Читать книгу: «The Suicide Club»

The Suicide Clup
Gayle Wilson

For all the wonderful “nifty-gifties” I taught through

the years. The bad guys in this one aren’t you, my

darlings, but the good guys surely are.

Enjoy…and remember that it’s just fiction.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Prologue

“It was already starting to get boring. I mean, how many times can you do the same thing?”

“Boring? You mean compared to the excitement of just sitting here?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you’re so full of shit your breath stinks. You weren’t bored. You were a lot of things, dude, but you were not bored.”

“I’m bored.” The girl beside him reached for his beer.

“Because you have no imagination,” he said, releasing it.

He watched as she took a draw, tilting her head back so that he could see the movement of her throat in the moonlight. The pale column of her neck looked thin. Fragile. Vulnerable.

“So what do we do now, Mr. Imagination?” she asked when she finally lowered the bottle.

“Time delay,” the boy in the back seat said. “We rig some kind of incendiary device and a trigger. Something that lets us be far away when it goes up.”

The boy in the back was his friend. The only person he had ever considered in that light. That gave him certain privileges. Including, he guessed, making stupid suggestions.

“You got that kind of device, bozo? And something to use for the trigger? Like what, man?”

“I don’t know what it would take, but I can find out. You can find out how to do anything on the web. Just Google nuclear bomb and you could build one.”

“Because if you don’t have it already,” he went on, ignoring the crap-spew, “then you’d have to go out and buy it. All purchases are traceable, but something like that…Besides, all of that’s gonna to leave behind evidence.”

“In a fire—”

“Because that is the key to success in any criminal activity, my friend. Leave nothing behind. Nothing they can play their little CSI games on.”

In the resulting silence, he retrieved his beer, draining it in one swallow. Stolen bottle by bottle from his father’s basement fridge, there was never quite enough to get a good buzz going. Especially not when it had to be shared.

“As if,” his friend said. “That’s shit anyway. Maybe up North they do all that, but not down here. You think the pissant state labs here have got stuff like that?”

“The feds do.”

“The feds?” the girl repeated.

“ATF. They’re the ones who broke the other case.”

“People saw ’em, dude. They left tire tracks, for Christ’s sake. It doesn’t take a genius—”

“Maybe it does.”

Another silence as the other two tried to figure out what he meant. And since he wasn’t exactly sure…

“What does that mean?” the boy in the back finally asked.

“All you have to be to carry out any crime is smarter than the cops, right?” He glanced back, pressing for agreement.

His friend shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Actually, you’ve only got to be smarter than the smartest cop. He doesn’t figure it out, the rest sure won’t.”

“You want to give the cops IQ tests?” The girl laughed, a sound that was beginning to get on his nerves. “We see which of them is the smartest and…what? Plan to do something criminal that even he can’t figure out?”

She was being sarcastic, what passed for wit in her narrow world. Like that saying about the mouths of babes, the simplicity of it seemed to loop over and over inside his head.

See which one of them is the smartest and do something even he can’t figure out.

And if he couldn’t outsmart the local constabulary, he needed to reevaluate his life goals. They thought they were so fucking smart with those patrols. He’d love to be able to circumvent them. Set one more fire, just to prove he could.

But the risks were too great. He wasn’t going to risk his future. He had that all planned out, and it didn’t include any of the things a conviction would entail. Whatever he did to prove to those bozos that he wasn’t defeated would, like the fires, have to be something that they could never trace back to him. Or to anyone associated with him.

He’d had lots of time during the summer to think about the way to set those fires without leaving evidence. And he’d been right about all of it. The cops had nothing.

With school started, he’d have less time. So…something simpler. But without the risk, would the satisfaction be the same?

There had to be a way to feel the same exhilaration he’d felt watching through his father’s binoculars as those churches went up in flames.

“Exactly,” he said. “Something he can’t figure out. Or trace back to us. Something like the fires. Only better.”

“Like what?” the boy in the back asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he answered truthfully.

Lower risk. Same exhilaration. Raise the stakes in the game with the cops without raising the stakes for himself.

To do that meant that the risk would have to be very high for somebody else. But after all, that really wasn’t his problem.

One

Lindsey Sloan hesitated, her knuckles hovering just beneath the metal plaque on the door. David Campbell and then below the name in smaller letters, Principal.

Although it was unusual for Dave to leave a message with the school secretary asking her to come to his office, Lindsey believed she knew what her boss wanted to talk about. Randolph-Lowen was for up for accreditation review this year. He probably wanted to ask her to head up the school committee.

That wasn’t something she wanted to do, but she knew she would end up saying yes to his request. Which was why she was standing outside the door to his office as if she had been called here for punishment.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly and then, following Melanie’s instructions, turned the knob. Dave, who was seated behind his desk, looked up.

“Melanie said to come on in,” Lindsey offered.

