CHAPTER 6
“Professor Andrews? Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Eli didn’t usually open up his mouth and speak to any of the instructors here without being forced to. Every student quickly learned it was better to remain quiet, out of sight equaling out of mind. You never knew when you’d say the wrong word and set one of them off. Andrews seemed like a good guy, but he was still a Fenton professor. Approaching him was a risk.
His teacher glanced at the clock. “You only have four minutes until your next class.”
Eli gulped. “It’s right next door, sir.”
“All right. What is this about?” he asked as he wrote on the old-fashioned blackboard.
“Uh…it’s about Of Mice and Men.”
From behind, Andrews looked like he relaxed a little. It was as if he’d been expecting Eli to ask something else. Maybe he’d anticipated questions about Charlie, or the other missing boys. He’d bet Headmaster Fenton had threatened jobs if anybody talked about it.
“You did a fine job on your book report, Eli.” Andrews put down the chalk and turned around to face him.
“Thanks.”
“I take it you liked it better than The Grapes of Wrath?”
He wrinkled his nose. They were reading Steinbeck this term. Yuck. But at least he wasn’t as bad as Melville and that stupid book about the whale, which they’d tackled last fall.
“It was okay. East of Eden was my favorite.”
“Of course it was. East of Eden is every teenage boy’s favorite. Sex, scandal, betrayal…”
“What’s not to love?” Eli asked with a grin.
The professor actually smiled back, like they were a normal teacher and kid, in a normal school, in a place that wasn’t this place. Then the moment disappeared. Andrews remembered where he was, and his face fell back into that stiff expression.
“What did you not understand about Of Mice and Men? I thought your report was very thorough, and you correctly captured the theme and subtext of the novel.”
Eli scuffed his feet. “Well, sir, I was thinking. I’m kind of like George.”
The professor nodded in interest, but he didn’t interrupt.
Releasing a deep breath, Eli went on. “And Charlie, he was kind of like Lennie. I mean, big and nice, and a little slow, and people didn’t understand him.” Eli had wracked his brain to figure out how to bring up this topic with one of the grown-ups here. The recent reading assignment had seemed like a good opening. “Anyway, I’m wondering, if I’m George, and Charlie is Lennie, do you really think he woulda run away without saying anything at all to me?”
“I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you.” Andrews went to his desk and began stuffing papers into a folder. “You should go. I have to get ready for my next class.”
By shoving all his paperwork away? Yeah, right. Eli was getting to him, making him uncomfortable. Knowing that gave him the courage to go on. “Do you see what I mean, though?”
“Mr. McMasters ran way. That’s all.
He wasn’t giving up, not now that he’d worked up the courage to ask. He might never be able to catch Mr. Andrews off guard again. No way could he ask any other faculty members. Well, maybe his track coach, but he didn’t know Charlie and Andrews did. “Would Lennie have done that though? I’m just talking about the story here. I’m really curious.”
One reason Andrews was one of the better teachers here was that he knew about what he was teaching. Unlike some, who always seemed like they were pulling stuff out of their butts, the English teacher liked his subject and read a lot. He sometimes got into real discussions with the students, rather than just lecturing and piling on homework.
“Well, theoretically, I suppose I can see what you’re getting at. You are a reluctant leader, like George was. Much smarter than most people would think at first meeting.”
Gee thanks.
“You’re small and easy to overlook, but you’re protective of others.” Andrews crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against his desk. “Lennie and Charlie, now that’s a truly interesting comparison. I don’t think Charlie was, uh…simple.”
“Nope, he isn’t.” Even if Professor Leggett called him a brick wall with hair. “He gets scared to talk in class because he doesn’t want to get it wrong and look like a dummy.”
“He sometimes participated here.”
“He liked this class. He was real happy about the grade he got on his test last week.”
Andrews frowned. “He got a C+.”
“He barely read before he got here, so that was good for him.”
The teacher looked away, his mouth pulling down, but he didn’t look mad. Almost…sad.
Eli decided to milk that. “Other teachers like to call on him, and he gets confused. He can think of the answers, but not fast enough, and then they make fun of him.” Realizing he might have gone too far away from the topic, he added, “I bet it was like that for Lennie.”
“Charlie was a bit slow, that’s all.”
Was again. Why did everybody already assume Charlie was gone forever?
“Unlike Lennie, he certainly understood actions and reactions. Consequences.”
The one minute warning bell clanged. “Right!” Eli said, not wanting to get off track. He had sixty seconds left before he had to be in his chair in the classroom next door for Algebra. “Lennie didn’t always know if he was doing something dangerous, but Charlie did. He knew if he ran away, he would end up lost. He didn’t like being alone, he was a little scared of the dark, and he hated the swamp. So why would he have done it, especially without talking to George? I mean, me?”
Andrews went very still, and Eli really thought his words had sunk in. He looked deep in thought, and his eyes narrowed.
“Will you help me find out what really happened to him?”
The teacher’s head jerked up. “You shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“But he’s my best friend. I think something bad might have happened to him.”
Mr. Andrews studied his face for a few seconds, and Eli would swear he saw sympathy there. The teacher looked about to say something. Before he could do it, though, the classroom door opened, and boys started coming in. There was no laughing, no ragging on each other or noogeying. They’d formed a line, straight and precise, and entered in silence.
Andrews cleared his throat. The moment was lost. “Get to your class, Mr. Winston.”
Eli sagged with disappointment. He felt sure he’d come close to learning something important. Now, though, he knew he would never catch this teacher off guard by asking about characters in a book. He should have waited until he’d had more time, and students wouldn’t come in to interrupt them. It was just so hard to deviate from your daily schedule here.
