Nearly Gone (15 page)

I shoveled all my loose change from my pockets into the machine and it spit a ticket into my waiting hand. I jammed it into the turnstile and bolted down the escalator, where the next train was already waiting. Departure lights flashed at the edge of the concrete, and I slipped between the closing doors, breathing hard.

The Yellow Line out of Huntington Station was mostly empty, heading into the city against rush hour. Full cars packed with standing passengers in suits rushed by in the opposite direction. I grabbed the handrail as the train picked up speed, leaning against the route map by the door. I ticked off the landmarks in my head, counting down the stops, and grateful every time we surfaced that daylight remained.

I changed trains at L’Enfant Plaza, pushing past suits and ties, bumping into briefcases at every turn. When my Blue Line train finally stopped at Smithsonian Station, I ran up the escalator, squeezing past slow movers. Early-evening sun filtered through the escalator shaft. I stepped out into a wall of humid city heat and jockeyed past a cart of hanging souvenir T-shirts that blew in my way, stopping briefly to orient myself against the National Mall.

The Washington Monument pierced the sky to my left. The Capitol Building stretched the horizon on my right, a mile of museums and galleries flanking the lawns between. I flew past them, crossing 7th Street and following the manicured perimeter. The dipping sun cast a long, narrow shadow before me like the second hand of a clock. Taxis blared horns when I jumped between two parked school buses, emerging before the sprawling white walls spanning an entire block of Jefferson Avenue. The National Air and Space Museum.

I stood on the steps, doubled over with runner cramps, sweat trailing down my shirt. When I straightened, I was staring up two stories of glass and stone. The sleek face of the building seemed to reflect the enormity of my mission. I turned back to the long line of yellow buses at the curb and found the small bus marked
Fairfax County Public Schools
sandwiched between countless others.

