Almost Midnight (42 page)

“Okay.” She took a few steps then she turned around to watch him walk away. He took a few more steps then he glanced back at her. Their eyes met and they both smiled. Warmth and something wonderful filled Fredericka's chest.

Then embarrassed, she went to look for the right flowers. She'd just turned down an aisle when she heard someone, a female someone call out, “Brandon, is that you?”

Shifting to where she could peer through the pansies, and not be seen spying, she saw a woman walk up to Brandon. She looked around thirty and wore her light blond hair in a ponytail.

“Katie,” Brandon said.

The first thing Fredericka noted was that he didn't turn his scarred side of his face away from the woman. The second thing she noticed was how Brandon glanced back to see if she was still there.

“Yeah,” Brandon said, and again looked to where she'd been standing a few seconds earlier.

“I got your call.” She gave him a quick hug.

A crazy thought hit. Was this woman his girlfriend? She looked a little old for him, but maybe he liked older women.

“Sorry, I was out of town Thursday and Friday. Did you need anything?” She frowned. “Oh, my. Do we know anything else?”

Anything else about what?

“No. Still nothing. The sheriff came by, but had nothing new.”

Curiosity piqued and she tilted her head to make sure not to miss anything.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said.

Sorry about what?

“Yeah.” Brandon gave the aisle another glance. “The reason I called is that I … hired one of your students and I just … well, I kind of wanted a character witness.”

Student?
Was he talking about her? Fredericka felt her shoulders tighten when she realized she hadn't told Brandon what school she attended, but her address had listed the school. He must have assumed she went to Fallen High School.

“A Ricka Lakota,” Brandon said.

Air hitched in Fredericka's throat. She shouldn't blame him for wanting to check her out before hiring her, but oddly it felt like an insult. Hadn't she been judged enough in life?

“I don't have a student by that name,” the woman said.

“She's a senior,” Brandon replied.

“Sorry.” Katie shook her head.

“Is there another school around here?” he asked.

“Parker High, but it's about twenty-five miles away. Oh, wait.” The woman made a face. “There that's school for troubled kids. Shadow something? You don't think she's from there, do you? I mean, I've seen a few of those kids around town, and let's just say they make me nervous.”

Trepidation filled Fredericka's stomach.

“I'm sure I just misunderstood,” Brandon said, but something in his voice told her he knew he hadn't.

And what was he planning on doing about it? Dread started unraveling the newfound happiness she'd found these last few hours.

*   *   *

“Did you find the right flowers?” Brandon asked as he came and stood beside her.

“Yeah, I think these yellow ones and those red ones. They'll die if we get a freeze, but how often does it freeze here?”

“Not that often,” he said. “You want to go check out the paint?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him, still giving her the unscarred side of his face, when he hadn't felt compelled to hide from Katie. And she heard it in his tone, that slight difference as if he no longer trusted her.

That hurt.

But it shouldn't, she told herself. She'd been judged all her life. Just not from the human world. Why would they be any different?

They selected the paint, bought some tools to get ready to paint, paid for everything, and set up the delivery for the next day. Brandon hardly spoke to her. And she noted that he never hid his scars from the salesclerk.

With the small bag containing the wire brush and scraper in his hands, and obviously with Katie's warning in his head, Brandon led the way out of the store.

While unstrapping the helmets, he asked, “Do you take art in school?”

Fredericka tensed. “Why don't you just ask the question, instead of dancing around it?”

He looked up, forgetting for one second about his scars, and then shifted. “Ask what question?”

She stiffened her shoulders and decided to just put it out there. “I heard what that woman, Katie, said to you.”

He blinked, looking a little confused, but not at all embarrassed. “How could you have heard, you weren't around.”

“I don't know, maybe your voices carried, the point is that I heard it.”

He stood there for several seconds just staring. “Okay.” After a few more long seconds he asked, “What school do you go to?”

She lifted her chin, refusing to appear ashamed. “Shadow Falls Camp. And for the record I never kept that from you. On the contract, it's listed along with my address. It's not my fault that you assumed incorrectly. And it's not my fault that some people like to judge others before knowing the facts.”

His eyes tightened. “I'm assuming you are talking about the comment Katie made about the school.”

“You assume correctly,” she said.

He stood there, a beat of silence too long. “Okay. What are the facts? What kind of school is it?”

Fredericka remembered hearing Holiday set one of the local residents straight about the school and she repeated almost verbatim what she'd said. “It's a camp and school for the gifted. Teens who are a bit different, but need a place to grow. Since the camp started over four years ago, there hasn't been one arrest of a student. I doubt that Fallen High School can claim the same.”

He continued to just stand there. “Have you ever been arrested?”

His question stung. “Have you?”

He tensed. “I'm hiring you.”

“Yeah, and I'm working for you, and I even saw the cops show up at your place. But I guess I'm not so fast to judge people.” She tilted her head back. “But to answer your question, no, I have never been arrested.” Her sins had never been reported to local police. And even if they had, she wasn't sure the courts would have held her as responsible as she herself did.

He inhaled. “The cops weren't there about me.” His shoulders dropped. “I'm sorry. I think.” He frowned.

“You think?” she asked. She'd never heard anyone apologize and take it back in the same breath.

“Yeah, I think. I mean, I'm hiring you. I have a right to ask questions.”

“And I'm working for you, so do I not have the same rights?” she asked. And before he answered, and before she considered what she was doing, she tossed the question out that bothered her the most. “Why do you hide your scars from me, but you didn't from Katie, or the salesclerks?”

He frowned and freed the first helmet, then handed it to her. His gaze met hers and he didn't turn his cheek this time.

“Maybe I care more about how you see me than how they do?”

