15 Targeted (3 page)

The second reason he didn’t shoot was that he saw the way Emily interacted with the younglings. During his first observation one of them had fallen, scraping a chubby knee on the hard walkway that ran between the school buildings. The young one had run crying to Emily, her knee seeping blood, her eyes awash with tears.

Here we go…
Tragar’s finger had tightened on the trigger. Surely the sight of blood would bring out the ravening monster Two had sworn lurked in the innocent looking girl’s breast. He was ready to shoot her down the moment she went for the youngling’s throat.

But instead of going feral—becoming a thing of teeth and claws and appetite—the girl he had been sent to kill gathered the youngling into her arms. She dried the little female’s tears and said some words of consolation—too low for Tragar to understand though he had been studying her language for days now.

The little female had quieted, obviously feeling safe and comforted in the arms of Tragar’s target, who still showed no signs of attacking. Gradually, his finger had loosened on the trigger and then he had put down the rifle altogether and just watched.

Gods, it reminded him of Landra…the way she was with Jalex when he hurt himself…

No!
Tragar had pushed the memory away. He took a deep breath.
I do not allow my past to dictate my present or my future. There is no then. There is only here and now. There is only the target.

It was a
Verrak
saying—a necessary reminder since most of those in his elite brotherhood came from a background of loss and sorrow. But though he repeated it to himself over and over, he still hadn’t been able to kill Emily Brooks. Not then and not now, ten days later.

He studied her—watching her wipe at her eyes with a hand that trembled. Why was she crying? What had agitated her so? For a moment he imagined holding her against him and asking her what was wrong. It was foolish of course—a fantasy that could never come true. But there was no denying she would be pleasant to hold.

She had a lush body hidden beneath her shapeless garments—he could tell. It was a shame she didn’t wear clothing that showed her shape, but just the outline of her curves was tantalizing. Not that he was supposed to be looking at her that way—she was only another target, after all. Still, those full breasts and rounded hips…

A burning sensation in his left arm brought him back to reality. It was the
narsh—
the mark of the
Verrak—
given to him when he first passed the trials and took the oath. Tragar looked down at the thick black lines criss-crossing his muscular arm from shoulder to wrist. The
narsh
burned to remind him that he had a job outstanding—a commission as yet undone.

Tragar ignored it. He was used to doing so. He almost never took jobs with time limits on them, preferring to take his time and get every detail exactly right.

I just need to know her,
he argued with himself.
Need to find out what’s so special—what makes her dangerous before I pull the trigger.

And so he watched…and waited. Soon, he would kill her soon.

But not…just…yet.

Chapter Two

“You’re late—where have you been?” Mrs. Peltz’s narrow face was a mask of rigid disapproval.

“I’m so sorry! I…I got sick,” Emily said, grasping for the first explanation she could think of. Really, it was true—seeing herself morph into a stranger in the mirror could certainly be considered an illness, though not of the physical variety.

“Well if you’re that ill maybe you’d better take a sick day.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Emily muttered. “I’m certainly, uh…ill.” For the first time she wondered if she ought to seek medical attention—was it safe for her to be around her class if she was having delusions? But it wasn’t like she was having violent urges or anything. And she’d been through this before, in college and hadn’t hurt anyone.
No, you were the one who got hurt,
whispered a little voice in her head.
You were the one who got—

“Shut up!”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Peltz’s iron-gray eyebrows were raised nearly to her hairline.
“What
did you just say to me?”

Oh God, had she said that out loud?

“I’m sorry. I…I thought one of my kids was talking too loud in the library.” Emily gestured at her class who were happily browsing through the easy reader stacks, still assisted by Ms. Andrews who was helping them find books to check out.

“And so you yelled ‘
shut up’
at them?” Mrs. Peltz’s eyebrows were in danger of disappearing completely. “Is
that
how you speak to your class?”

“No, I…” Emily shook her head, realizing that she had just made things much,
much
worse for herself. “I’m sorry,” she muttered desperately. “I just…I’m just not feeling well.”

“Are you
on
something?” The librarian’s eyes narrowed. “Some kind of medication?”

“What? No!” Emily snapped, stung into raising her voice. “No, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the way you’re acting, young lady.” Mrs. Peltz frowned at her. “First neglecting your class, then shouting at them? It seems to me that
someone
ought to know about that.”

“I told you, I’m just feeling sick.” Emily wished she didn’t sound so defensive. “Honestly, Mrs. Peltz, that’s all it is.”

“Well…” The librarian sniffed, her long, boney nose wrinkling as though she smelled something bad. “You’d better get yourself together in a hurry. Ms. Lane’s class is due here any minute and your library time is almost up.”

“Thank you. I’ll get my kids.” Emily nodded her head humbly.

She managed to herd her class into a line at the circulation desk and made sure they all had their library folders so Mrs. Peltz could check them out. As she did, the librarian stared at Emily with thin-lipped disapproval. Emily tried not to show any emotion but inside she was alternately seething and worrying.