Teddy was still here.
I took the steps two at a time. I knew this museum, like I knew all the others from years of countless school field trips. The familiar sterile smell hit me as I pulled open the heavy glass doors. I walked right through the security checkpoint, carrying only my hoodie through the scanners and grateful I’d had the presence of mind to leave my backpack in my locker. A bag search would only slow me down.
I darted through the lobby to the welcome desk.
“Excuse me,” I said, breathless and damp. “I’m looking for a tour group from West River High School. Do you know where I can find them?”
The woman behind the counter looked at me, her face pinched and her posture rigid in her starchy Smithsonian blazer. Conscious of her stare, I withdrew my newsprintcovered hands from the desk.
“I’m sorry, dear.” She eyed me, taking in every detail of my appearance with a tight smile. “I have no idea where they might be. Would you like me to have someone paged?”
“No,” I said quickly when she reached for her phone. “That’s okay. I’ll find them.” I couldn’t have him paged. Couldn’t attract that much attention to myself.
I turned, pausing at two stories of thousands of people. The killer wanted me to find Teddy. He would make it easy. There had to be a message, a clue I wasn’t seeing.
I turned back to the clerk.
“Has anyone left a message? Maybe an envelope?” Doubt clung heavy to each word.
The woman opened a drawer. “Let me check. What’s the last name?”
I hesitated, remembering the visitor’s log at the hospital, my gut telling me it was pointless to lie.
“Boswell,” I finally said, turned away to scan the crowd.
“Here you are, Miss Boswell.” The woman slid a white envelope across the counter, my name printed in crisp blue letters across the front. “This must be for you.”
My arm was heavy as I reached across the desk. I drew a narrow ticket from the envelope.
“Oh, no.” She frowned over my shoulder. “You’re too late. That ticket was for the four thirty show.” She looked at her watch. “It’s already over. The planetarium is closed.”
I sprinted for the stairs, barreling through the descending wave of tourists. Shoving them aside, my sleeves clutched tight around my hands, I bumped past them like a pinball. When I reached the top, I looked out over the gallery wall and caught the high, agitated voice of Mrs. Smallwood, Teddy’s teacher. Mall security officers gathered around her in the lobby below, her arms gesturing wildly with her clipboard. My heart sped up. Teddy must already be missing.
Across the gallery, the double doors of the planetarium were closed, the ticket windows shut for the night.
Too late.
I slipped between the velvet ropes, checking over my shoulder as I tugged the handle. Locked. I leaned back against the door. There had to be a way in. Every theater has more than one exit. I looked right, then left. Another set of doors. I ducked under the rope, staying tight to the wall. I tugged the handle and it eased open with a quiet sigh.
Inside, it was night. The hall was narrow and close around me, dark except for tiny blue-white runners illuminating the way. A light glowed at the end, the hall opening into a high domed theater where hundreds of empty seats radiated from a projector in the floor.
There was no movement. No sound but the rush of blood in my ears.
“Teddy?” My voice cracked. “Teddy, are you in here?”
I took a tentative step, then another. The theater was cavernous and dim.
Beyond the doors, a muffled overhead speaker repeated, “Teddy Marshall, please meet your party at the welcome desk in the first-floor lobby.”
The projector cast a swirling pink-and-purple glow against the ceiling, but the rows and rows of folding seats were cast in deep shadow. I gripped the rails, following the diffused blue glow of the runway lighting through the room. Taking slow steps, I searched each aisle, and had almost given up when I caught a faint green glow near the floor. I walked toward it, tripping over something hard.
Teddy Marshall’s shoes. Teddy lay face-up between the rows, his feet breaching the aisle. My heart leaped into my throat. I pulled myself to my knees. Whispered his name and reached for his hand. It was nothing but cold when I touched it.
The green light emanated from his right arm. A cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars—the kind they sold in the gift shop downstairs—stuck to his forearm. They twisted into a shape. A number. Five.
I pushed myself farther into the aisle toward his face, wedging myself between his shoulders and the seats. His glasses hung askew inside a clear plastic bag that clung to the opening of his nostrils and stuck in his mouth. The plastic sucked tight over his face—and didn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The bag was knotted at Teddy’s throat, tied with his own shoelace. I reached out to tear it, to rip it away from his face. Breathe, Teddy, breathe!
A dark hand shot in front of me before I could reach the bag. A glove clamped over my mouth and I screamed into it. Bucking and kicking, I grappled with the arms around my chest. They dragged me down the aisle, away from Teddy, pushed me against the tunnel wall, and cupped my mouth tight. My breath raced in and out my nose, whistling over the leather glove.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The voice was deep and angry, but familiar. Reece released his grip. “You shouldn’t be here.” He peered anxiously down the mouth of the tunnel before bringing the full force of his gaze back to mine.
“Teddy Marshall is in there. He’s dead!”
“I know. And you can’t be here when they find him!” He grabbed me under the arm and pulled me toward the exit. I planted my feet.
“What do you mean, you know he’s in there?”
He jerked a furious finger toward the door. “In a few minutes this place is going to be crawling with cops. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
“We can’t just leave him here! We have to do something!”
“There’s nothing we can do for him. He’s gone, Leigh. But if we don’t get out of here now, you’re on your own.” His face was cold and impatient. He waited two beats, then headed for the door, dragging me with him. He flung it open and I squinted against the flood of light as the doors whispered shut behind us.
I tugged against the pull of his hand, and started to turn back for the theater, but he was right. There wasn’t time. Blue uniforms shuffled past. Security guards and chaperones swept through the exhibits, calling Teddy’s name. I followed Reece into an elevator. He pounded the lobby button with his fist.
“We go fast. You do what I say and no one will see you.” Reece crossed the elevator toward me, his body arched possessively over mine with his back to the doors to shield me from view. He was hot and damp under the heavy leather, his sweat fetid with fear. The doors slid open to the first floor and he held the doors with one hand, and glanced over his shoulder.
“Come on.” He hustled me under one arm, tucking me in close to his body. I tried to look behind me, at the planetarium gallery over our heads, heart tearing with every step, but Reece snapped me around, directing me with a hand at the small of my back and clipped commands no one else could hear.
Turn left, go right, head for the exit.
We threw the doors open and stepped out onto Independence Avenue, breaking apart the second we hit the stairs. Reece grabbed my hand and dragged me behind him with quick strides, dipping between two parked tour buses. His bike was there, illegally parked between them.
“Put this on.” He practically threw the helmet at me as he straddled the bike and started the engine. “Hurry!”
I didn’t move. “But Teddy . . .”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he pleaded from the bike. His eyes widened as he looked over my shoulder. I turned back toward the museum, torn. A traffic cop was staring, heading toward us.
“Now, Leigh!” Reece revved the engine.
I snapped the chin strap and jumped on behind him. The bike roared and I threw my arms around his waist as we leaped into traffic, weaving between buses and cabs until the museum fell away. An ambulance flew past, heading toward the museum, but Teddy was already gone.

Reece took me to a parking space near a grassy peninsula just north of the runway at Reagan National Airport. He set the kickstand, and headed toward the river’s edge without a word. I plodded after him, tears streaming down my face.

