Wraith (18 page)

We stepped out of the rain and into the safety of
the building none too soon. Never mind that my sundress was already so soggy
the skirt was clinging to my thighs. Sofia’s cousin hovered just inside the
door like a vulture, making me wonder if she had planned to pursue Matt
outside, whether he was with me or not. But upon our reappearance my popular
date—who did not even notice Morgan standing there glaring at him—was
immediately surrounded by friends again.

"Hey, quit disappearing on us!" Ryan
chided. "The party’s not over yet!"

"Yeah," David added, "We’re going to
make Mr.
Hagiwara
kick our butts out
again."

"Which he will, in twenty minutes,"
Madison announced, looking at her phone.

"Stay with the group," Zane ordered from
behind me. "Rod’s alone—he won’t try anything with these guys
around."

"So let’s get back out there!" David
whooped, taking his date by the hand.

"Just… go dance some more," Zane
suggested, his tone unusually clipped. "The other girls talked Morgan out
of confronting Matt, at least tonight. You’ll be all right."

"Let’s do it!" Julia hooted.

"Come on, Kali!" Matt said with
enthusiasm, all drama forgotten. He darted behind me, swooping me up with an
arm around the waist and propelling me forward in a move that, had Zane been
alive, would have given both guys concussions. I winced at the imagined
collision, but when my eyes reopened, Zane was nowhere to be seen.

He stayed out of sight through the next three
numbers, and the slow dance that followed them. I tried to put thoughts of Rod
out of my head, at least temporarily, in order to finish what would otherwise
have been an enjoyable dance on a positive note. But though Matt appeared
completely unencumbered by any concerns about his own wellbeing, I was not the
only one worrying on his behalf. No sooner had the last chords of the slow
dance been struck than a female hand appeared on his upper arm, interrupting
what appeared to be another session of deliberation, on his part, about whether
or not to kiss me.

"What do you want, Lacey?" He said with
annoyance, releasing his hold on me. "Whatever it is, your timing
seriously sucks."

"Yeah, well, so does your sense of self
preservation," Lacey snapped. "Can we talk a minute?"

Matt looked from her to me, then rolled his eyes.
"Not if you’re going to tell me the same lame story about how Rod’s out to
get me because he thinks I beat up his girl, no."

Lacey cast a questioning glance at me, then planted
her hands on her generous hips. "Look, Matt. Krystal said—"

"Lace!" he interrupted. His tone was
gruff, but as he laid his large hands heavily on both her shoulders, it was
obvious he did so with an affectionate familiarity. "I’ve heard this
already. I’ll talk to Rod about it over the weekend, all right? I appreciate
the concern, but as you can clearly see, I’m on a date."

"You wish," she quipped. "All the
more reason to watch your back."

Still gripping her shoulders, Matt leaned in,
planted a loud smack of a kiss on her cheek, then turned her around and
released her with a push. "Thank you! Now go away. Doesn’t Ty get off at
eleven?"

"Midnight," she said sulkily, "and
I’m not waiting up this time, either." She offered me a smile. "It
was nice meeting you, Kali. I’ll see you again sometime, I hope."

"Absolutely." I smiled back, suddenly
warmed by the realization that—even as I struggled with how to handle my
unnaturally acquired information—Matt’s friends were watching out for him the
old fashioned way. Various girls who liked and trusted him had been talking
Morgan down all night, and Lacey had been sent to warn him specifically about
Rod. The guys might still be clueless, but they would be there for him if needed,
I was sure of that.

I took an easy, deep breath—quite possibly my first
of the night. Everything would be okay. We would walk to the parking lot as a
group, and Matt and I would safely drive away. Rod would give up, go home,
and—with luck—cool down and come to his senses before meeting Matt again.

"Now," Matt continued smoothly, sliding
his arms around my waist once more. "Where were we?"

Another slow song had already begun. I wrapped my
arms around Matt’s neck and allowed myself to relax—a little—and enjoy the
music. I knew that people were watching us, as they had all night, but I chose
to believe it was intrigue over the new girl, rather than Morgan’s gossip, that
was behind most of the sly smiles and awkwardly averted glances. Perhaps, as
Lacey had hinted, Matt was showing more interest in me than his crowd was used
to seeing.