Already trying to figure out his next move, he walked away. He’d only taken one step when he heard Mr. Andrews say something behind him, really soft. “Watch out, Eli. Don’t ask questions you’re not supposed to ask. That can be a dangerous thing to do here.”
Though his heart started thumping, he didn’t turn around. Mr. Andrews wouldn’t say anything else, not with students in the room. So he nodded once, letting the teacher know he had heard the warning, and left the classroom. He got into the next one and slid into his seat as the final bell rang. The Devil saw him and frowned.
Craptastic. He was gonna get it. Maybe not now, but at some point during class, or after, Mr. Angel was going to make him pay for not being at his desk, with his book open and his pencil in hand, before the final bell.
But it was worth it. The English teacher hadn’t been telling Eli he needed to watch his mouth, like the other teachers did here. He was saying Eli might be in danger if he kept nosing around about Charlie’s disappearance. Which was exactly what Eli had already figured out.
Something bad was happening. He’d believed it before, but now he was sure. If a teacher felt the need to warn him about Fenton Academy, it had to be true.
Charlie hadn’t run away. His disappearance was scarier than that. If he kept asking questions about it, the same thing could happen to Eli. But he’d never been one to back down. Not to school jocks, not to bullies. The fire that had landed him here proved that. Despite his size, if pushed too far, he would fight back in any way he could.
Doing something to his best friend was pushing too far. So even though he appreciated Professor Andrews’ warning, he wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t have his parents here to come to his aid, and he didn’t know if any of his other friends would be brave enough to help.
It didn’t matter. He would find out what happened to Charlie even if it killed him.
“You come highly recommended, Mr. Monahan, though I’m unsure why Senator Wainwright felt the need to get involved with our little school.”
Sitting across from the man who’d bought this property with its history of horror and turned it into an equally horrifying school, Derek merely shrugged. “The Wainwrights keep track of unique programs in the state and like to support them. Yours is getting a reputation.”
A shitty one.
Richard Fenton’s chest puffed out. He laced his fingers together across his belly and leaned back in his chair. “I’m so glad to hear our good work here has been noticed.”
“Oh, it has been. Definitely.”
It would be a household name when this was all over. If Isaac had been murdered here, and other boys as well, he and the rest of the Extrasensory Agents would blow the news into a national scandal. Aidan’s girlfriend Lexie was a reporter; she knew how to take a story viral.
“Well, you are qualified to instruct our boot camp session. You have military experience, correct?”
Derek couldn’t prevent a reflexive stiffening of his entire body. “Yes.”
“You did a good job, judging by your citations and medal.”
He managed a nod.
“I guess you saw some serious action.”
He’d seen way too much. Not just action in which he was participating, but all that had gone before. It had been impossible to avoid certain areas when he was ordered to sweep them. He couldn’t close his eyes when driving through a neighborhood where a suicide bomber had taken out a wedding party or a school full of young girls. There was no way to pretend he wasn’t seeing a convoy being blown up by IEDs buried along a known route. Impossible to avert his gaze as his fellow soldiers bled out and died.
Someday maybe he would forgive his young, stupid self for enlisting. Maybe.
Someday he might forget that he’d been so careless with his own life at that point, that he hadn’t really cared on the day he’d signed the papers. Or maybe not.
Despite their love and support, his grandmother and Aunt Kim couldn’t change what Derek had experienced from the day his parents had died onward. Nor could they understand it. The child therapist they’d sent him to flat-out didn’t believe it. Living with a constant nightmare of death—since his family lived in downtown Atlanta—from twelve-to-eighteen had made him rebellious, angry, and careless of his own life. The military hadn’t seemed like such a bad choice.
It had been. So very bad.
“A boot camp for outgoing students, rather than incoming ones, is an interesting idea,” he said, schooling his expression and trying to hide his bad memories of his own military days.
“We experimented with the freshmen.” The headmaster smirked. “They couldn’t handle it. Takes a while to get the arrogance drilled out of them.”
Yeah, he’d bet it did.
“We consider it a last wall on the obstacle course for seniors to scale before graduation. With your background, I’m sure you can imagine the pride the boys feel when they finish.”
Pride? Maybe relief, not to mention exhaustion. “I’m sure.”
“So, were you roped into this by the Senator?”
“Not at all. It looked like I might be able to help, and I was happy to do it.”
Fenton shook his head wonderingly. “I still can’t believe we’re getting statewide attention. Maybe next we’ll have to franchise nationally.”
Right. Like Chuck-E-Cheese, only with torture and anguish for the kids, instead of pizza and ball pits. “Well, a senator always has to be interested in the lives of his constituents.”
Senator Wainwright had no idea what this was about, letting his staff do his cousin, Olivia, the favor of a single phone call. That was the extent of his involvement.
“Just remember to report back only to him. Can’t have our competitors horning in.” Fenton wagged his index finger like he was scolding a kid. “It’s our little secret.”
Derek would like to punch him in his little face, but managed to remain pleasant. “Certainly.”
The seventy’ish man relaxed in his chair, which stood behind a massive desk that dominated the dark-wood-paneled office. Derek couldn’t imagine how scary it would be for a kid sitting in his seat, which felt like it had been intentionally lowered. Although a senior citizen, the burly headmaster would still look intimidating, especially in a room filled with signs threatening disinheritance, damnation, or incarceration for unsuccessful students.
Fenton leaned back, self-congratulatory and smug. “I have no doubt the Senator will be pleased by what he hears. Not everyone could have pulled off a program this successful.”
Derek managed not to glower. “Can I ask what made you do it?”
“You might not know this, but my family has wealth, and a long history of philanthropy.”
Of course he knew it. Research had told him a lot about the Fentons, founders of a lumber dynasty.