Although she’d followed the instructions she’d been given, as Dave stood, he seemed slightly annoyed by the interruption. Or maybe, she realized as she continued to study his expression, he was annoyed because of the presence of the dark-haired man seated on this side of his desk. He, too, got to his feet as Lindsey stepped inside the office.

He was no one she recognized. A parent with a complaint about something she’d done? Since it was only the second week of school, she’d given out no grades. If he was here to complain, it must be about an assignment. She mentally ran through the ones she’d handed out to her classes, but she couldn’t imagine why any of them would bring a father to the school. Not in person.

“That’s fine, Lindsey,” Dave said. “Want to close that?”

The frisson of anxiety she’d felt when she realized there was someone waiting with Dave escalated. She used the excuse of securing the door to hide it. When she turned back to face the two men, her “meet the parents” smile was firmly in place.

“Lindsey, this is Lieutenant Nolan. Detective, Lindsey Sloan, our gifted coordinator.”

“Ms. Sloan.”

That thin, hard mouth probably didn’t do much smiling, Lindsey thought. And he obviously didn’t intend to make an exception for her. His eyes, as dark as his hair, continued to study her as she attempted to retain her own smile.

“Detective?” she questioned.

“With the sheriff’s department.”

“And…you want to see me?”

“The lieutenant’s in charge of the investigation into the church fires,” Dave interjected.

Lindsey’s gaze automatically shifted to her principal as he made his explanation. Almost immediately she refocused it on the detective. She realized that his eyes had never left her face, undoubtedly because he was noting her reaction to what Dave had just said.

Three rural black churches in the county had been torched on separate nights last July. Although no additional fires had occurred during August, the initial three continued to get top billing in both the state and national media.

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m very slow,” Lindsey said, “but I still don’t understand why you want to see me.”

“We’ve been working with the FBI to develop a profile of the people who set those fires.” Nolan’s voice was deep, its accent decidedly not local.

Nor was his appearance. The dark suit was too stylishly cut. And probably too expensive for this setting. His hair was a little long. Not nearly conservative enough for someone associated with local law enforcement. She wondered how the good old boys in the department related to Lieutenant Nolan.

Of course, her idle curiosity had no relevance to this discussion. And based on the intensity of the detective’s gaze, she had the distinct impression that she’d better get focused on what Nolan was saying rather than on what he looked like before something important slipped by her.

“And that profile led you to me?”

She thought she’d figured out where this was going, but she wanted him to put it into words. At least she now understood Dave’s uneasiness.

“Actually, it led us to the students you teach.”

Randolph-Lowen wasn’t the only high school in the county. It was, however, the one designated to provide services for the gifted. A few kids even came from outside the county because they didn’t have access to appropriate resources at the schools to which they were zoned.

“Are you saying your profile indicates the arsonists have high IQs?” All those old wives tales about that supposedly thin line between genius and insanity reared their ugly heads.

Before she could begin to dispute them, Nolan added, “And that they’re young. White. Male.”

Lindsey glanced at Dave, wondering why he wasn’t objecting to this. Profiling wasn’t a science. The description the detective had just given with such an air of confidence might be wildly inaccurate.

Besides, even if there were something to what he’d just said, there was nothing the school could do to help him narrow his search. She wasn’t going to start suggesting that one child or another might be involved in something as high-profile as this crime. That would be a quick way to a suspension followed by a lawsuit.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t think I can help you.” She’d already turned toward the door when Dave stopped her.

“Lindsey, this isn’t what you think.”

“Then what is it?” She looked from one to the other.

“The people who developed the profile believe this is a thrill crime,” Nolan said. “Something designed to get the adrenaline pumping.”

Despite her doubts about the methodology, she thought that was probably an accurate description. She just didn’t see what it had to do with her. Or with her students. “And?”

“Once they’ve experienced that rush,” Nolan said, “they’re going to want it again.”

“And you think other churches will be burned.”

Even given her animosity toward the investigative process he’d described, she didn’t want that to happen. Not only did those small congregations suffer a huge emotional and financial loss, the entire region had received yet another black eye through the lawlessness of a few individuals.

“We can almost guarantee it.”

“Even if I had a suspicion that any of my students were involved—and I assure you I don’t—I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing those with the police.”

“Those churches were all within a twenty-five mile radius of this high school. If you take a map—”

“I’m sure you have. Believe me, we all understand that the people of this county are suspects. But even if this community is at the center of the area where the fires occurred, that doesn’t mean any student from this school set them. Nor does your profile, no matter who composed it.”

“Profiling gives us a place to start. This is it.”

Lindsey looked at Dave, wanting him to defend the kids of this community. It wasn’t that none of them had ever been in trouble. Or that she thought they couldn’t be. Not after ten years in the profession. But she also wasn’t stupid enough to believe that just because the school sat in the geographic center of the area where the arsons had occurred, that meant the people involved in them attended it.

