The reporter excused himself with a jaunty wave out of keeping with the ominous tone of our meeting. After he’d gone, Shannon scooted out and sat down next to Jesse, who made room in the booth for her. She didn’t look at us, instead studying the milky reflection of her hands clasped on the white Formica table.
“I didn’t tell you everything,” she whispered. “Dale knows that. Whatever’s going on, my mom is part of it. That’s why I was so desperate to get away. Because I think . . . whoever is a part of this mess is planning to do something to me. I heard her arguing with my dad about it one night.”
That would certainly explain her father’s misery, although I didn’t understand why he hadn’t just grabbed Shannon and run. I could certainly comprehend a parent doing all manner of things to protect his child. I didn’t understand inaction.
“When was this?” Jesse asked gently.
I wondered what he felt from her, this thin, big-eyed girl who was scarcely more than a child. His hand came to light on the top of her spiky, blue-streaked head, and she turned her face into his shoulder. I definitely grasped the appeal of that. Jesse had a way of making a woman feel safe.
“Last week,” she muttered, voice muffled by his shirt. “Just before y’all got here.”
“You must have been terrified.” Saldana petted her as if she were a stray puppy he’d found.
She sniffed. “Yeah. But I couldn’t let her know how happy I was to see somebody who might be able to help, so that’s why I acted like such a jerkwad when we first met.” Jesse looked puzzled, as he hadn’t been on-site to receive Shannon’s rudeness firsthand.
I waved that away. Her “rebellious teen” act was the least of our concerns. Before I could comment on what the reporter had said, the waitress swung by to find out if we meant to order anything besides coffee. She was a stout woman with big, stiff hair, a pink polyester uniform, and sensible shoes. When she recognized Shannon, her brows pulled together like an angry centipede.
“Shouldn’t you be in school, Shannon Cheney? Does your mother know you’re gadding about with strangers?” Her disapproving gaze took in the way Jesse was holding the girl, and her mouth tightened.
I could have assured the waitress he didn’t have lascivious intentions, but I doubted she’d believe me. She also wouldn’t credit that Shannon was scared of Sandra, who looked like the perfect mother. Appearances could be deceiving—could they ever.
“If she didn’t before, she’ll find out the minute you get a break.” Shannon didn’t look concerned. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her faith in us.
“Let’s get out of here.” I didn’t want to be here when her mother showed up breathing fire and brimstone. She might not be able to physically remove her child, but she could—and would—make our stay in Kilmer unpleasant. I didn’t look forward to the inevitable confrontation.
“Check, please.” Jesse offered the waitress his best smile, but she glared at him.
We paid the bill, just coffee and Dale Graham’s peach pie, then made our way back to the Forester. It was a gray day, heavy and overcast. A cool, damp wind blew over us, carrying the scent of distant fires. I couldn’t imagine what anybody would be burning in the middle of the day, but it sent a shiver of foreboding over me nonetheless.
“Something’s going to happen soon,” Chance predicted.
“I wish that struck me as a good thing,” I muttered as I climbed into the SUV. “But it absolutely doesn’t.”
“Me either.” Chance seemed grim as he settled beside me in the backseat. “Dale said events are escalating.”
Saldana started the car, made sure Shannon had on her seat belt, and checked our surroundings in the rearview mirror. I felt like people were watching us from behind their blinds and curtains, planning something so bad I couldn’t conceive it. Though I wanted to tell myself I was being irrational, I couldn’t.
I’d died out in those woods. If not for Jesse Saldana, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I found it hard to get my breath. Since my mother’s death, Kilmer had shaped my bogeymen and my nightmares, filling them with dark beasts that knew my name.
I scowled in reaction. “He also said we could blame everything that’s wrong in Kilmer on breeding experiments instituted by J. Edgar Hoover, using genetic material recovered from the Roswell crash.”
Jesse laughed as he pulled onto the road. “He’d make a great poster child for antidrug campaigns, wouldn’t he? So where to?”
Mentally I tabulated our schedule. We needed to be at Miss Minnie’s house for dinner by six, and we should check in with Chuch, Booke, and Chance’s mom before the day got too much later. At nine, we would swing by Dale Graham’s house on Rabbit Road.
After a moment’s thought, I said, “We should check out Little Ed Willoughby, if Shannon knows where he lives.”
“They have a place in the old neighborhood, four blocks from the hardware store.” Shannon gave Jesse directions.
Since Kilmer was a small town, it took us only five minutes to get there. We pulled up outside a tiny bungalow that seemed hard-pressed to house three people. The place seemed still and quiet, but as we climbed out of the SUV and went up the cracked sidewalk toward the front door, I heard the sound of a TV or radio from inside.
Chance waved us on, circling around back. I didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish until he came around the other side. “The car’s parked out back,” he said grimly. “Looks like we came to the right place.”