“I have always felt a strong sense of duty, and a hope for our future through our teenage boys. I feel it’s important to whip them into shape, to create fine young men.”
Campaign speech, though the whip them into shape part was probably too close for comfort. If Derek’s suspicions were true, this man wouldn’t be elected as ticket-taker once the truth came out. Although he only had Kate’s word for what her brother had telepathically told her about what was going on here, his first step into the building had confirmed it in Derek’s mind. It didn’t take any extrasensory powers to get it. This school was so damn quiet. Eerily so. He’d arrived when hundreds of boys were changing classes…in silence. Jesus. How terrified must they be to not exchange a single whisper, a nudge, a joke? These boys didn’t. Their heads were down. They walked alone.
It had pained him to see such broken spirits. Delinquents or not, he doubted any of them deserved the kind of lives that would so subdue normally rambunctious teenagers.
They certainly wouldn’t get any warmth from the faculty, or the man sitting across from him. Judging by the single personal photo in the headmaster’s office, he suspected Fenton didn’t even have kids, much less like them. The framed family picture was old-fashioned, and in black and white, appearing to be from Fenton’s own childhood: unsmiling parents, two unsmiling boys. Every other frame hanging on the wall contained a stern quote about discipline and resilience.
“I’m sure you want to get started. I’ve arranged for Coach Emerson to take you on a tour,” Fenton said, straightening and pushing his chair back from his desk.
Derek got the message. Interview over. Good. He wanted to get away from this ass ASAP. “Thank you,” he said, glad to escape the oppressive room with its warnings, and the officious headmaster with his arrogance and self-satisfaction.
Of course, when he met Emerson a few minutes later, he realized he’d only exchanged one officious, arrogant prick for another. The man was an amalgamation of every blowhard PE teacher depicted in every teen-coming-of-age movie and TV show ever made. Barrel chested, gut hanging over the waistband of his too-short nylon shorts. White shin-high gym socks. Whistle hanging around his neck. Ball cap with buzzed grey hair showing at the bottom.
He was a stock character walking. The blustering, bullying attitude was just the icing on the caricature.
“I still can’t understand why you need to be here,” he said as he led Derek through the silent corridors of the school, heading toward the gymnasium in the back. Derek’s heavy boots hit the tile, sending strange echoes in all directions. The coach wore sneakers, his soles moving soundlessly through the building—the better to sneak up on you.
The classrooms were silent. As they passed each closed door, he envisioned twenty boys at twenty desks, writing, “I’ve learned my lesson, so please don’t torture me,” twenty times.
“I’m not here to step on your toes.”
“Too late for that.”
Okay, that was how it was going to be. He didn’t apologize; there was no point.
The coach’s resentful attitude had been present from the moment they were introduced. He didn’t like losing control over the boot camp session, where he probably indulged in his most sadistic urges before letting the boys escape forever. This jackoff had probably been mentally rehearsing this conversation since the minute he found out somebody else would be handling it.
“This is a private school, ya know.”
“I am aware.”
“I retired from the public school system. Got away from snotnose kids whining that they hurt themselves, and trashy girls complaining about period cramps. These kids know better than to complain about anything.”
Teacher of the year material right here.
“You better be dead or gushing blood if you wanna get out of phys ed.”
Derek had never had much use for gym class himself. In fact, he’d been kicked out of school in tenth grade for punching a coach who’d tried to egg him on by taunting him about his dead parents. He’d never had to take PE again…though, of course, he’d had to change schools.
“There’s no namby-pambying here, boy, I tell you that.”
Boy grating on his ears, Derek merely murmured, “Obviously.”
“I got these punks begging to do laps! No problems in my classes, by God.”
“Nobody said there was a problem.”
Emerson huffed. “So why’re you here?”
He mentally apologized to the students. “Why wouldn’t state officials support schools filled with punks who need to be straightened out before they’re let loose on the rest of us?”
The coach’s bunched arms relaxed slightly. “You ain’t kidding. You’d think after a couple’a years here those little bastards wouldn’t try any of their tricks. But I see them giving dirty looks, or rolling their eyes. They need one last good ass-kicking while we’ve got ’em.”
An ass kicking for an eye roll. Jesus. If every teenager in the country were treated that way, there would be an entire generation incapable of sitting down.
Swallowing his reaction, Derek followed the coach into the gymnasium. It had apparently been converted for this use, perhaps once a cafeteria for patients—victims—of the asylum. The high windows were paned with thick, shimmery glass. Metal bars set closely together made it clear they were designed to prevent escape rather than let in light. The prison aura was deeper here, the air almost smelling of despair and a longing for freedom along with sweat and smelly uniforms.
“We meet here at three o’clock sharp this afternoon. They strip and begin with a hundred push-ups, then a hundred pull-ups. Once they’re finished, they’re allowed to get dressed and fall out to the field for drill instruction.”
Derek gritted his teeth. “They’re naked?”
“Hey, we all started out naked, didn’t we?”
Humiliation was step one. Good lord, how was he going to get through this? “I’m surprised that’s necessary after the boys have been here for four years.”
He snickered. “They get a little ballsy when graduation’s in sight. This helps knock the sass outta them before they even take the field.” He pointed toward a rack of camo uniforms hanging near the exit. “Boys change into these and fall out.”
The uniforms were winter issue—heavy pants, long sleeved shirts, button-up jackets. Agony even in this springtime Georgia heat.
“After warmups, they start with five miles on the track. Then there’s man-on-man fight drills, and then we move into the obstacle course. We finish with war games in the swamp. No catch-the-flag shit here; the winning team has to beat their opponents to reach, kill, and bring back whatever prey the other team is protecting.”
