Hemlock (23 page)

I let out a choked, skeptical laugh. “We can’t just go back to the way things were. We can’t pretend nothing’s happened.” There were cigarette burns on the carpet and I scuffed at them with the edge of my Skechers as I let out a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry for the way I acted after Heather. I was freaked out.” I looked up and met his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I want to go back to the way things were. Even if I thought it was best—which I don’t—I couldn’t. I can’t just hide how I feel, like there’s a faucet I can turn on and off.”

“Why not?” asked Kyle, his voice sharp, like a piece of wood snapping under too much weight. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“And whose fault is that?” I tossed back, suddenly defensive.

He couldn’t choose to keep his feelings secret and then blame me He couldn’t choose to keep his feelings secret and then blame me for the pain it caused. “If you had told me how you felt two years ago, then maybe none of this would be happening right now.”

Kyle looked as though he had been struck.

For a split second, I felt a horrible sense of satisfaction, but then it was gone and I somehow felt worse. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” I swalowed. “What if I don’t give up? What if we go through everything in the police report and I stil keep going? Wil you stay?”

Kyle grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “If we get to the end of the police report and don’t find anything, then I don’t think there’s anything to find. If you want to spend the rest of your life chasing ghosts, I can’t stop you.” He took a deep breath. “But you’l have to do it without me.”

“Do you think I can just forget about Amy?” I demanded, suddenly so angry. “Not al of us are as good at tossing people aside as you are.”

He froze. “That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true.” My pulse thundered in my ears and the words came out rapid-fire, like bulets. “First, you kiss me. And then you tel me it was a mistake. Then you show up at my apartment to tel me that you’re going to leave town—oh, but maybe you’l stay for a while because you’re worried I’l get into trouble.” Tears filed my eyes and spiled over. I didn’t bother wiping them away. For once I
wanted
someone to see me cry. I wanted Kyle to know he had hurt me. “And then you’re suddenly okay with being some sort of quasi-friend-with-benefits as long as I know there’s an of quasi-friend-with-benefits as long as I know there’s an expiration date. And before I can even get used to that, you get mad because I caled the wrong person during my near-death experience and had trouble dealing afterwards.” My voice broke.

“You keep picking me up and putting me down. Why is it so easy for you to throw me away?”

The door to the drama room opened.

“Did it hurt?” a giggling, female voice asked.

I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and turned toward the interruption.

Jason stood in the door, the light from the halway bouncing off his blond hair like a halo. The girl I’d seen him with on Wednesday

—the one with the
Hunt or be Hunted
T-shirt—was draped over him, one finger tracing the tattoo on his neck.

“Ooops,” she said, catching sight of Kyle and me. “I guess the room is taken.”

Jason brushed her hair back and murmured something in her ear.

She went completely stil and then shot a murderous glare in my direction before turning on her heel and leaving. She slammed the door on her way out.

For a moment, none of us moved and the air seemed to grow thick. Then Jason stroled across the room.

There was nothing in his walk to give him away—he didn’t weave or lurch—but he was wearing sunglasses. Inside. At noon.

He slipped them off, revealing eyes so bloodshot they looked as though they’d been sandblasted. He squinted in the dim light, like even that much ilumination was enough to make his head hurt.

even that much ilumination was enough to make his head hurt.

He glanced from me to Kyle and grinned. I had the feeling angels probably smiled like that—right before they fel. “Uh-oh.

Trouble in paradise already?”

Great. It was probably obvious that I’d been crying. “Don’t start.” I glanced at Kyle. His posture, his expression, the curve of his mouth—they were al hard, like he was steeling himself for a fight.

“I mean, if you two crazy kids can’t make it work, then—”

“God!” I whirled on Jason. “What part of ‘don’t start’ do you not get?”

He held up his hands and backed away. “I was just making an observation.”

“No, you were being a jerk,” said Kyle, the faintest hint of a growl in his voice.

