Dangerous Secrets
Автор
Shirlee McCoy
Прочтений
19,9K
Глав
43
ONE
The soft buzz of her cell phone pulled Ariel Martin’s attention from the ninth-grade English paper she was grading. It was good that she’d been engrossed in the essay—the student had obviously done an outstanding job. It was not so good that long shadows had drifted across the classroom floor while she was reading. It was late. Later than she’d realized.
She grabbed her phone and read the text that had come through.
Want to grab some dinner later, Ari?
“No, Easton. I do not,” she muttered, shoving the phone back in her purse without responding.
Easton Riley was a nice enough guy—a math teacher who’d coached the football team to regional victory the previous year—but she wasn’t interested.
She had her hands full teaching summer school, tutoring on the side, getting the classroom ready for the long-term sub who’d be taking over from mid-September through December when she had her baby. The last thing she needed or wanted was a relationship complicating things. She’d lived that for five years—always at another person’s beck and call, always worrying about what someone else wanted or needed.
She hadn’t thought marriage would be that way. She’d thought it would be a mutual effort—two people working together to reach a common goal. She’d been wrong. She had the divorce papers to prove it, filed in Nevada and finalized three weeks later. Not what she’d wanted. She’d wanted couples counseling and pastoral help. Mitch had wanted someone else.
That had hurt. What had hurt more was how adamant he’d been that she get rid of the baby she learned she was carrying a week after Mitch had filed for divorce. An abortion, that’s what he’d demanded. He’d even tossed cash at her, screaming that she’d better get rid of the kid or he’d do it for her.
That had been the first time she’d been scared of her ex-husband. There’d been other times after that. The fact that he’d died in a fiery car wreck a month later should have given her a sense of relief, but she’d felt trapped by all the memories—good and bad—of their marriage. Las Vegas had never been her dream. It had been Mitch’s. They’d graduated from the University of Arizona and chased after the things he’d wanted—money, fast cars, expensive toys. She’d been happy to go along for the ride, because she’d loved him.
Love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
She’d learned that the hard way, and now she was back in her old hometown, teaching at the high school she’d attended, trying to get ready for the daughter she’d be raising alone.
“We’ll do great, munchkin,” she said, standing and stretching a kink from her back. She glanced at the clock that hung above the classroom door. 5:45 p.m.
Mia McKeller’s brother was late. Again.
Ariel understood that the guy was busy. The Desert Valley police had had their hands full the past few months—murders, drug runners, attacks, arrests. Rumors and speculations had been running rampant through the town, and Ariel had wondered if she would have been better off staying in Vegas. At least there, she had some anonymity. There’d been no sweet old church ladies knocking on her door in the evening, handing her casseroles and asking questions about her married state, her plans for the baby, her decision to raise her daughter alone. In Desert Valley, everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business. If they didn’t, they wanted to know. The problem was, Ariel didn’t want to explain her marriage, Mitch’s death, the fact that she wasn’t nearly as sorry about it as she should be. She didn’t want to lie, either, so she found herself hedging around questions, giving half answers and partial truths. She preferred authenticity, but it was hard when there were so many things she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. Yeah. She preferred straight-up answers.
She also preferred being on time.
Something that Tristan McKeller seemed to be opposed to. At least when it came to his meetings with her.
He seemed like a nice guy. They’d spoken on the phone several times, and he’d gone out of his way to introduce himself at church. She hadn’t needed the introduction. She’d seen him in town, walking with Mia and his K-9 partner. Her first thought was always that he made a handsome picture—tall and dark-haired, one hand on his sister’s shoulder, the other on the dog leash. Her second was always that he really seemed to care about Mia.
And yet, he couldn’t seem to make it to their meetings on time.
She grabbed her cell phone, checking to make sure she hadn’t missed a call. Tristan had had to cancel two previous meetings due to his job as a K-9 officer. He’d apologized profusely, and she’d been happy to reschedule, but summer school was drawing to a close, Mia’s English grade wasn’t improving, and if she didn’t pass, she’d wouldn’t be able to join her friends in tenth grade the following year. As Mia’s guardian, it was up to Tristan McKeller to ensure his sister was aware of the ramifications of her decisions to not turn in assignments, not attend class, not participate.
Of course, he’d assured Ariel that he’d been talking to Mia, working with her and trying everything he could think of to motivate his sister. Nothing was working, and they were going to have to come up with a new plan. She’d explained it all to him Sunday morning when he’d pulled her aside after church and asked if Mia’s grades were improving. He’d wanted to be prepared for bad news at the meeting, he’d said, a half smile softening the hard angles of his face.