“Like each other?” he mumbled.
The coach heard and grinned. “Heh. Nice one.”
Sure, let’s take the rebellious teens and encourage sociopathic behavior.
“Usually gators. Maybe a dog or a goat.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“If the losers don’t come back bloody and bruised to prove they put up their strongest defense, they don’t eat. Well, unless the other team lets them share in the bounty of the kill.”
His stomach heaving, he asked, “They eat their kill?”
“Only if they want dinner.”
Derek was having a really hard time pretending he didn’t want to beat the crap out of this sadistic sonofabitch. So he instead strode toward the bleachers lining half of the gymnasium.
That’s when he saw the kid—a boy, probably about fourteen. He had been hit so hard he’d flown in through a now-closed doorway onto the wooden floor of the gym.
Damn it. Not now.
The boy writhed and twisted, trying to get away from invisible, probably booted feet that came at him from both sides. Thin and wasted, he had sunken cheeks, deep-set, brown-circled eyes, and hair that had been carelessly cut until it stuck up in short, tattered tufts.
Despite his age, Derek knew he’d been no student. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform or even an athletic one. Instead, he was clad in a dingy, old-fashioned hospital johnny. Unlike today’s that fastened up the back with Velcro, this one was loosely tied with ragged strings, only a few of which were functional. The gown gaped open, revealing protruding bones in the spine, and bruises on the hips and flanks. Long sleeves dangled down the sides. They had probably been wrapped around him to restrain him during his bad days.
Of course, he was witnessing his very worst one. Derek was viewing the last moments of the life of a mental patient who’d been beaten to death in this room years or even decades ago.
The coach said something. Derek didn’t turn around, barely hearing him. He stood still, watching the boy scream as black fluid flowed from his face. The helpless kid drew into a ball, trying to make himself a smaller target. But his attacker, or attackers, proved relentless. Each kick or blow caused him to flinch. One must have landed on the small of his back, because his whole body flew backward into a comma-shaped arch. That exposed his head, which suddenly jerked. Derek mentally inserted the sound of cracking bone. The neck bent awkwardly. The boy stopped flinching. He lay still. Dead. And then he disappeared.
“Hey, buddy did ya hear me?”
I’m not your buddy and I never could be. Derek let out a slow breath, silently praying for the doomed boy’s soul, and turned to face the coach. Another man, younger and fit, wearing similar clothes and a whistle around his neck, stood beside Emerson.
“I was thinking about the past of this place,” Derek said.
“I get that. I swear sometimes I hear the howls of them crazy nuts from the looney-bin.”
The guy’s compassion overwhelmed.
“Anyway, I want to introduce you to Nate Gardener. He’s my assistant. Coaches track and field.”
“Great to have you,” Gardener said with a broad smile, extending his hand in greeting.
“I’m showing Monahan here around,” Emerson interjected.
“I hear you’re taking over the boot camp this semester?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Great. That’s a load off us.” Gardener looked genuinely relieved. “My J.V. track kids are competing in a city-wide meet next Tuesday. I don’t have time to give up three hours every afternoon to help with the seniors for the next two weeks.”
That sounded like what a normal teacher would say. And he’d called the boys “his” track kids. It was almost like Derek had stepped out of a prison and back into a typical high school gymnasium. He wondered how many guys like this one had the stomach to work here…and how long they typically lasted.
“I didn’t know the students here participated in outside activities,” he said, feeling the man out.
Gardener’s mouth quirked, even as Emerson’s tightened. “They’re let out of their cells…I mean, dorms, once in a while. They even go on field trips.”
Glowering, Emerson snapped, “Have you finished inventorying the equipment room?”
Gardener might have rolled his eyes the tiniest bit at Derek before turning to face his boss. “I was on my way to do that right now.”
“Well, get on with it,” Emerson ordered. He was a man who obviously liked his authority. “Can’t have any of these punks stealing anything.”
The junior coach nodded. Looking at Derek, he said, “Good to meet you, Monahan. If there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know.”
“As long as it’s not during track practice,” Derek murmured.
Gardener chuckled. “Right.”
Watching the younger man go, Emerson muttered, “You have any problems or need any help, you come to me. You understand?”
Derek murmured his assent, the picture clear in his mind. Emerson was overweight, not very bright, and looked ready to retire. His assistant was young, energetic, and excited about his athletes. Classic story of generational competition. Knowing he might at some point have to get information from one of them, he noted their mutual dislike. It could be of use.
“I guess we should get on with it,” Emerson said. “There’s not a whole lot more to see.”
That was a good thing, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief when they finished the tour of the facility. Afterward, with a class to teach on the field, Emerson left him alone in the athletic department office. Derek took the time alone to study the names and backgrounds of the boys in his class. He knew he couldn’t do any real digging on the school computers without leaving an incriminating electronic trail. So he took careful notes to use later.
Although his attention was on the missing students, he couldn’t help thinking about his cover story, and why he was supposedly here. Now that he knew what they went through, he wanted to do what he could to help the boys avoid the hell of the “traditional” Fenton boot camp.
The headmaster had made it clear Derek was in charge of this year’s program, so he didn’t hesitate to ignore everything the sadistic coach had said. There would be no naked push-ups. No hand-to-hand combat. Definitely no animal slaughter. He didn’t give a shit if Emerson raged. Derek was in charge. And since he was stuck doing this, he might as well do the best he could at the job without putting the students through sheer humiliation and terror.
Kate had no idea how other detectives, private investigators, or psychics interacted with their clients. She didn’t know if they provided in-depth, daily reports, or if it was normal that Derek didn’t reveal much of anything when they spoke on the phone.
