Traceless (8 page)

Troy pointed a nasty look at the guy behind the bar. "You saying I'm drunk, Bradley?" Bradley Peters had been a bully back in school, and not much had changed. Then again, with a last name like Peters, what was a guy to do?

Bradley leaned across the bar and put his face in Troy's. "That's right; you got a problem with it?"

Troy grinned. "Hell no." He hitched his thumb toward the pool table. "No need to get your panties in a wad; Perry's giving me a ride home."

Bradley turned his junkyard dog glare from Troy to Larry. "You'd better catch a ride with Woods yourself, Medford. I don't want the chief on my back."

The chief. Ray Hale had his finger in every damned thing around this town. It hadn't been a problem until he'd come out of the closet with his secret obsession with Clint Austin. Just went to show that you couldn't really trust anybody.

Nursing his last beer, Larry leaned toward Troy and whispered, "What do you think we should do next?"

Now there was a friend a guy could count on when the chips were down. It chafed Troy's ass that Keith was wimping out the way he was. He was supposed to have loved Heather. She had sure as hell loved him.

Troy closed his eyes and tried with no luck to shut out the images from that awful night. He'd sat on the stairs watching through the railings after the doorbell rang, waking everybody up from a dead sleep. Chief Don Ledbetter had given Troy's folks the bad news. His mother had collapsed. Ledbetter's wife had stayed with Troy and his mom while his father went with the chief to the Wallaces'.

Troy had needed to know what was going on. So he'd sneaked out, barefoot and in his pajamas, and run all the way to Emily's house. The cops had been so busy trying to make heads or tails out of the crime scene that they hadn't noticed him peeking from the bedroom doorway... staring at his sister's motionless body and all that blood.

Emily Wallace had been rushed to the hospital. Shock or something like that. But her father had been right there in the room with the cops and Principal Call. Troy would never forget how the men in the room, including his own father and the chief, had cried.

Troy hadn't cried. Not then anyway. He'd just wanted to know where Austin was. He'd wanted to hurt Austin.

But Austin had already been taken to jail.

The county coroner took Heather away in a big, black body bag that night. It was the last time Troy had seen his sister until the funeral nearly a week later. As her coffin was lowered into the ground, he'd made a promise. Clint Austin would get what was coming to him.

Troy turned toward his friend. "I'll tell you what we do next. We make sure Austin knows we mean business."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pine Bluff High School

Wednesday, July 17, 7:50 a.m.

Yesterday's surveillance of Austin had yielded absolutely nothing useful to Emily. The parole officer, Lee Brady, had provided her with as much information as he was allowed to give regarding the parameters of Austin's parole, but what she'd learned hadn't proved as helpful as she'd hoped.

Emily parked near the football field on school property and powered her window down to permit the meager breeze to filter into her car. The temperature was sweltering already. She'd narrowly missed running into her mother before she got away this morning. Avoiding her parents as much as possible was necessary. Leave early; stay out late. Cut way down on the friction and kept clear of the
zones
.

She could think here. This was the last place where she'd had a life and friends... felt safe. Plus, she wanted to talk to Principal Call. She hated, hated, hated that she couldn't put the niggling thought out of her head, but she simply couldn't. Jesse Lambert, the chairwoman of the parole board, had brought up the lack of tangible evidence used in the trial, succeeding in forcing Emily to play over and over what she remembered about that night. She knew beyond all doubt what had happened. She was there. No question about what she had witnessed. And yet some stupid part of her just wouldn't let the insensitive statements made in that hearing go. She refused to admit for a second that anything Austin had said played a part in her decision to come here this morning.

Your efforts would be much better spent
, Miss Wallace,
trying to find out who else was in your room that night and whether or not it was really you they were after
.

Emily banished the sound of Clint Austin's voice from her head. She would not let him intrude. His suggestion was completely unfounded. Who would have wanted to hurt Heather? Austin just wanted her second-guessing herself, to get her off his back maybe.

Unfortunately, like Jesse Lambert, Austin had succeeded with the former.

While Emily waited for eight o'clock to roll around, she pulled the steno pad from her purse and fished for a pen. She considered the conditions of parole she had listed from easiest to violate all the way to the most difficult. According to Brady, more parolees than ever were being hustled back to prison for violations. That was the one thing she'd learned that had given her hope. All she had to do was be vigilant about monitoring Austin's activities and catch him in the act. Maybe her continued surveillance would goad him into making a mistake. The sooner the better.

A lot of the conditions of Austin's parole were fairly general. He was required to obey all laws, absolutely no drug or alcohol use. No travel outside Jackson County without express permission. He couldn't own any weapons. And he was supposed to sign up for counseling sessions. She didn't see the latter happening. She made a note to follow up on that one.

Her pen stilled as a dozen girls ran out onto the football field. She should have remembered that cheer practice didn't

stop just because the school year ended. She and Heather had taken the field every single day all summer long. The familiar formation and chanting had Emily leaning forward in her seat, remembering the days before that night... when her life ended.

"Emily Wallace? Is that you?"

Her head snapped to the left so fast she was sure she'd whiplashed herself. Principal Call was just getting out of his car. Talk about zoning out. She hadn't even noticed the arrival of another vehicle.

Emily stumbled in her haste to get out and properly greet him. "Yes, sir, it's me." She righted her posture and instinctively pulled at the hem of her blouse. Just hearing his booming voice made her feel sixteen again, klutzy and worried that she would get into trouble.

He had scarcely changed at all. Big, tall, and bald and fully equipped with mind-reading capabilities.