She’d noticed that.
Which had irritated her.
No more men. Ever. That was an easy enough promise to keep to herself.
Ariel sighed, grabbing the writing prompt she’d be using for Monday’s composition class. She might as well get it photocopied now, because she had a feeling Tristan would be canceling again, and once she heard from him, she was going home. She had a crib to put together. The baby was due in five weeks. Plenty of time to get the nursery ready, but whenever she got started, she thought about how it was supposed to be—two people choosing colors, two people picking wall art, two people putting the crib together—and she stopped.
She couldn’t keep stopping.
Babies came whether the parent was ready or not.
She walked out of the classroom, the smell of chalk dust and floor cleaner filling her nose. Desert Valley High was smaller than the Las Vegas prep school where she’d spent the first five years of her teaching career. The main hall split into two wings, and she turned to the left, bypassing the girls’ restroom, the library, the cafeteria. The teacher’s lounge was just ahead, the photocopy machines tucked into a cubby there.
She walked into the room, smiling at the little sign one of the teachers had hung on the refrigerator door—a smiley face with Smiles Don’t Happen Here scrawled across it.
Not true, of course.
Desert Valley High was a nice place to work—good teachers, good principal, good kids, supportive parents. A dream come true, really.
If a person still had dreams.
Ariel’s had all died when Mitch had thrown the cash at her and screamed that he wanted her and the baby gone from his life.
“Cut it out,” she muttered, sliding the prompt into the copy machine and closing the lid. The last thing she needed to do was dwell on the past. She had an entire future to plan out and live. She also had a baby who would need her to be strong, focused and positive.
Somewhere in the school a door slammed shut, the sound faint but audible. Tristan McKeller. It had to be. The rest of the staff had gone home for the night. Ariel had been alone in the building since the head custodian, Jethro Right, had told her to lock the main doors when she left.
That was one of the nice things about being in a school this size. She had a key to the main door and could come and go as she pleased.
She left the machine and hurried into the corridor.
At least, she tried to hurry. The baby was gaining weight rapidly at this point, the heaviness of the pregnancy slowing Ariel down more than she’d imagined it would. She’d always been an athlete—cross-country, volleyball, soccer. She’d had to slow down the past month or so, but she still walked every day and coached the girl’s track team.
By the time she reached her classroom, she was slightly out of breath, her heart racing as if she’d done the hundred-yard dash. The door was closed, no light spilling out from beneath it. Had she closed it? Had she turned off the light?
She couldn’t remember doing either, and she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, a shiver of warning working its way up her spine. There’d been moments since she’d left Las Vegas when the old fears had haunted her, when she’d found herself checking and rechecking the locks on the windows and doors of the little house she lived in. She’d found out a lot of things about Mitch after he’d died, things that had made her question herself and her ability to judge people, that had made her wonder if her entire marriage had been based on lies. According to the police, she’d been married to a criminal—a guy who’d laundered money through the casino where he’d worked, an arsonist who’d collected money after helping others commit insurance fraud. If he were alive, Mitch would be in jail.
He wasn’t, and sometimes Ariel thought that the people he owed, the ones who the police said always played for keeps, might come after her to get what they were owed.
She shivered, backing away from the door. She couldn’t imagine Mia’s brother walking into her classroom, closing the door and turning off the light, and she really didn’t think she’d done either of those things herself. She’d heard a door slam. Someone was in the school. Anyone who had any business being there would make themselves known, not wander around stealthily turning off lights.
She’d left her purse in the room, her wallet, her phone, but she could get those later. There was nothing wrong with being careful, after all. Nothing at all wrong with waiting for someone else to walk her into the room.
Heading up the corridor, she thought she heard the soft swish of a door opening behind her and turned, then saw her door swinging open, a man stepping out. Thin. Tall. Face masked by a stocking or a ski mask? He had something in his hand and raised it. A gun! She darted around the corner as a bullet slammed into the wall near her head. Plaster and cement flew into her hair, pinging off her cheek.
She didn’t stop. She could hear his feet slapping against the tile, knew he’d be around the corner in heartbeat.
Run! her mind shrieked, her body clumsy with eight months of pregnancy, her legs churning in slow-motion, time speeding forward, the footsteps growing closer.
She ducked into the resource room, slamming the door closed, her hands trembling as she turned the lock. She stepped to the side just as a bullet flew through the door and smashed into a shelf of books that lined the far wall.
She had to get out!