How dare the librarian imply that she was on some kind of drugs? And who would she tell if she was feeling suspicious enough—or mean enough—to seek out someone in the upper administration? George Washington Elementary was in a very nice area of Carrollwood—one of Tampa’s upper class neighborhoods. Teachers were held to the highest standards and any kind of personal problems were frowned upon.

It seemed to take forever to get all the kids checked out but finally Emily had them lined up at the library exit door with Avery at the head of the line, looking at her expectantly. She was about to tell him to go when the entrance door opened and Julia Lane walked in with her own class.

“Oh Julie, hi!” Emily was glad to see a friendly face. Julia taught first grade and she was a friendly, open, happy girl with honey blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was also skinny, but Emily didn’t hold that against her.

“Ems!” Julie smiled as her class filed into the library, then frowned as she got a better look at her. “What’s wrong? You’re pale as paper and sweating like crazy!”

“I…I’m fine.” Emily passed a trembling hand over her damp forehead. Damn it, Julie was right—she was sweating. “Just not feeling great right now. It’s uh…that time of the month. You know,” she said, using the same excuse she’d given Mrs. Peltz. Actually she hadn’t had a period in ages—her cycle had stopped around the time the strange heat waves and dreams began. But it was a quick and easy way to explain why she felt bad.

“You poor thing!” Julie squeezed her arm sympathetically. “Maybe you should go home if they can find you a sub. Of course if you do that, you’ll miss meeting Mr. Grayson.”

“Mr. who?” The name sent an ugly shock through Emily’s entire body, making her feel as though someone had just pricked her with a very large, very sharp pin.

“You know—the new vice principal!” Julie lowered her voice. “Oh, and he’s
cute
too. If Dan and I weren’t engaged…” She winked expressively and Emily managed to manufacture a weak laugh.

“Wow, sounds hot. Guess I’d better stick around.”

“Not if you feel bad. You ought to go.”

“I’ll try,” Emily promised.

“Well, just take care of yourself. Oh—and did you hear the other news? The school’s name change is going through.”

“Really?” Emily tried to act like she cared. But right now, she didn’t give a dman what her school was called, she just wanted to get out of there.

“Uh-huh.” Julie nodded. “No more plain old George Washington Elementary. Effective immediately we’re going to be CFAE—the Center for Academic Excellence. Sounds pretty hoity-toity, huh?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Emily shrugged. Personally, she thought the new name sounded stupid but it was typical of their principal who was always looking for ways to raise the school’s profile.

“I know. I just—” Julie started to say.

“Ms. Lane, Ms. Brooks, are you two going to take charge of your classes or stand here talking all day? We have volunteers here to help out but it is not their job to police your students,” Mrs. Peltz’s sharp voice cut into their conversation.

“Sorry!” Emily got her class, which was getting antsy anyway, moving out the exit door.

“Talk to you later,” Julie said, throwing the librarian an unfriendly look.

“Sure.” Emily nodded a goodbye at her friend, trying not to feel the sharp eyes of the librarian boring into her back.

As she walked back to her classroom with her students in a line behind her, she couldn’t help remembering Julie’s words about the new vice principal. She’d known that GWE was getting one—the old vice principal, Mrs. Adams, had been about a thousand years old and had finally retired much to everyone’s relief. She’d been a crusty old bat with very rigid ideas about discipline and proper behavior. And since the principal, Ms. Edwards, was a social butterfly who preferred to promote the school with fund raising events and exposure in the local media, much of the day-to-day running of the school had been left to her.

When Mrs. Adams had finally stepped down, there had been a lot of speculation as to who would be taking her place. Emily had been as interested as anyone. But the name Grayson…she shivered. It sent a cold chill down her spine.

It’s nothing,
she told herself uneasily.
Grayson is a really common name. It’s no big deal.

She hoped.

When Emily got her class back to their room, she settled them down by sending them to their favorite centers even though center time wasn’t supposed to be until after lunch. They played more or less quietly in their favorite spots—the sand and water table, the home tasks station, the art area—and she had time to relax and try to regain control.

It’s all right,
she told herself over and over again.
It’ll pass. It passed in college, didn’t it?
Of course, the strange heat waves and dreams hadn’t passed until after what Emily had come to refer to as “the incident.” And she certainly didn’t want to go through
that
again—not even to stop the bizarre changes that seemed to be happening to her body.

One thing was clear—she couldn’t keep coming to work like this. It wasn’t fair to the children under her care. Reluctantly, she decided to take some personal leave.

I’ll ask for some time off—say that a family member is ill or that my grandmother died or something—anything to get a few days off. Maybe I can go someplace—Grandpa’s cabin up in the Blue Ridge—and clear my head.

It was an appealing thought. It seemed to Emily if she could just get away from the city—maybe go up into the mountains—then the clear, fresh air might help her. Might blow away the frightening dreams and strange fantasies of the
other
she kept glimpsing in the mirror and leave her free to live her life in peace again.