And if he was?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The last slow dance of the night, as it turned out,
offered no chance for dying-chords canoodling but segued immediately—and loudly—into
a raucous number that brought down the house. Julia and Madison offered me a
fine tribute by perfecting a particular Cheyenne-born move I had taught them
earlier in the evening, and David’s attempts at break dancing had us all
laughing until we cried. We swept out of the school and into the parking lot in
the midst of a wave of chattering people, and as we reached Matt’s car and said
our goodbyes I felt a dramatic sense of relief—even as I scanned the area for
any signs of a lurking Rod.

I could see no sign of him, nor of Zane. I did not
believe that Rod had left the school; the negative vibe created by his wrath
still lingered, even though I sensed that we were out of his immediate range.
Zane’s own absence was mildly disturbing, but I calmed myself by rationalizing
that if Rod
was
making a move toward us, Zane would certainly appear to
warn me.

And he did.

Matt and I were several miles outside of Honolulu,
traveling north on the road that led back to the North Shore, before our
perfectly enjoyable, albeit mundane conversation about car engines was
interrupted by Zane’s sudden appearance in the back seat. I did not need to
look at him twice to know that he was worried.

Zane could appear to wear whatever he wanted when he
was thinking about it, but at the moment, he didn't appear to be thinking about
it at all. The result was the sort of outfit a living person would reach for on
a rainy, cold morning when they felt like crap and had no intention of going
out anyway.

He appeared in grungy jeans and a solid,
dark-colored tee shirt, his hands sunk deep into the pockets of a medium gray
hoody that looped partway over his head, hiding all but a few, rather mussed
looking curls. He did not speak immediately, but studied Matt and me for a
moment, seeming to take the measure of the conversation. He also seemed to be
deliberating within himself.

After another five or so minutes, during which time
the conversation had turned to motorcycles, I could stand it no longer. I
turned my head over my right shoulder, out of Matt’s view, and threw Zane an
emphatic "What is it?" look he couldn’t possibly misinterpret.

He had the gall to look away.

My stomach flip-flopped. I tried again, this time
conveying a threat along with my silent plea.

"I’m sorry, Kali," he said finally, in a
voice so low I had to work to hear it over Matt’s monologue—a monologue I was
no longer following in the slightest. "I’m only stalling in telling you
this because I can’t decide the best thing to do about it. And you’re going to
need a cool head."

Matt had paused. He was looking at me. I made a
suitably generic response, and he resumed talking.

Zane’s face bore a pained expression. "Rod
isn’t giving up, Kali. He’s  following you in his car."

My heart skipped a beat. Surely not. That was insane.

"I don’t know exactly where his head’s at—I
can’t read people like you can," Zane continued. "But he’s upset,
there’s no question about that. Sweating bullets, hands clenched on the wheel.
I just don’t know what he would do if he met Matt face to face right now."

My pulse hammered in my ears as I looked out the
rear window, but there was nothing much to see. Several pairs of headlights
were visible behind us on the road, but even the closest remained at a safe
distance. I couldn’t really make out any specifics on the car, much less see
the driver’s face.

"The thing is," Zane said calmly, "if
you tell Matt about this, I’m almost certain he would pull the car over right
now and go out to confront the guy, which would be a really bad idea."

"Right," I dared to answer, hoping that
the word made sense with whatever Matt was still on about. Apparently it did,
because as long as I kept my head turned primarily in Matt’s direction, he
seemed content to keep on talking.

He seemed to be on the topic of popcorn, now.

"Perhaps if we could steer Matt to someplace
Rod wouldn’t dare pull anything, like a police station—"

Zane’s comment was interrupted by a sharp cry from
Matt. I jumped in my seat so much my head nearly hit the ceiling; Zane sat up
so fast and so violently that part of his head actually
did
go through
the ceiling.

But Matt merely laughed, and took my hand in his.
"Sorry, Kali. Didn’t mean to scare you. Sheesh! It’s just that I forgot
I’m low on gas. We’ll have to stop before I get you home. Sorry about that."