The window was the only escape, and she ran to it, clawing at the lock mechanism. It didn’t budge.
Behind her, something slammed into the door. Once. Twice. The door shook, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it flew open and the gunman appeared, weapon drawn and ready.
Please, God, please! she prayed frantically as she searched the room for another way out. There wasn’t one, but an old computer monitor sat abandoned on the floor, wires tossed on top of it. She lifted it and slammed it into the window. A tiny hairline crack appeared. She slammed it again, and the glass cracked more. Behind her, the assault on the door continued, the wood starting to splinter and give.
Please, she prayed again as she lifted the monitor and threw it with all her strength.
Glass shattering.
Rookie K-9 officer Tristan McKeller heard it as he hooked his K-9 partner to a lead. The yellow lab cocked his head to the side, growling softly.
“What is it, boy?” Tristan asked, scanning the school parking lot. Only one other vehicle was parked there—a shiny black minivan that he knew belonged to Ariel Martin. He was late to their meeting. That seemed to be the story of his life this summer. Work was crazy, and his sister was crazier, and finding time to meet with Mia’s summer school teacher? Nearly impossible. He’d already canceled two previous meetings. He couldn’t cancel this one. Not if Mia had any hope of getting through summer school and moving on to the next grade. That’s what Ariel had said when he’d pulled her aside at church last Sunday.
She can do it, Tristan. She’s smart enough. We just have to find the right motivation. We’ll talk about it at the meeting. You are going to be there, right?
Of course, he’d assured her that he would.
What he hadn’t done was assure her that he’d be on time. A good thing, since it looked like he was going to be more than a few minutes late. Jesse was still growling, alerted to something that must have to do with the shattering glass. Kids fooling around and busting school windows? A ball tossed the wrong way, taking out a streetlight?
He hoped it was something that innocuous, but he wasn’t counting on it. Things had been happening in Desert Valley, a string of crimes that seemed to have surprised everyone in the small town. Drug runners. A dirty cop. Murder.
“Find!” he commanded, and Jesse took off, pulling against the leash in his haste to get to the corner of the building and around it. Trained in arson detection, the dog had an unerring nose for almost anything. Right now, he was on a scent, and Tristan trusted him enough to let him have his head.
Glass glittered on the pavement twenty feet away, and Jesse beelined for it, barking raucously, his tail stiff and high.
“Front!” Tristan said, and the dog returned to him, sitting impatiently, his dark eyes focused on the window.
“Stay!” Tristan commanded, and Jesse dropped down with a grunted protest. He wanted to keep going, but Tristan couldn’t risk him cutting his paws on the shards of glass.
A woman appeared in the window. Dark hair. Pale skin. Freckles. Very pregnant belly that wasn’t cooperating as she struggled to crawl through the opening. Ariel Martin. The newest teacher at Desert Valley High School. Smart. Enthusiastic. Patient. He’d heard that from more than one parent. He’d even heard it from Mia. The few times Tristan had spoken to Ariel, he’d been impressed by her interest in his sister, and he’d felt confident that she could help Mia regain her academic grounding. If Mia would let her.
“You okay?” he asked, running to Ariel’s side.
She shook her head, dark gray eyes wide with shock, a smear of blood on her right hand. She’d cut herself. It looked deep, but she didn’t seem to notice. “He’s got a gun. He tried to shoot me.”
The words were calm, crisp and clear, and they chilled Tristan to the bone. Two women had already been murdered in Desert Valley. Was Ariel Martin slated to be the third?
“Who?” He grabbed her arms, hauling her through the opening.
She landed on her feet, her body trembling. “I don’t know. He was wearing something over his face.”
“But you did see a gun?” he asked, wanting clarification before he called in a gunman on the loose.
“Saw it. Heard the bullet slam into the wall. Saw one go through the door. He was trying to get into the resource room where I was hiding, but I think he heard your dog barking and left.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t hesitate, the words flowing out easily. Truth did that to people. This was no overly imaginative person freaked-out about something that might have been seen. This was a woman who’d been terrified by a very real, very imminent threat.
Her safety was first, but Tristan wanted to go after the guy now, before he had a chance to run. If this was connected to the other murders, this might be the break they’d been looking for. Ariel had seen the guy. Not his face. But his height, width, maybe his skin tone.
He called dispatch and asked for backup as he led Ariel to his SUV. The sooner they hunted the perp down and took him into custody, the safer everyone in the vicinity would be.
He couldn’t leave the victim, though. Not until he was certain the gunman wasn’t hanging around, waiting for another opportunity to strike.