My heart gave a little skip. Now maybe we’d get some answers. I pounded on the door and then squeezed my hands together so they wouldn’t tremble. I’d never come to visit someone who had tried to kill me before.
It took almost five minutes before anyone answered. A muttered curse sounded as something thumped just inside. I braced myself.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of a young man hardly older than Shannon, sitting in a wheelchair. Both his legs had casts on them, signed with colorful get-well wishes. Little Ed Willoughby gazed up at us curiously, smiling with a touch of chagrin when he recognized Shannon.
“Hey, girl.” I could tell he was trying to look cool for her, actively hampered by several pounds of plaster and a tatty blue bathrobe.
Shannon seemed just as surprised as the rest of us. “What happened to you, Ed?”
“Fell off my uncle’s roof,” he muttered.
And broke both his legs? That took some doing.
I felt somewhat nonplussed. I could tell the casts hadn’t just been applied yesterday, and I didn’t think he could drive like that.
“Has anyone borrowed your car lately?” Jesse asked. Trust the cop to get the interrogation back on track.
Little Ed looked mildly alarmed. “No, why?”
“Because someone tried to run Corine over with a vehicle that looks like yours,” Chance put in. “Do you mind if we take a look in your backyard?”
“Not at all,” the kid said. If he had anything to hide, he was a hell of an actor. He seemed more confused than anything—and a little sweet on Shannon. “I don’t know of anybody else who drives an Olds Cutlass like mine. You sure it was blue?”
“Positive,” Chance told him.
Ed shrugged. “Well, feel free to have a look around. Come on back if you need anything else.”
We took him at his word and headed out back to inspect his car. It took Saldana only a minute and a half to put the pieces together. “This car’s been hot-wired. See the loose wires?”
I blinked at that. “So somebody stole Ed’s car, tried to run me over, and then brought it back when they failed?”
“What I wouldn’t give for a basic forensics kit, so I could take some prints, but then again, there’s no computer to run them through.” I’d never seen Jesse so frustrated. “This place is like living in the Dark Ages.”
Shannon sighed. “Well, that was pointless. It could’ve been anybody.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Just someone who wants me dead.”
On second thought, that didn’t narrow it down much at all.
Homecoming
After a fruitless stop at Little Ed Willoughby’s, we had plenty of time to do something that seemed inevitable. I marveled a little that I’d managed to put it off so long. There was one place we might find answers, however, as little as I liked it.
“What’s next on our list?” Saldana asked.
“Out of town,” I said, swallowing a wave of pain that threatened to drown me. Jesse cut me a sharp look over his shoulder and started to pull over. “Jesus, Corine, are you all right? What—”
“It’s okay. Drive.”
Shannon craned her neck to stare, as if starting to grasp that there was a silent subtext she couldn’t register. She didn’t like it, either. A frown etched delicate lines between her inky brows, out of place on a kid her age.
Chance regarded me with his tiger’s eyes, amber latticed through with gold and topaz. They were nothing so simple as light brown; in this moment they seemed to glow with lambent light and quiet secrets. “Are you sure about this?”
He knew? I hadn’t said anything. My face must have reflected confusion, for his expression softened, and he brushed a kiss against my temple. His look said simply, I know you. I know how you think. In a motion that seemed more than natural, he reached for me, offering physical contact easily, as he’d never done when we were together. God, he felt good; so hot and solid beside me. I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with Chance.
“About what?” Jesse’s tone reflected mild irritation.
“We need to swing by the place I used to live.” My certainty came from beyond my own powers and intuitions. Bleak, heavy knowledge pressed on me from somewhere else, but I didn’t want to be beholden to the thing in the woods. Loneliness flooded me, utter solitude. Since I wasn’t an empath, I knew it was targeting me on purpose. Loathing crawled through me. I didn’t want it helping me—I didn’t want it sending me hunches on the smoky wind. I didn’t want to be able to feel what it felt, and I didn’t want to go to the ruin where my mother died, but I did want answers.
She deserved justice.
With a sense of foreboding, I gave directions.
Over the years, the elements had reclaimed the wreckage of our former home. Birds nested in the ruin, and creepers had wound their way through the charred timbers, erasing man’s passage. Now there was nothing left but a few fallen beams, old ashes, and a sturdy foundation. The walls had long since fallen down, but in my mind’s eye, I saw the way the house once looked; I even visualized my mama standing on the porch.
It hurt like nothing I could have imagined—not even dying. I stood beside the SUV with lead in my limbs, feeling like they wouldn’t carry me forward. My left hand curled into a fist, and I rubbed my fingers across the brand from my mother’s necklace. To my surprise, it didn’t hurt but merely tingled a bit. I glanced down and found the mark had healed overnight. It was impossible; something Kel might’ve done to make me believe in his otherworldly origins. And yet I had an old brand on my palm.