There were two things she did know. First, that Derek had mentioned he would be working late at the office tonight. Second, that she was a pretty good cook. And that was why she showed up at the Extrasensory Agents office at eight o’clock Monday night, glad to see his motorcycle parked in a reserved spot in the garage attached to the downtown office building.
“Okay, Mr. Monahan, let’s see if pasta makes you talk.”
They’d spoken on the phone this afternoon, right after he’d finished his first day at Fenton, but Kate preferred to hear more than the dribbles of information he provided. She wanted details, but he’d insisted he would update her fully when they met at the end of the week. That was another four days away. Meanwhile, she was going stir crazy. A stealthy dinner ambush sounded like a good way to get him to open up.
Plying information out of the taciturn agent was the only reason she’d decided to make lasagna and bring it to him. There was nothing personal about it. It had nothing to do with the hours she’d spent worrying about him and what he’d seen on the grounds of that school last night, and everything he must have seen inside today. Nothing to do with what he’d told her about his parents—God, she still couldn’t get over that. It had nothing to do with her grief for him. Her empathy for him.
“And it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with that kiss,” she mumbled as she removed the large box of food, dishes, and utensils from the passenger seat of her car.
No, not the kiss. She’d barely spared a thought for that super-dirty, super-impulsive…but super-hot kiss they’d shared Sunday night.
Her protestations weren’t helping. “Physician heal thyself,” she mumbled.
She wanted to see him. That might be second to her need to find out what was happening at Fenton, but it was definitely her other motivation for coming here tonight.
They’d met under the worst of circumstances. She hadn’t been interested in anyone for a long time. He was the kind of man she knew better than to get involved with.
None of that mattered. She wanted him. She’d been dancing around the realization since their first meeting, and their kiss—despite the itchy bug bites, the slimy hair, and the creepy school grounds—had cemented it. Her libido had reawakened after a long dormancy caused by months of worry and grieving. That it had awakened under the influence of an adrenaline-fueled, moonlit, swampy kiss was for somebody else to figure out.
Wanting him, thinking about him the way she had been, made her want him to see her. Kate wasn’t a vain woman, but something in her needed to remind him she wasn’t the pathetic, mosquito-bitten, mud-covered, algae-haired woman he’d had to carry out of the muck. He’d kissed her when she was at her worst. What might happen when she looked her best?
“That’s not why you’re going there,” she reminded herself as she headed toward the garage elevator, which led up to the Extrasensory Agents offices. “It’s about the case. And the pizza.”
Aside from the sexual attraction, and what was happening at the school, and her missing brother, the other thing she couldn’t stop thinking about was how normal it had seemed for him to eat at his desk the other night. It was as if he did it all the time.
Derek no wore ring, nor did he seem like the kind of man who would cheat. If he were in a committed relationship, he wouldn’t have kissed her. So he was probably single, probably lived alone, and probably hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. Bringing him something substantial to eat—a salad and bread to go along with the pasta—was the least she could do. If she happened to be wearing a cute dress and strappy sandals, rather than moss, mud, and duck crap, oh well.
Reaching the outer office, she tested the door and found it locked. That hadn’t stopped the pizza guy, however, and she jabbed at a nearby buzzer. A deep, throaty voice emerged from a speaker. “Come on in. I’ll meet you out front.”
Derek. Undoubtedly waiting for his dinner delivery.
Well, tonight’s pepperoni would have to stay in its box in the break-room refrigerator.
Shifting the box onto her left hip, she waited for a click that said the door had been unlocked remotely, pulled it open, and entered the waiting area. It was almost eight p.m., and the overhead lights had been switched off. The room was nicely decorated and attractive by day, but at night was shadowy and a tad eerie. The whole building seemed silent, these offices extremely so. Maybe it was because of the kind of work they did…or the ghosts that reportedly lurked around its employees.
Derek was no ghost. She sensed him before she heard him. The air grew hotter, and she knew she was sharing it with another warm, living person. So she wasn’t startled when his tall form emerged from a dark hallway and swam toward her through the shadows.
“Kate.” He didn’t sound surprised.
“Hello, Derek.”
“That doesn’t smell like pizza.”
“You’re going to have to forego pizza tonight.” She shifted the heavy box so it rested in both arms. “I cooked too much and thought you might like a healthy meal for a change.”
He took the box. “Why do I suspect you cooked too much on purpose and came down here to feed me in exchange for information?”
“Because I did?”
Even in the semi-darkness, she could see the gleam of the broad smile he flashed. “I like an honest woman.”
“That’s good, because I suck at lying.”
“Do you suck at cooking?”
“No, that I’m very good at.”
“Excellent.” He lifted the box and sniffed appreciatively. “Italian. My favorite.”
Rather than to his office, Derek led her to the conference room. The lights came on automatically as they entered. He had just put the box on the table when the door buzzer rang again. “I’d better go get the pizza I’ll be leaving for everyone for lunch tomorrow.”
“They’ll think you’re such a nice guy.”
“They know better,” he said with a snort before leaving.
She doubted his coworkers really believed that. She had known him for less than a week and already saw the man beneath the shell. He might like to play the angry rebel, but that didn’t really describe him.
While he was gone, Kate emptied the box. Setting the table, she scooped salad into bowls and pasta onto plates. His eyes rounded upon his return, and one brow shot up. “Dishes? Really? You know I have paper and plastic stuff.”
“I thought my bribe might work better if you were able to eat off a real plate.” She offered him a tiny smile. “I brought my everyday ones in case any poltergeists around here like to fling pottery.”
“No dish-flinging poltergeists. The two ghosts who work here are pretty well-behaved.” He pulled out her chair, as if they were at a fancy restaurant, and she watched him take a seat.