Reece took off his jacket and spread it on the ground. He lowered himself to one side and gently patted the spot next to him. I didn’t move, so he tugged my sleeve, and I dropped down beside him. Runway lights blinked red across the inlet. He stared at them, forearms resting on his knees while I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“How did you know?” I clenched my jaw, afraid I’d start crying again. There wasn’t enough room inside me for my anger and grief.

Reece reached into his jacket, unfolding Teddy’s yellow permission slip, and the ragged edges of the
Missed Connections
ad tucked inside. I snatched them away from him.

“These were in my locker!”

He didn’t look at me. “Just add breaking and entering to the long list of things I’m not proud of. I found the field trip flyer and the ad, and figured that’s where you’d gone. I thought I could beat you there on my bike, but I was too late. I saw you run up the stairs. Hell, I could see you on the gallery, but I was stuck in the damn security line and I couldn’t get to you in time.” He dropped his head between his knees. “I owe you an apology. Not just for breaking into your locker. I never should have—”

“It’s okay.” I already knew he regretted kissing me. I didn’t need to hear him say it. His guilt was one more emotion I didn’t have room for. “You don’t need to explain. I know why you’ve been following me.” I watched the shoreline. Tried not to look at the lights that twinkled behind it. Tried not to think of stars.

“How’d you figure it out?” Reece asked softly. His skin glowed faintly pink, the violet and gold sunset casting color across his cheeks. The answer seemed so obvious to me.

“Because insanely hot transfer students don’t ask girls like me to tutor them in chemistry . . . much less ride me to school, buy me dinner, fight my battles, pick my clothes, or hold my hand in public.” I shook my head, giving in to a sad smile.
The one he returned was lopsided, and maybe a little selfconscious. “I think a few people might disagree with you. We’ve convinced the whole school we’re dating. Maybe it’s believable to everyone but you.”

“Don’t. Not now.”