“Do you think he’s gone?” Ariel asked.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know. Not for sure. He could be in the building somewhere, or heading around the side of the school,” she responded, just a hint of a tremor in her voice. Despite her advanced pregnancy, she was fit and muscular, her legs long and slim, her arms toned. He’d noticed that the first time he’d seen her. She’d walked into church with her head high, her shoulders squared, her belly pressing against a flowy dress, and there wasn’t an unattached guy in the congregation who hadn’t sat up a little straighter. A few months later and her belly was bigger, but she still looked confident and determined. Being shot at could shake the toughest person, though, and it had obviously shaken her.
He opened the passenger door, helped her into the seat.
“I do know for sure,” he assured her. “Or at least, Jesse does.” He pointed to his K-9 partner. The dog was relaxed, his tail wagging, his scruff down. He’d be growling or barking if he sensed danger. Instead, he’d loped back to their vehicle, not even a hint of tension in his muscular body.
Good, but not good enough for Tristan. He wanted to search the school, make sure the guy hadn’t left anything behind—firearms, bombs, some kind of accelerant that he could use at a later date to cause mass casualties. Not likely, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
Same for Ariel. Aside from her paleness and the cut on her hand, she seemed to be doing okay. It was better to get her checked out at the hospital, though, and make certain there wouldn’t be any complications with her pregnancy. He called dispatch with the request for an ambulance as he opened the back of the SUV and pulled out a first-aid kit.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Ariel protested.
He ignored her, pulling on disposable gloves and lifting her wounded hand. “This is deep. You’ll need stitches.”
He pressed gauze to the wound, and she winced.
“Sorry.” He didn’t ease up on the pressure, though. She’d bled a lot. Probably more than she realized.
“It’s fine.” Her free hand lay against her belly. No ring on that one or the one he was holding. He knew she was a widow. He’d heard rumors that her husband had died shortly after she’d found out she was pregnant. He hadn’t asked for details, but he’d wondered. Mia really liked Ariel, and Tristan figured it took a special kind of person to win his sister’s affection. He’d imagined that Ariel must be gentle, quiet, maybe a little sentimental, but taking off her wedding ring so soon after her husband’s death didn’t seem sentimental at all.
Then again, maybe it was. He didn’t know much about those kinds of things, and he didn’t know Ariel well enough to ask. What he did know was that she deserved better than this.
He met her eyes, saw fear in the depth of her dark gray gaze.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
“I hope so.”
“It will be. The ambulance should be here soon. They’ll triage this before they transport you,” he said, and she frowned.
“Like I said, I don’t need an ambulance.”
“You’re nine months pregnant—”
“Eight, and—”
Whatever she planned to say was cut off by a police cruiser’s siren. The vehicle screamed into the parking lot, lights flashing, tires shrieking as Eddie Harmon’s car squealed to a stop beside Tristan.
Eddie jumped out of the car, his uniform shirt pulled tight across his stomach, his shoes scuffed and pants wrinkled.
“What’s going on here? Got a call about a gunman?” He eyed Ariel, taking in her bleeding hand and her very pregnant belly. “I’m assuming it was a false alarm, maybe a misunderstanding?”
Of course he’d assume that. Eddie liked to take the easy route to police work. His focus was on his family and his upcoming retirement rather than his job. He wasn’t a bad cop, but he wasn’t a good one, either.
Tristan would have preferred to have one of the K-9 officers there. He trusted Eddie to do his job, but he hated to leave Ariel with a guy who probably wasn’t going to take her seriously. She looked too pale, too vulnerable, and he was tempted to stay right where he was until the rest of the K-9 team arrived. But, every minute he waited was another minute the perp had to escape.
“There was a shooter,” Tristan assured him. “I’m going to take Jesse into the building and secure the scene. There’s an ambulance on the way. Can you stay with the victim until it arrives? Until we know what the perp is after, we can’t assume he’s not going to try to strike again.”
“In other words, you want me to take guard duty,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his belly and eyeing Tristan dispassionately.
“Right.”
“I guess I can do that.” Eddie shrugged. “Easier than walking around the building looking for the perp.”
That’s exactly what Tristan figured he’d say.
He met Ariel’s eyes. She still looked scared. She also looked exhausted, her face pale, her cheekbones gaunt. He hadn’t noticed that before, but then he’d been telling himself for months that he shouldn’t be noticing anything about Mia’s teacher. His life was filled up with work and with his sister. He didn’t have time for relationships. Especially not complicated ones. A pregnant widow? That was way more than he had room for in his life.