“Really? Two ghosts?”
He swallowed a mouthful of the lasagna, nodded his approval, and mumbled, “Well, two that I’m aware of. Who knows if there are more hanging around, hoping to be noticed?”
She waited for the disbelieving laughter that would have come out of her mouth a month ago. There was none. Given everything that had happened, she probably wouldn’t doubt someone who came running in to say aliens had landed in Forsyth Park.
“Any particular reason these two ghosts ‘work’ with you? I mean, are they just upwardly-mobile, career-focused spirits?”
“Who knows? And they don’t work with me. Julia and Olivia are the only ones who can see and talk to them.”
“Ahh. Are you sure they really exist?” She snapped her mouth closed, realizing she had insulted his friends.
“Pretty sure.” He shook his head. “Some stuff that has happened can’t be explained any other way. Julia finds things out a lot quicker than is humanly possible. I don’t like to admit it, because I hate him, but Morgan Raines has been a big help.”
His dislike surprised her. “So you knew him when he was alive?”
“Nope.”
“Then why do you hate him? I mean, you’ve never even laid eyes on him, have you?”
“He was Julia’s partner in the Charleston P.D. He was also her lover. Let’s just say I don’t have much use for men who string women along.”
Ahh. She immediately put the puzzle together, understanding why Julia Harrington, who was one of the most striking, animated women she’d ever met, was single.
The agent was in love with a ghost. Talk about dysfunctional relationships.
His tone grudging, he added, “I have to admit, Raines has been instrumental in a few cases, even if he couldn’t stop Olivia from getting kidnapped by a psycho serial killer.”
Kate’s eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Last summer.” He shook his head, looking deeply affected by a memory. “Her ghost friend was alive and well at that time, working on a case with us. He lost his life over it.”
“How tragic.”
“Yeah, it was. Ty was a hell of a good guy. Young, a great cop with a bright future. I dunno, if I’d died like that, maybe I wouldn’t have been ready to move on, either. I guess both of them being young, on the force, and murdered, they prefer sticking around to keep working rather than going wherever it is the dead people go.”
She nodded, but couldn’t maintain her blasé expression for a second longer. With a deep sigh and a shake of her head, she admitted, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about ghostly P.I.’s as if it’s an everyday conversation.”
“You’re the one who has a psychic connection with her brother.”
Kate’s amusement faded. “Had.”
“Sorry.”
They ate quietly for a few minutes. Kate remained patient and didn’t prompt him about the case, knowing he would fill her in eventually. She also liked seeing him enjoy a good meal. She hadn’t had anyone to cook for, other than herself, in a long time. Not since she’d broken up with her cardiologist ex before she’d left for Afghanistan. He couldn’t understand why she would even think about giving up a year of her life for such a mission. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t. The end.
“So,” he said as soon as he finished his second helping.
“So.”
He stacked his salad bowl onto his plate, and put the utensils neatly beside them, then said, “Your brother wasn’t exaggerating about how shitty that place is.”
“Start at the beginning. What did you think of the boss, Mr. Richard Fenton?”
“Well, he really should be called Dick.”
“No kidding.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“I repeat: No kidding. Do you know anything about his background? His family?”
“Rich lumber barons. Sounds like the silver spoon was shoved so far in his mouth it reached all the way down his throat.” Thinking back, she ticked off everything she remembered about the family. “Dad Richard Sr., a workaholic. Mom Nancy, a socialite until she passed away. Nannies raised Dick and a brother, William, who died young. Mr. Headmaster was the last surviving Fenton, and he sold the company five years ago. The price tag was rumored to be somewhere in the eight-figure range. This guy could be living on a gold-plated yacht.”
“Which makes it more puzzling that he came to the Savannah area to open a school.” She wrinkled her nose. “I honestly doubt his story that he did it out of sheer philanthropy.”
“Me too. If that were the case, providing the funding and the disgusting site should have been enough.”
“Exactly. He wouldn’t have to be here himself, especially since he doesn’t have a background in education.”
“You did some research too.”
“Believe me, when he threatened me with a restraining order, I tried to dig up any piece of dirt I could find on him.”
“Any luck?”
“Not really. You?”
“Some. Most of the public bio is true. There’s a gap of about a year when he was a teenager and disappeared. He no longer attended the elite prep school he’d been going to—I can’t even find any record of him graduating from high school, though he did attend Yale. He’s also not in any social reports about his family. He fell off the radar.”
She tapped a nail on her cheek. “Any theories on where he was?”
“Officially, he had some kind of medical condition. His father was interviewed and said he’d contracted a serious illness and was recovering at a special hospital in Switzerland.”
“That sounds like utter bullshit.”
“Doesn’t it? He’d lost his mother, which could have made him really angry. His father was reportedly abusive to all of them.”
“God. Then the brother died, and he was the only one left?”
“Makes me wonder if he beat the crap out of little Richie and hurt him badly enough that he did have to send him out of the country.”
She tried to find some sympathy for the boy Fenton had once been, but it was damned hard to do.
“Or maybe son was like father, mean and angry. He could have ended up at 1960’s version of a special school for rich delinquents too, and this whole thing is his way of reminiscing,” said Derek.
“Or getting revenge? If he landed in a military school or something, he could have been hazed or abused.”
He nodded, obviously having considered the same thing. “Other than that, which I’ll keep digging into, here are some other options, as I see them.” Lifting a hand, he ticked off the possibilities. “One, he’s in it for the money. He’s the sole stakeholder, and the tuition rates are astronomical. Rich folks must really want to be rid of their kids.”
She swallowed hard, wondering if her parents would ever acknowledged they’d paid a fortune for their son to be killed. Shaking off the thought, she replied, “I can’t see that, considering his financial background. Did you look into how much of that eight figure buy-out is left?”
