yeah, Kadee, you up yet?” Mikey echoed.

  “’m up,” I yawned.

  “Oh, yea! Drewy, she’s up!” The pitter-patter of bare feet barreling around

  the corner preceded a towel-caped crusader flying into my arms.

  “I’ll alert the media,” Andrew replied.

  No matter how much had changed for me overnight, it appeared everyone

  else had remained the same.

  “I need a word with you,” Daddy said so quietly it only implied impending

  doom.

  Uh- oh. He’d already read me the riot act last night. Even though I’d told him the car wouldn’t start, he’d still delivered his usual line: “Some people

  find excuses, others find a way.” Yeah, I’d wanted to say, find a way home . . .

  no thanks to you. Instead, I’d just hung my head while I listened to his tirade until I’d about passed-out on the couch.

  I sighed deeply. “Okay, Daddy. Give me a minute.” I dove into the

  bathroom I shared with my brothers to pee and gather my wits about me.

  Gah! The reflection that met me was gasp worthy: puffy eyes, puffier lips, hair that resembled a rat’s nest. And there was a faint bluish tint on my left

  cheek that, if measured, would exactly fit Ranger’s handprint. Then there was

  the angry scratch writhing around my neck before disappearing behind my

  left ear. Short of wearing a turtleneck, there was little I could do to hide this.

  Oh well . . . I’d just have to come up with yet another lie to tell Daddy.

  Hmmm. Usually, I felt a twinge of guilt for the lies I deemed necessary to tell.

  Today that feeling was noticeably absent. Hopefully, his lie detector would be

  as inoperable this morning as it was last night. He was really out of it, which

  was probably why I got off so lightly. It wasn’t like him to just let things go

  so quickly. Daddy usually liked to stretch the punishments out for a longer

  duration of time, then, just when you thought it was finally over, he’d take it

  out like a cartoon mallet to bop you over the head.

  But you know what? I didn’t even care anymore. He was just another

  problem for me to solve. Like an algebraic equation, he was easily solvable

  once you knew the right numbers to plug in. Nope, I was no longer concerned

  • 101 •

  about my father. I had bigger fish to fry—like two mysterious guys prowling around town in an XXL SUV.

  After vigorously rubbing the sleep from my eyes with harsh cold water,

  I came up dripping to stare at them in the mirror. I recalled the words Pete

  whispered in my ear , and a delayed shiver ran down my spine.

 
; I peered closer at the miniature of myself reflected in the onyx of my eyes,

  noticing again how small the ring of blue iris was in relation to my pupils.

  When asked what color my eyes were people—who’d known me my whole

  life—often came up blank. It was hard to recognize the color when so little

  of it was represented. I’d never really thought much about it, since I’d been

  staring at my own reflection my whole life. It seemed a normal Connelly trait

  like long limbs or stubborn pride.

  Except I’d always noticed how almost painfully blue my father’s eyes were

  compared to mine, a lot like Ranger’s. (That was the second comparison I’d

  made of the domineering males in a week.) But Ranger’s eyes were even more

  conspicuous, almost neon sitting in contrast to his dark skin and hair. An

  unlikely combination of DNA.

  Thinking about odd contrasts pulled Pete’s face into my mind yet again.

  So much for shaking him off. Both of them were unequivocally two of the

  best-looking guys I’d ever seen. Probably that anyone had ever seen. They

  were both one in a million—in more ways than one—which made them

  more like one in a bil ion. But while Ranger was dark-haired, light-eyed, and dangerous, Pete was almost exactly opposite. His hair was a golden hue, with

  eyes so dark and shiny they almost appeared wet, like he was on the verge of

  tears. This seemed contrary to his personality because good humor seemed

  to be his natural disposition. I thought of his sensual mouth quirking up into

  a smile and my insides went soft again.

  Dang it! I had to stop this obsession. Pete might not be malicious like Ranger, who wore it on his sleeve like a badge of honor, but he was still

  dangerous. If for no other reason than he belonged to that organization, he

  was not to be trusted. No matter how appealing I found him, he was on Team

  IEA, and therefore . . . my natural enemy.

  I finished obsessing about the same time I finished dressing (in a buttoned-

  to-the-top top). Shuffling out to the living room, I found Andrew and Mikey

  belly-sprawled across the floor, faces planted in an animal book.

  Andrew looked up lazily from turning the page, eyes sparkling mischief.

  “What took you so long? . . . Don’tja know the early bird gets the worm?” He

  was, of course, mocking Daddy, who was completely oblivious that Andrew