"That’s… fine," I said hesitantly,
thinking the exact opposite as I turned to catch Zane’s eye again.
What now?
I mouthed.

"Try to steer him someplace well lighted and
busy," Zane responded. "The busier the better. Rod's going to want to
get him alone."

The image those words burned into my brain did not
make for a very comfortable drive. I did my best to engage myself more fully in
Matt’s conversation, but it was tough to appear interested in the contrast
between Hawaiian and Kansas City barbecue when all I could think about was an
over-emotional Rod lashing out with a knife to skewer Matt’s own rib cage.  

It seemed like years before Matt slowed the car and
pulled off at a gas station. I scanned the place critically, prepared—if it
proved dark and deserted—to pitch an uncharacteristic hissy fit about the state
of the bathrooms and demand we move on. But what I saw was reassuring. The
brightly lit station had a convenience store attached, and several other cars
were also stopped. Furthermore, there was a bar next door at whose outdoor
tables a dozen or so surfer types loitered in the night air.

Matt would be fine.

The second my date was out of the car and out of
earshot, I pulled my phone out of my purse, put it to my ear, and swiveled to
look backward. "I think he’ll be okay, don’t you?"

Zane moved instantaneously into the empty driver’s
seat. "I’ll check." He disappeared for several seconds, then
reappeared in a blur of muted light. "Rod pulled off, too. He’s parked
just around the side of the store, where Matt can’t see him. I don’t think
he’ll try anything here."

The tone of Zane’s last word disturbed me.
"What do you mean
here
? Where are we supposed to go, then? How can
we lose him?"

Zane considered a moment, then leaned forward.
"I don’t think you can. Rod seems determined to have it out with Matt
tonight." His steady gaze met mine. "You have two options, Kali. The
best one would be for you to let Matt take you home. Then, once you’re safe,
you tell Matt everything that’s happened and suggest he call the police, tell
them he’s being followed, and let them confront Rod."

"And what if he won’t?" I argued.
"What if his response is to storm right out of my house and confront Rod
in my driveway?"

Zane looked at me sharply. "Then
you
call the police. And stay the heck out of it."

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away.
Clearly, my priorities and Zane’s were not identical. "And the second
option?"

He exhaled. "You tell Matt right now and let
him confront Rod here, with an audience. You could call the police yourself,
tell them everything."

"And how long would it take them to come?"
I protested. "If Rod goes wild in the meantime, how likely are these
drunks at the bar to intervene?"

Zane’s eyes narrowed. "The important thing is
to keep
yourself
safe.  Matt’s a big guy, Kali. Give him some credit. He
brought this mess on himself, he can get out of it by himself—without you being
collateral damage!"

I started to retort, but stopped myself. Arguing
this particular point was hopeless. Zane was an intelligent guy, but he was
still a guy, and dead or alive he
thought
like a guy. Protect the
helpless little woman, that was priority numero uno; she couldn’t possibly
protect herself in a knife fight. An entirely true fact, but hardly the only
consideration. What was it about high testosterone levels that prevented guys
from seeing the obvious?

There didn’t need to be a knife fight. There didn’t
need to be a fight at all. The whole situation was just plain stupid, and as
far as I was concerned, one helpless little female was
exactly
what was
needed to fix it.

I tossed my phone on the seat, opened the door, and
got out of the car. "I’m running to the restroom," I announced to
Matt, heading for the building.

Matt merely nodded. Zane was by my side in an
instant, shouting into my ear.

"Kali! What do you think you’re doing?"

"Stop worrying about me," I muttered,
striding with rapid paces toward the store. I could just see the hood of a
rather dilapidated sports car parked around its far side. "I’ll be
perfectly fine."

As I neared the door through which the rest rooms
were located, I cast a glance over my shoulder. Matt wasn’t watching. I made a
sharp left turn and darted toward the corner of the building.

"Kali, NO!" Zane tried to block my path,
but I walked right through him. The sensation was unsettling, rather like a
mild electric shock, but I forged on. In a few seconds I was around the bend
and safely out of Matt’s line of sight.