“A lot.”
“Then let’s scratch off the profit motive.”
“Okay. Second: Whatever happened during that missing year when he was a kid left him feeling like he owes a debt and he’s trying to pay it back.”
“Do you really think that’s a possibility?”
He shrugged. “I only spent an hour with the man, but my gut tells me he’s a mean, domineering person. He definitely doesn’t come across as having a tender heart. I doubt he’s ever felt indebted to anyone.”
“I agree. What’s next?”
He ticked a third finger. “He wants a challenge.”
“That’s possible, I suppose. One last adventure in his retirement years?”
“Yes. A final mountain to climb, over the backs of disturbed youth.”
Isaac hadn’t been disturbed, merely neglected and sad, which made his story even more tragic. “Go on.”
Fourth finger. “He’s sadistic and wanted a chance to school rebellious kids in things other than math and science. The parents have given him carte blanche when it comes to discipline. The cops aren’t paying attention. The teachers are either the same types, or they’re more interested in keeping their jobs than in protecting the boys. He could do whatever he wants at that place, and there’s nobody to stop him.”
Kate slowly nodded. In both her personal and professional opinions, that seemed the most likely explanation. She’d known men like Fenton all her life. They’d been in her father’s exclusive circle, in college, in med school, and in the military. Ruthless people who had no regard for the feelings or emotions of others often managed to reach the top of any heap on which they landed. They wouldn’t all be clinically diagnosed as sadists, but that streak was quite often recognizable.
She tried to remain dispassionate and not go into the personal ramifications. Isaac had not admitted to being physically “disciplined” by the headmaster, but was it really possible he hadn’t been? He’d gone into the school as a senior. Angry. Rebellious. Was there really any chance he hadn’t drawn the ire of the bulky, vindictive school head?
Glancing over, she saw Derek’s thumb pop up, and waited for him to go on. Instead, after a second’s hesitation, he pulled all five fingers into a fist. Dropping it onto the table, he looked away, intentionally averting his gaze. She suspected it was because he knew she would especially dislike this last possibility.
More than sadism? “What’s last?”
He licked his lips.
“Come on, say it.”
He exhaled slowly before looking at her again. Although she hadn’t known him long, they’d been through a lot together. With him, she’d shared moments of sheer intensity, terror, excitement, warmth, and a kiss that had made her world shift. She’d trusted him with truths she’d never shared with anyone else in her life.
Perhaps that was why she recognized the expression on his face.
It was sorrow.
“Number five,” he said, the voice low and thick. “Maybe he’s a murderous psychopath and opened the school specifically so he could have a hunting ground to pick out and stalk his victims without worrying about any interference.”
The words hung there, stark and ugly. While she’d long considered the probability that someone connected with the school was responsible for the disappearances—murders—she’d never gone that far. Of course Fenton was an asshole, and she didn’t like him, but the idea that he would create an entire slaughterhouse to groom and then kill boys? The idea was crazy, and it made the lasagna churn in her stomach.
Thinking about it, though, she had to concede it also made a sick, twisted sort of sense. The boys weren’t wanted, the site was remote, a swamp on the grounds made for easy disposal. Perhaps Headmaster Fenton really had looked at the place and seen nothing but a torture chamber and an abattoir.
Derek obviously saw her distress. He pushed his chair back and came around to the other side of the table. Squatting beside her, he put his hand on her clenched ones and held tight. “I’m not going to quit, Kate. This isn’t just about finding out what happened to Isaac and the others who’ve disappeared.”
She nodded, her mouth dry. She turned her hands into his and gripped, still feeling dizzy and light-headed at the scenario he’d presented. “I know. It’s about stopping any other children from being taken and killed.”
“Right. No matter who’s behind it, my personal goal is also to bring that place crashing to the ground so no kid ever gets dumped there again.”
There they were in complete agreement. “Yes. That’s mine, too.”
They nodded in unison, a promise silently made, filled with their mutual determination. This was a man who would always do whatever was necessary to find answers, and to protect others. It was innate in him, second nature. He would do whatever it took to fulfill that promise.
If anything positive could come out of the loss of her brother, making sure no other boy suffered and died at that awful place was it.
Her breaths slowing, the unaccustomed panic easing, Kate continued to stare at him. The fluorescent lights brought out tiny tinges of grey in his black hair that hadn’t been noticeable when she’d cut it the other day. Given the things he saw every day of his life, she was surprised it hadn’t gone completely white long ago.
She also saw a hint of his scar, that jagged scar. Its place on his head was a vivid reminder of the mental scars he must also carry. Loosening her hand, Kate reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers over it.
“Why did you do it?” she whispered, voicing a question that had been repeating in her mind since they’d met.
“Do what?”
“Join the military? With your ability…why would you do such a thing?”
Part of her expected him to react the way he had in the car last night, and she immediately regretted asking.
He rose to his feet, but didn’t go back to his chair. Instead, crossing his arms in front of his chest, he leaned against the conference table. “I was pretty messed up as a kid.”
“With good reason.”
“My family tried to help. They sent me to a shr…uh, to a psychiatrist.”
“Did it help?”
“No. I tried to talk about it once, and the doctor immediately went into this-kid’s-crazy mode. After that, I clammed up. I was messed up, but I wasn’t stupid. No way was I going to tell some stranger about what I could see. I figured they’d label me insane.”
If he couldn’t even open up about what was really troubling him, no professional would have been able to help. What a catch-22 for a child. “Was there anyone you could talk to?”
“My family believed I saw something. I didn’t want to tell them exactly what. I knew if they realized I’d seen every second of what happened to my parents, and that’s how it was wherever I went, they’d be even more devastated.”