Jason snorted as he reached into his jacket pocket and slid out a bottle. “At least I didn’t just make her cry.” He peered at my face as he unscrewed the lid. “I’ve always wondered what you looked like when you cried. Actualy, I’ve sort of always wondered if you had tear ducts.” He took a swig from the bottle. “Even at Amy’s funeral, I didn’t see you shed a single tear.”

I saw a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye, and then Kyle slammed Jason into the wal, baling one hand in the front of Jason’s shirt.

The bottle Jason had been holding hit the carpet with a dul thump, and the amber contents spiled over the floor. He made a choking noise as the colar of his shirt dug into his neck.

The muscles in Kyle’s arms trembled, not with the effort of The muscles in Kyle’s arms trembled, not with the effort of pinning Jason to the wal, but with the strain of holding back, of not crushing him. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. Not after everything you’ve put her through.”

“Stop it, Kyle!” I ran forward and put a hand on his arm. His skin was damp with sweat and his muscles writhed under my touch. Jason was too intent on staring Kyle down to notice, but the primitive parts of my brain—the ones that told me to hide during thunderstorms or not reach out and touch fire—screamed at me to back away from the angry werewolf.

“Everything I’ve put her through?” Jason’s voice was hoarse with the effort of speaking. “Wasn’t it your fleabag ex who attacked her yesterday?”

“Shut up, Jason.” I puled on Kyle’s arm. “Please, Kyle. Just let him go.”

“Did you know what Heather was?” Jason rasped. “Because if you knew what she was and didn’t report her, then you’re the reason Mac almost got hurt.”

Kyle let go and stepped back so quickly that Jason slid to the floor.

“At least I tried to protect her. Why don’t you ask her how she realy got that cut on her forehead or that bandage she’s been wearing around her wrist?”

“Kyle!” If he told Jason the truth about what had happened, Derby might come after al of us.

Jason pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “What are you talking—”

talking—”

I cut him off. “Did it ever occur to either of you that maybe
Mac
doesn’t need protecting? That maybe
Mac
finds your he-man acts both insulting and chauvinistic? In case you haven’t noticed,
Mac
is pretty good at taking care of herself.”

Kyle cleared his throat. He looked exhausted and wary. “Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, gaze darting from one to the other.

“I thought it lent a sense of gravity to what I was saying.”

Jason straightened his shirt. “What’s ‘chauvinistic’ mean?”

“It’s in the dictionary next to a picture of your father,” muttered Kyle.

I threw up my hands. “What? So next time I’m just supposed to let you fight?” Never mind that they were best friends or that Kyle could have shifted right then and there.

Jason nodded. “Yes. Preferably with your cel out and recording so we can post it to YouTube.”

Kyle almost cracked a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but the drama room door suddenly opened and Alexis Perry stepped inside. Her pixielike face lit up when she saw Jason, but her smile slipped when she noticed Kyle and me.

“Derby sent me to find you. Your phone is off.”

Jason shrugged. “I was sick of getting emails every two minutes.” He didn’t look especialy happy to see Alexis, which was a smal relief. Given the way she had chased after Jimmy Tyler like some sort of Tracker groupie, it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned her attention on Jason.

As if to confirm my suspicion, voice ful of concern, she said, As if to confirm my suspicion, voice ful of concern, she said,

“Don’t tel Derby that’s why it wasn’t on, he’l get mad.”

Jason roled his eyes. “Alexis, go downstairs and tel them I’l be there in a minute.”

I’d heard that voice plenty of times, but I never thought I’d hear it from Jason. It was his father’s voice. Arrogant and dismissive.

Like everyone and everything was beneath him.

“Jason—”

“Go.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, shooting him a wounded look before she turned and left.

“You’re going somewhere with Derby?”

Jason glared at me, and the fierceness in his eyes matched the tone he had used on Alexis. “Derby trusts me enough not to keep things from me.”

“That’s not fair. There are things you haven’t told me, either.

Like what realy happened with Amy.”