He nudged me gently with his elbow. “Tell me how you
really
figured it out.”
The leather under my legs was heavy and warm and I wanted to crawl inside it and tell him everything. Instead, I hugged my knees to my chest and told him only what he wanted to know. “It was an accident. I went to the police station to tell them what I knew, and I overheard a conversation I shouldn’t have.”
“What did you know?” he asked quietly.
“The same stuff I already told Nicholson.”
“How’d you know all the stuff you told Nicholson?”
I bristled, and just like that, the urge to confide in him was gone. Like someone turned on a light, and I could see him for who he was. A narc getting paid to snitch on me.
“Does it matter?” I snapped. “Two people are dead! And someone’s making it look like I killed them. It’s only a matter of time before—”
“Three,” he whispered.
Everything stilled.
“Three people are dead.” He looked in my eyes, worry lines digging deep. “Posie. She’s gone, Leigh.”
“No!” I shouted. “That’s impossible! I saw her yesterday. She was fine. Her chart said she was—” My mouth hung open, breath held. The words were out, and I couldn’t take them back. But it didn’t matter. My name was on the visitor’s log at the hospital anyway. The police would know I’d been there. “How?”
“Poisoned. Through her IV bag.”
“When?” I already knew the answer. Posie had been murdered right after Mary Jones left her room. Right after I fled down the stairwell, and a nurse had come to change her bag.
“It was a slow-working toxin.” Reece reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, hesitating before he gave it to me. “She was pronounced dead this morning.”
I peeled open a long list of handwritten names. On it were Mary Jones and Nearly Boswell. It was the visitor’s log from the hospital. My stomach rolled. I stared at the flashing runway lights, half listening for sirens in the distance. “How much time do I have?”
Reece’s cell phone rang in his pocket.
“I never gave that to you. It doesn’t exist.” He walked away, putting a few feet between us before taking the call.
“What?” he snapped into his phone.
Pause.
“None of your business . . . No, she wasn’t there either . . . I know because she was with me all day, same as yesterday. So we ditched class? Big freaking deal . . . They told me to get close. I’m just holding up my end of the bargain . . . I already told you, I’m not in the city . . .” A jet blared overhead, swooping in low with its landing gear down. Reece plugged the microphone with his thumb and swore, waiting until the plane touched down to release it. “. . . No, I’m not at the airport . . . No, I’m not leaving the state  .  .  . I’m hanging up unless you have something to say . . .” Reece listened, his eyes flicking to mine. His voice lowered. “. . . The planetarium? Seriously? Was the kid okay?” He massaged one temple while he listened, presumably to the details of the crime scene we’d just fled. “Yeah, about that, Lonny called. It goes down next Friday . . .” Reece turned his back, pitching his voice low. “. . . A warehouse downtown . . . I need you to hold up your end of the deal. . . . Friday night. You promised . . .”
Pause.
Reece’s head snapped up, eyes fanning over the parking lot as an older model Mercedes with diplomatic tags—Oleksa’s Mercedes—eased out of the lot. We were being watched, and not just by the cops. How could Oleksa have known where we were?
“I can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.” Reece pocketed his phone and exhaled a string of curses. He dropped down beside me and stared out at the water. “We can’t stay. They know where we are.”
I folded the paper, a critical piece of evidence I wasn’t supposed to have. “How did you get this?”
He hesitated before answering. “Today wasn’t the first time I broke into your locker,” he confessed, glancing at me sideways as if gauging my reaction. I remembered our conversation back at the diner the first time I’d tutored him. How he’d pulled the crumpled first chapter of his textbook from his pocket and made up some story about finding it on the floor.
“Why?”
He jerked his hand through his hair. It stuck up around his head in a prickly halo. “The cops told me to keep an eye on you. Get information. They didn’t tell me how. After Romero kicked me out of his office, I came back to find you. I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, and apologize for . . . you know . . . what happened.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if blocking out the memory. “But you weren’t there, so I broke into your locker. I was only going to leave you a note about meeting up to talk, but I found the message. The one with Posie’s room number on it. By the time I got to the hospital to find you, I was too late.”
“So you stole the visitor’s log?” I waved the folded paper in his face. “Lying to the cops, tampering with evidence? This is obstruction of justice, Reece! You’ll go back to jail—”
“I wouldn’t have to break any laws if you’d just stop running from me and be where you’re supposed to be for once!” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His face wrinkled with disgust. “You’re really not getting this, are you? You were supposed to be with
me
after school today. I was supposed to be your alibi!”
“My alibi?” I asked, only now remembering the note he’d left in my locker yesterday.
Meet me tomorrow after school.
Reece’s head dropped into his hands, muffling his frustration. “Did anyone see you between the time school let out and the time Teddy went missing?”
“What are you saying?”
Reece raised his head. “I’m saying you’re the number one suspect in the case of three”—he lifted three fingers—“count them—THREE homicides! All the evidence points back to you, Leigh! And today, when you should have been teaching me chemistry in a packed restaurant full of witnesses who could place you there at the time of Teddy’s death, you traipse right into the damn crime scene! It’s like you’re walking into an ambush and I keep trying to keep you clear of the fire, but you just won’t listen! You were supposed to be with me!”
I hugged my knees. “I didn’t do any of this. None of this is my fault,” I whispered.
“Look,” he said through a long exhale. “The police think you’re involved. They just can’t prove anything. They’re looking for any connections. Motives. Accomplices. Even if you didn’t do it, they think you know who did. They’re watching you, waiting. They figure you’ll either do something stupid and incriminate yourself or lead them to the person behind this.”
He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “Leigh, I know you didn’t kill anyone, and I know a set-up when I see it. You need to start thinking like the cops. It all boils down to motive. Think of everyone you know. Look for connections to the ads or the victims. Who has a reason to kill people you care about? To put you behind bars? Who would want to ruin your life, Leigh?”