Her heart ached for him, knowing the burden he had carried alone for so many young, vulnerable years. Hearing he’d kept the secret out of concern over what it would do to others wasn’t a big surprise. Derek had proved more than once that—despite his appearance and usual demeanor—he was an incredibly caring man.
“For a while there, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep dealing with it for the rest of my life. It seemed like too much. So I dropped out of school, and enlisted as soon as I turned eighteen.”
She sucked in a gasp. “You joined the Army because you wanted to die?”
Her accusation didn’t shock him. “Not necessarily,” he said with a shrug. “But I wasn’t much concerned about whether I kept on living, either.” He slid up to sit on the edge of the table, his hands braced on either side of his lean hips. “I couldn’t see the point of continuing for decades seeing what I see. I didn’t know how to avoid it, unless I went up to some remote cabin and became a hermit. But by then, I was pessimistic enough to suspect I’d run into bear attack victims at every wooded turn.”
Kate listened wonderingly, hearing more words from him at one time than she’d thought him capable of. He sounded matter-of-fact. Not angry. Not self-pitying. He had just opened up to her and let the truth come out. Realizing he had come to trust her, she felt almost honored by his revelations.
“Death didn’t sound so bad,” he muttered.
The idea that he’d once considered dying to be as good an alternative as going on living broke her heart, and then broke it a thousand times again. Kate tried to remain cool and impartial—not the doctor, necessarily, but at least a friend. She hoped she was that to him. For now. “How long did it take you to regret it?”
A hard laugh. “Well, I hated boot camp as much as every other enlistee in the world. But the real buyer’s remorse came at about three months. As soon as my feet hit the ground overseas.”
Letting her own memories flare, she closed her eyes. Kate still occasionally had nightmares about the things she’d seen and heard in Afghanistan. The pain in a soldier’s voice still came to mind when she least expected it. She’d never fully escaped nightmares of explosions and gunfire. It had affected her enough that she had needed to talk to another counselor with DWB.
Derek had had no one to talk to.
She couldn’t give him much, but she could at least give him something he should have gotten long ago. Wanting—no, needing—to touch him, she stood and stepped close, between his knees, dropping both of her hands onto his legs. His eyes flared, and then narrowed, but he remained silent, watchful.
“I’m so sorry.”
His muscles tensed, thick cords in his thighs bunching under her hands. She didn’t let go, and leaned in another inch.
“I’m sorry for every awful thing you’ve ever seen starting on the day your parents died.”
“You don’t need to…”
“I’m not apologizing, and I’m not feeling sorry for you.”
“So what are you doing?”
“I’m grieving with you, Derek. I can’t change anything, and I know you don’t want pity or sympathy. But I can at least try to understand and feel empathy for what you’ve gone through. It’s all I can do. Let me.”
He didn’t argue her away or hop off the table. Instead, eyes still narrowed, perhaps a bit untrusting—his natural state—he simply waited.
“I’m sorry there was ever a day when you felt so hopeless about your future that you stopped caring if you had one.”
He might have flinched.
“I’m sorry for every day of your life when you felt there was no one you could turn to.”
A low, even breath escaped his lips.
“I hope you know that’s no longer the case. You do important work…vital work. I suspect that’s what changed your viewpoint and keeps you going.”
He nodded. Slowly. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” After another hesitation, he added, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She didn’t go back to her chair, having one more thing to say. “I’m so glad you’re no longer alone, you no longer have to hide anything. You also have people who care about you.”
“That include you, Kate?” he growled.
She had been talking about his colleagues. It was obvious he and Julia shared a strong bond. Now that he’d said it, though, she had to admit it. She cared, too. She’d only known him a few days, but having spent so many hours with him—frightened, intense, amused, and heartbreaking hours—she had feelings for this man. They’d come fast, and by surprise, but they existed. “Yes.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
Without warning, he lifted his hands and sunk them into her hair. Surprise took her breath as he pulled her toward him, but when his mouth caught hers, she could only sigh against those warm, firm lips.
This kiss wasn’t dirty, hot, frantic, and fueled by adrenaline. It was soft, sweetly hungry. Their lips parted, tongues tangling in a slow, steady communication that said, Yes, me too, please. Soon. They thrust lazily and thoroughly, kissing and kissing, but going no further. There were no furtive touches, no suggestions that they take off their clothes and hit the nearest flat surface. It was a kiss for the sake of a kiss.
And it delighted her.
Unfortunately, after several warm, delicious seconds, Derek ended it and pulled away. Kate stepped back, her legs wobbly. Coming after her, he put a steadying hand on her hip.
To her surprise, once she had her balance, he let her go, and then walked to the other side of the table and began cleaning up the dinner. He didn’t say a single word about what had just happened…as if it hadn’t.
Kate managed to keep her jaw up by sheer force of will. She had no idea what he was thinking. He’d opened up to her, she’d responded, they’d shared an amazing, soul-touching kiss, and now he was all big, strong and silent guy again?
“Uh, hello, I’m still here.”
Putting dishes into the box, he lifted an inquiring brow. “Like I could forget that?”
“Is that all?”
He looked down, but she saw the side of his mouth curl up. “Thanks for dinner.”
Her ire mounting, she considered picking up one of the plates and smashing it over his head. Her impulse was entirely emotional. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t reasonable, or even sane, yet she still wanted to do it. She instead settled for slamming both of her hands down on the table hard, the bang getting his attention.
“Do you have anything else to say to me?” she snapped.
He finally stopped with the dishes and looked at her, his eyes warm, twinkling, dazzling.
“Yeah.”
She waited.
“Nice dress.”