“I . . .” For a heartbeat, his expression softened; then he gave a smal shake of his head. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

He pushed past us and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Without pausing, Jason said a single word. “Hunting.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

I KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF APARTMENT SIX AND checked the time on my phone: 8:30 p.m. After what seemed like forever, Ben opened the door.

“Mac?”

He stepped aside and I hovered in the entrance. I hadn’t been down here very often. Ben spent so much time at our place that Tess had been trying—unsuccessfuly—to convince him to just move his things upstairs. After al, it wasn’t like they had just started going out; they’d been together for almost a year.

And it wasn’t like he had a lot of stuff to move. Ben gave new meaning to the term
spartan
. Most of the furniture he did own al looked like it had come from a thrift store stuck in the 1970s.

“I need a favor.” Not the smoothest opening. “Tess has Dragon, and I was wondering . . . if you don’t have plans tonight . . .”

“You want to borrow my truck?”

I nodded.

Ben walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbed his keys, and then hesitated. “Does Tess know you’re going out?”

“I didn’t have a chance to tel her, but I’m just going to the mal.

I need girl stuff.” I didn’t like lying to Ben, but I knew he’d never I need girl stuff.” I didn’t like lying to Ben, but I knew he’d never loan me the truck if he knew where I was realy going.

He started to ask a question but thought better of it and tossed me the keys. “It’s parked out front.”

That was the great thing about guys: mention the phrase
girl
stuff
and you could get away with almost anything.

I curled my hand around the keys. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be out too late. And be careful.” Ben frowned, like he was trying to remember if there was anything else a responsible adult—even one who was only five years older—would tel me.

“I’l be fine.”

With a shrug, he let me go.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the wind was starting to pick up. I buttoned my jacket as I headed for Ben’s ancient blue Ford.

I heard a shout and glanced across the lawn to the apartment building next door. A group of men were headed up the walkway.

Though it was dark, I thought I recognized one of the guys who had been with Jason the night he dropped off the police report.

My stomach lurched as I watched them disappear inside.

Maybe it was nothing, maybe they were just meeting someone, but I couldn’t help thinking about Leah and the day a group of Trackers had stormed into our apartment building. Jason had said he was going hunting . . .

Even if they were grabbing someone, there wasn’t anything I could do—however much I might have wanted to. They had the ful support of the police department. Of Amy’s grandfather. Of almost everyone.

almost everyone.

I practicaly ran to Ben’s truck, as though I thought I could outpace my guilt. I puled myself up into the cab, trying to use my left wrist as little as possible and barely wincing when I failed. I probably didn’t even need the bandage anymore.

I started the engine and headed for the Meadows. Maybe I was cracking up, but Amy had said “knights and bishops” in one of my dreams, and I couldn’t get that out of my head. The detective who had started the investigation was named Bishop. Maybe my subconscious had been trying to tel me to go talk to him.

A smal voice in the back of my head whispered that I should cal Kyle, that I shouldn’t go on my own. I ignored it.

He had made it clear that he was staying in town only until we found out something about Amy. If Bishop did have answers, I wanted time to process them before figuring out how much to tel Kyle.

Plus, he had practicaly bolted from the drama room after Jason left. With a sinking feeling, I realized that I wasn’t even sure if Kyle and I were stil talking to each other. In three years of friendship, we’d never had a real fight.

No, it was better if I just went on my own—even if the address that came up when I googled
Mike Bishop
was in the worst part of town.

It only took me ten minutes to get there.

Every place I’d ever lived had one neighborhood with the worst reputation. In Hemlock, that area was a four-by-two-block stretch nicknamed the Meadows—so caled because it had almost as many vacant lots as it did ramshackle buildings.

many vacant lots as it did ramshackle buildings.

City council was always complaining that the area was an eyesore and a magnet for crime. They should have tried spending the night in some of the places Hank had rented.

I was driving past an abandoned basketbal court with cracked asphalt and rotting nets when the truck made a horrible grinding noise and shuddered to a halt.

I tried the ignition. Nothing.