“This might take a while. When I finish, I’ll check back in with you.”
She nodded, and he called Jesse to heel and jogged to the building. The perp hadn’t gone out the front. Jesse would have scented him when they’d walked back to the SUV.
“Where is he?” Tristan asked, and Jesse’s ears perked, his nose going to the air and then the ground. Tristan would have preferred to have Shane Weston and his apprehension dog, Bella, there tracking the perp, but waiting was out of the question.
“Find him!” he urged, and Jesse ran to the back of the school, nosing the cement path that led to double-wide doors. They yawned open, the corridor beyond silent and empty. This had to have been the entrance point. The exit point, too, if the guy was gone.
Tristan followed the dog across the threshold, calling out as he entered the building, warning that police were present. No response. He hadn’t expected one. He really didn’t expect the perp to have hung around.
Jesse tugged him through the hall, passing classroom after classroom. The lab stopped at room 119, sniffing the floor before walking inside. There, he nosed around near a teacher’s desk, sniffing a dark blue sweater that hung over the back of a chair. He huffed quietly and left it, continuing across the room to a storage closet that stood open.
Had the guy been in the closet? Maybe waiting for Ariel to return to the classroom? The thought turned Tristan’s stomach. Master police dog trainer Veronica Earnshaw had been murdered in her place of employment, shot to death while microchipping a new litter of puppies for the Canyon County K-9 Training Center. Since then, Desert Valley had been on edge. That wasn’t the first murder in the area. Five years ago, K-9 officer Ryder Hayes had lost his wife on the night of the annual Desert Valley Police Department dance and fund-raiser. She’d been shot and killed while carrying her dress home just hours before the party.
The perp had shot at Ariel. Was this newest incident somehow related to the other two?
Jesse left the closet, tracing a path from there back to the desk and then out into the hallway. They moved through the dimly lit corridor, the dusky sunlight barely penetrating this far into the building. They reached the corner where the east and west wings jutted to either side of the main building, and Jesse barked, prancing around what looked like bits of concrete and wallboard.
“Front!” Tristan commanded, and the dog returned, dropping down on his haunches.
“Stay!” he said, motioning for the dog to lie on the floor, then moving past and looking at the debris that littered the gray-white tiles. A chunk of wall had been blown from the corner, the bullet still lodged in concrete. Tristan called for Jesse and continued on past several closed doors. He didn’t need the dog to show him where Ariel had been hiding. The door to the room had been shot through, the old wood caving in from the force of a foot kicked into it over and over again. Another few well-placed kicks and the door would have caved in, giving the gunman a clear shot at his intended victim.
A random act of violence?
Tristan didn’t think so. Everything about this seemed premeditated—the perp hiding in the closet, the mask that had hidden his features, the determination to get through a locked door. The guy had been after blood, and if Tristan hadn’t had a meeting scheduled with Ariel, he might have gotten it.
God always has a way.
It’s what his father had told him over and over again. It’s what Tristan’s mother had repeated during Tristan’s challenging teenage years. Since they’d died, Tristan had been too busy trying to raise Mia to spend much time trying to figure out what God’s way was.
Maybe that had been his mistake. Maybe it was the reason why Mia was struggling so much in school and with making friends. Becoming a K-9 police officer had seemed like the perfect transition from being an army dog handler into civilian life, but that wasn’t the reason Tristan had signed on to the Canyon County K-9 Center Training Course. He’d joined in honor of his army buddy and good friend Mike Riverton who’d died the previous May.
Mike had sung the praises of the K-9 program, and he’d been trying to get Tristan to apply. Then Mike had died—killed when he’d fallen down steep stairs at his home. That’s the story Tristan had been told, and that’s what the medical examiner’s records said, but Tristan wasn’t buying it. A guy like Mike—trained in mountain climbing and free-climbing rock walls—would never have fallen and not been able to catch himself.
Yeah. Things around Desert Valley weren’t what they’d seemed when Tristan had moved there for the program. Small towns, he was learning, often hid big secrets.
He frowned, his thoughts going back to Ariel, the way she’d looked when she’d been struggling to escape through the broken window, the fear in her eyes, the subtle trembling of her voice.
Sometimes, small towns also hid murderers.
Not for long, though.
Tristan knew the Desert Valley PD was closing in on the killer. He was certain it was just a matter of time before the perpetrator was found. But, time wasn’t anyone’s friend when a murderer was on the loose.
A murderer, he thought, eyeing the splintered door and the bullet hole, who might have just attempted to strike again.