His words had her frustration evaporating. And she realized instantly what a hypocrite she was.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't be.” She heard it in his voice. He hated pity as much as she did.

“No, that's not what I meant.” She paused. “I meant … I shouldn't call you out for hiding your scars when … I'm…” She pulled her jacket off and tugged her unbuttoned shirt that she always wore over a tank top off her shoulder and down her arm. “When you're not the only one hiding.”

His gaze widened when he saw the tightly pulled marks the size of a teaspoon that ran up her forearm. She knew the exact shape and size, because it had been a heated teaspoon that had made the marks.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it. He shook his head, his eyes filled with empathy. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” She repeated his own words and then pulled her shirt up and slipped the warm leather jacket back on. The realization hit then. She'd never willingly shown anyone her scars. Was it because he had them, too? What exactly was the lure she felt for this guy?

A car pulled into the lot and parked right across from them. Brandon glanced at the car and then looked at her. “Can we talk about this…”

“Later.” She finished for him and nodded.

He put on his helmet and she started to do the same when she heard footsteps approaching from behind her. Her next intake of air brought with it a were scent. The air locked in her lungs as she recognized the trace.

“Fredericka, what are you doing?”

 

Chapter Seven

Fredericka turned and looked at Cary, now standing right behind her. He stared at the motorcycle helmet she held in her hand, then he looked up at Brandon. His gaze shot to his forehead hidden beneath the helmet.

She knew he wanted to see his pattern, and probably considered it rude for him to be hiding it. Then she saw him lift his head slightly to take a big nose full of air, hoping his scent would tell him Brandon's species.

From the puzzled look in the teacher's eyes, she knew he found it as puzzling as she did. Tension built so fast that Fredericka's mind rushed to find a way to put a stop to what could be a huge disaster.

“Mr. Cannon, this is Brandon,” she spoke quickly. “Brandon Hart, he owns the gallery. I'm helping him get the gallery fixed up for the opening.” Fredericka's gaze went to Brandon, who looked as puzzled at Cary. “This is Cary Cannon, he's my history teacher.”

Brandon's expression softened with the introduction. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He extended his hand.

Cary ignored Brandon's hand, and his gaze shifted back to her. She saw his eyes start to brighten.

“How is driving around on a motorcycle helping with the gallery?” Cary asked.

Fredericka sensed Brandon's concern as he dropped his hand. Her own shoulders tightened and she felt her hackles start to rise. Trying not to let emotion brighten her eyes, she blinked and took in a deep breath.

“We were picking out paint,” she said. “And we were leaving,” she added. “So if you will excuse us.” She started putting on the helmet.

“Can I speak with you a second?” Cary caught her elbow. His hold was a bit too tight. She felt her eyes grow warmer, a telltale sign that her eyes were lightening.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon's gaze go to Cary's hand grasping her elbow. Not wanting any trouble, she looked at Brandon, praying her eyes were not so bright he'd notice. “Excuse me one second.”

She started walking away, and Cary didn't remove his hand. She got a few feet away, turned her back toward Brandon, and then seethed. “Let go of me.”

He did, but his frown said he disliked her tone. Thankfully, she didn't give a frack about what he liked or disliked.

“What is he?” he asked.

“My boss,” she offered, knowing what he really asked, but too pissed to answer.

“You know what I mean.”

She had to take a few gulps of air to calm herself enough to explain. “I got just what you got.” Meaning his scent.

“And yet you are hanging out with him?”

“I work with him at the gallery.” The fact that she wanted a completely different kind of relationship wasn't any of Cary's damn business.

“I think Holiday would be very disappointed in you,” he growled.

“Holiday knows where I am!”

“Then dare I say I'm disappointed in you. Since when do you go around flaunting yourself to the likes of him?”

Her mouth dropped open. “First, I'm not flaunting myself. Second, if I was flaunting myself it's my prerogative. So take your attitude and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.”

“What about us?” he growled.

“How many times do I have to tell you that there isn't an ‘us.' There never was an us. Just an idea of us. And I no longer like that idea! And frankly neither did you when you made plans to leave first thing this summer.”

“You are dumping me for him?”

“No, I told you that you and I weren't going to make it before I ever interviewed at the gallery.”

“But you aren't denying that you and he are more than employer and employee?”

“I don't have to deny anything to you.”

“Fine, but you'll regret this,” he snapped, his threat clear in his tone.

She looked at his bright eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Holiday and Burnett trust me. If I go to them with problems about someone, don't you think they'll listen?”

She immediately understood what he was saying. “What problems? I haven't done anything!”

“But who do you think they'd trust more, me or one of their freeloading students?” he said. “So why don't you just come back with me?”

“Why don't you go to hell! I'm pretty sure there's a special spot for you there.” She didn't know what made her angrier: the blackmail threat, or his freeloading comment. Because damn him, she wasn't freeloading. She'd already spoken to Holiday about paying her back.

She swung around and left Cary.

She walked over to Brandon who stood watching them, concern tightening his expression. Aware her eyes were probably a pissed-off orange, she glanced away, keeping her eyes away from his gaze. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears and she recognized the emotions making it race. And it wasn't just anger.

Fear.

If I go to them with problems about someone, don't you think they'll listen?
As much as she wished it wasn't so, Cary was right. Holiday and Burnett would believe Cary over her. How could they not? She was, after all, the daughter of a rogue.

“Let's go,” she said, glancing down and busying her hands by putting on the helmet.

Brandon hesitated one second. “Fine, but it's another thing I'm going to need an explanation about.” He crawled onto the bike and she crawled on behind him.

She wrapped her arms around Brandon and leaned in. “Cary Cannon is an asshole. How's that for an explanation?”