"Good gracious, Emily, it's good to see you." Beaming, he gave her a hug. "How're your folks?"

"Fine, Mr. Call." Except for worrying about their daughter. Emily took a deep breath and prepared to ask him about that night, but he spoke first.

"Come on inside and let me show you something I'll bet you haven't seen."

Inside? The school? She couldn't do that. She only needed a moment of his time; they could talk out here.

"I'm sure you're busy, Mr. Call, and I just—"

"Nonsense. Come along."

He ushered her toward the main building even as she grappled for a reason she couldn't go. She hadn't set foot inside this school since graduation, and she'd only attended that meaningless event to make her parents happy. No one understood why Emily refused to make a speech about her dead best friend. They didn't get that all the right words had been trapped in a place Emily couldn't touch.

Five feet inside the main entrance and Emily wanted to run. Her knees tried to buckle, but the principal's hand at her back kept her moving forward. He'd been talking nonstop, but not a word had penetrated the barrier of dread swaddling her brain and rendering the organ inaccessible.

Air rushed into her lungs when she wanted desperately to hold her breath. The smell... the scents found nowhere else except inside this building awakened a part of her mind that she'd shut down out of necessity long ago. Pencils and books, markers and reams of paper.

He steered her forward and, as if she had suddenly been transported back in time, the empty corridor filled with faces and sounds from the past. The rush of students late for homeroom... the excited chatter about the coming dance... the teasing, flirting, and whispered gossip.

The principal's voice dragged her back to the present "We dedicated the senior hall to Heather."

Heather Baker Hall

Emily managed a shaky smile even as the urge to cry knocked against her unsteady defenses. "It's great, Mr. Call. A beautiful tribute." Somehow her voice came out admirably composed.

"We wanted to keep her memory alive." Mr. Call stared at the plaque that showed Heather in her cheerleading uniform and proclaimed this wing her namesake.

"Everybody loved her," Emily murmured. "No way anyone would have wanted to hurt her... she didn't have any enemies."

"Not the first one," he agreed. "Heather was one of our most loved students."

Emily hadn't meant to say that out loud. Since she had, she might as well get an answer to the question she'd come here to ask. "Mr. Call?"

The principal's expectant gaze shifted to her.

"That... night." She moistened her lips and fought to keep her voice steady. "Did you see anyone on my street? Another car? Someone walking?" Principal Call's house had been the target that night. Hazing week. Emily's turn to lead. Another of the senior cheerleaders, her good friend Megan, had helped, along with the new freshman members of the squad. Emily had sneaked out of the house... left Heather in her room to cover for her in case her parents came home early.

Principal Call stroked his chin. "The police asked me that," he said, his voice sounding distant, as if he had gone back to that awful night as Emily had so many, many times. "I tried my best to recall if I'd seen anyone, but I couldn't be absolutely certain there wasn't someone lurking around the neighborhood. It all happened too fast."

"But you told the police you didn't see anyone, right?" She needed to hear him say that. Needed that confirmation. Probably the passage of time had clouded his memory. She didn't even remember him testifying at the trial and she'd thought she would never forget a moment of it. "You were called as a witness at the trial, weren't you?"

He nodded: "That's right, but it was dark, Emily. I can't be certain there was no one on the sidewalk or in one of the yards that I simply didn't see. I was too fired up at you and Megan for hitting my mailbox and then driving away so recklessly."

Emily managed a shaky smile. "I understand. I don't know if I ever told you, but I'm sorry we hit your mailbox." It was the only time she and her friends had ever gotten caught, and getting away had been instinct.

He patted Emily on the shoulder. "It was no big deal, Emily. I really just wanted to make sure you girls got home okay considering the way Megan was driving." His brow furrowed. "Are you thinking that Clint Austin had an accomplice that night?"

She should have anticipated that his curiosity would be roused by her question. "No. I... I just wondered." He was looking at her the way her parents did... entering one of those zones that spoke of sympathy or concern. She couldn't go there. She had to get out of here before the questions and advice started to flow. "I really have to go."

"You know," the principal said, his expression turning somber to match his tone, "I've wondered many times if I'd stopped at your house first instead of following Megan down the block I might have been able to help... Calling the police after I heard the screams just wasn't enough." He shook his head and heaved a heart-heavy sigh. "How could anyone possibly have imagined what that boy was doing that night?" The big man shuddered visibly.

Emily wasn't sure how she resisted the impulse to run away from the moment or how she managed to reach for his hand and shake it, but somehow she did. "You couldn't have known." She cleared her throat and gestured to the plaque. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

"It was really good to see you, Emily. You'll have to be sure and attend the reunion this fall," he implored, his dark eyes suspiciously bright. "Ten years is a major milestone."

Ten years... a milestone all right. Just not the one he thought. He said something else, she was pretty sure she called an answer over her shoulder, but she couldn't be certain and she definitely couldn't look back.

Don't run. Walk. One foot in front of the other.
She cleared the main entrance... had to grab on to the railing as she descended the steps and fought back the smothering panic.

"Emily!"

Her hand on the car door, she almost got in without acknowledging the person who'd called out to her. She recognized the voice... didn't want to do this.

"I thought that was you." The voice was closer now, practically right next to her.

She couldn't pretend not to hear.

Emily forced her lips back into a smile and turned to greet the woman who had been her coach. "Ms. Mallory, how are you?"

Justine Mallory rolled her eyes as she propped against Emily's car, delaying her escape. "Please, you're not a student anymore; call me Justine."

"Justine," Emily amended, keeping her lips bent in what had to be a sorry excuse for a smile.