I put my head in my hands. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I’ve never done anything wrong. My life isn’t all that great to begin with. It’s not like someone would have to work all that hard to ruin it.”
“They’re working hard because it’s personal, or they wouldn’t be risking so much. There’s got to be someone who wants to hurt you. Keep thinking. I’m just buying time— picking breadcrumbs off the trail until we can figure this out.”
He was covering for me. Which meant he believed me. And if he believed me, he could make the police believe me too. “Why not just give Nicholson the note the killer left in my locker? Tell him I’m being framed. I can’t do it, but he’ll believe you if you tell him you found it in my locker.”
Reece shook his head. “I can’t. It’s inadmissible. I stole it from a locker that the police didn’t have a warrant to search. Besides, the case isn’t Nicholson’s anymore. Homicide took it over weeks ago. The only reason I’m still involved is because I’m the only one who can help the cops connect the sale of the Special K to the killer.”
“Emily, Marcia, and Posie were drugged.”
“Roofies,” he explained. “I’m guessing they’ll find traces in Teddy’s blood too. The killer is using ketamine to subdue the victims. Lonny’s the only known ketamine dealer at West River, and he’s willing to sell it to me. He heard I was back on suspension and decided my credentials were solid enough. If I can prove he’s the one supplying it, the cops can squeeze him for a list of his buyers. Whoever’s responsible for Posie and the others will be on that list.”
I sat up, hope lifting me by the shoulders. A list of Lonny’s buyers would exonerate me. I’d never bought drugs, and I couldn’t possibly have a connection to any of Lonny’s clients. We needed that list.
“So you’re meeting him next Friday?”
He thought before answering. “At a rave. In Old Town.”
Perfect. He wanted me to stay close to him, and I wanted that list. “Okay, what do we do?”
“No.” He shook his head in big exaggerated sweeps. “There is no
we
.”
“Yes, there is. You just said so. I’m going with you.”
“No!”
“Give me one good reason why. You just told me I’m supposed to stay with you. For my own protection.” I was determined to hold my ground. It was my life on the line too.
“Gena’s taking you shopping Friday night. Lots of store cameras and receipts. Lots of witnesses. A bulletproof alibi in case anything happens. You’ll be fine.”
My legs shot out in front of me. “No way! I’m not bonding with your girlfriend at the food court while you screw up your shot with Lonny because I’m not there!”
“She’s not my girlfriend, for chrissake!” He massaged his eyelids. “Look, I can’t involve you in this, Leigh. If the details of the investigation leak, I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Fine. If you won’t take me with you, I’m not cooperating anymore.”
“Ha!” He chuckled bitterly. “When have you ever been cooperative?”
I leveled a finger at him. “You need me.”
“I need you?”
“You need me.”
His eyes dropped to my lips until that too close feeling sucked all the oxygen out from between us. A wicked thought seemed to root behind them. “Chemistry notwithstanding, in what ways do you think I need you?”
I ignored the hot rush of blood to my cheeks. “You said it yourself. Everyone thinks we’re a couple, and Lonny’s going to expect you to bring your ‘girlfriend’ to the party, which is convenient since Nicholson expects you to tail me anyway. That was one of his people on the phone, wasn’t it?” A muscle ticked in Reece’s jaw. He didn’t answer.
“Face it,” I said. “You’re in too deep with me. And if you don’t take me with you, then I’ll . . .”
Reece raised an eyebrow, his crooked smile challenging me to finish that sentence. I couldn’t turn him in for tampering with evidence because that evidence was enough to get me arrested. And I couldn’t blow his cover without getting him killed. I settled for the next best thing. “. . . I’ll ditch Gena and go on my own.” I raised my chin, looking him straight in the eye.
His face fell. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know.”
“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
He gazed thoughtfully over the water, shaking his head. “I’ll take it, but there’s one catch . . . and one condition.”
“What’s the catch?”
“If you’re in this as my cover, then you agree to play the part my way. We do it together. No more running off on your own.”
I cringed, wondering what he might make me wear to school on Monday. “Fine,” I muttered. “What’s the condition?”
“You do anything to blow my cover, my paycheck, or my freedom, and the deal’s off.” His tone was stern, nonnegotiable.
“Fine. I accept.”
He clenched his teeth and glared at the river. “Then it’s a date.”
A plane took off, roaring over our heads. So close I could almost make out the individual faces of the passengers in the cabin windows, their foreheads plastered to the glass. Were things really any clearer from thirty thousand feet?
Hot air rustled the grass and rippled the water’s surface, whipping my hair back from my face.
“You never answered my question,” he said softly when the air finally stilled.
“What question?”
“How did you figure out that the ads were connected to all this?”
I settled for more half-truths, even if they hurt coming out. “The first—Emily’s—was just random. Dumb luck, I guess. The second—about the play—seemed too obvious to ignore.”
“What were you doing reading the ads in the first place?”
I searched him for signs of condescension, expecting the thick and dripping sarcasm Nicholson reacted with when he asked me the same question.
“I mean . . . are you looking for someone?” His expression was curious.
I turned away, feeling foolish for the childish hope that made me steal money for newspapers on Fridays. The one that brought this whole mess crashing down on my head.
Reece’s bangs fell forward, concealing his face. I wondered what he was thinking. If he was disgusted with me. If he thought I was the kind of girl that trolled for dates in the personals. I didn’t have the energy to explain.
He stood and reached down for my hand. I was afraid to take it. Afraid to know how he felt. But more afraid to seem ungrateful, after all he had done for me. I hesitantly placed my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet. He tasted like worry and sadness—slightly salty and mildly acidic, the bitterness of that persistent nagging regret I’d come to think was always part of him. But no judgment. We stood there, hands touching for an awkward long moment.
“It’s late,” he said, letting go first. “I’ll take you home.”