Dave shrugged, seeming to indicate he was bowing to what he saw as inevitable. Maybe Nolan had shared more information with him. Considering what he’d shared with her, however, Lindsey wasn’t willing to be sucked in. Not until one or the other of them leveled with her.

“Anything other than that profile and the proximity to the fires that makes you think my students might be involved?”

There was a flash of something in those dark eyes. The emotion was quickly masked, but not fast enough that she didn’t wonder if he was laughing at her reluctance to believe her kids could be involved in something like this.

“Those aren’t enough?” His tone was devoid of sarcasm.

“Not for me, I’m afraid. Look, if I thought any of my students were involved, I might feel differently. But as of now I have no reason to think they are. I’ve had no reason to even think about the possibility until you showed up this morning.”

“And if you did have a reason?”

“I’d talk to someone I trusted about it.”

“Like Dr. Campbell?”

Although Dave hadn’t finished his doctorate, neither of them corrected him. “Only if I couldn’t resolve those feelings in my own mind.” Lindsey said.

“My best advice, Ms. Sloan, is that if you develop ‘those feelings,’ you don’t try to resolve them. Here’s my card. I’d appreciate a call if you have any reason to…shall we say…reflect on the possibility that our profile has merit.”

The phrasing was careful, perhaps intended not to offend. The look in his eyes was not quite in keeping with it.

“Of course.”

Lindsey accepted the card he held out, making a show of looking down at it. The first thing she noted was his first name. Jace. The second thing she noted was something far more disturbing: the fact she had been wondering about that.

Jace Nolan. Who was very obviously from somewhere far from here. And very much outside the norm of men she knew.

She raised her eyes from the card, again finding his on her face. “Is that all?”

“You can call me if you think of anything I should know.”

Not exactly what she’d meant, but clearly a dismissal. She quickly took advantage of it. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

She turned and walked to the door, conscious that they were both watching her. When she’d closed it, she leaned against its solid wood, releasing a breath as she thought about the interview that had just passed.

Before it seemed possible that either of the men inside the room had had time to walk across it, the door opened behind her. Slightly off balanced, she tried to get out of the way of the man who emerged.

“Sorry.” Jace Nolan put his hand under her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

“My fault. I should have moved out of the doorway.”

Now try to explain why you didn’t.

“No harm done. Have a good day, Ms. Sloan.”

With a slight nod, the detective moved past her and walked into the main office. She continued to watch as he disappeared through the door that led out into the lobby.

“Cops after you, Ms. Sloan?”

She turned to see Steven Byrd lifting the American flag off the top shelf of the hall closet where it was kept. One of her seniors, Steven was responsible for putting the stars and stripes up the outside flagpole every morning and taking it down and folding it properly every afternoon. For most of Randolph-Lowen’s students, even some of those in her gifted program, that single act was enough to classify him as a nerd.

“You know him?” she asked, wondering how Steven could be familiar enough with the local police to recognize Nolan.

“I was sitting in my car when he got out of his. County tags. Besides, he looks like a cop. Glad to know my powers of observation are as well-developed as I thought.” Steven grinned at her, blue eyes shining through his glasses.

“So you were guessing.”

“Only until you were kind enough to verify it. What’d you do? Run a red light?”

“Something like that,” she hedged.

Neither Dave nor Nolan had cautioned her to keep what they’d told her to herself, but it wasn’t the kind of thing she would ever share with a student. Not even one like Steven, whom she considered trustworthy.

“Naw, they’d send a uniform for that. So it’s probably not about you. That means it’s about us.”

“Us?”

“Students. Maybe your students? And if I had to guess—”

“I think you’ve done enough guessing,” Lindsey said, putting a hint of classroom firmness into her voice.

It wasn’t lost on Steven. “Okay. I can keep my mouth shut. You know that. I’m not surprised they showed up here.”

Unable to resist, Lindsey asked, “Why?”

“The usual suspects. They always focus on kids for something like that. Especially if the fires are copycat things like the news says.”

The previous spate of fires had been the work of a few college kids without a political agenda. Although those had not focused exclusively on black churches, that was probably a geographical consideration more than anything else. And the three buildings that had been set on fire in this county were the only ones so conveniently isolated.

“Is that what you think?”

“I think this is just as stupid as those were. The only difference is that in this case, they knew when to stop.”

That was part of the local speculation. That the arsonists had simply run out of churches they could torch without getting caught. And apparently they’d learned something from the earlier fires. According to the papers, there had been little physical evidence found at the recent ones.

“You hear any talk about the fires?”

“Sure,” Steven acknowledged, holding the folded flag against his chest as he closed the closet door with his elbow. “A lot of talk. A lot of guessing. Nothing that made me pay attention. Got to get this up.”

She nodded, moving aside to let him go by her in the narrow hallway. As she watched him follow the route the detective had taken, Lindsey thought about what both had said. She almost turned back to Dave’s door, but the first bell sounded, reminding her that her room was locked.

The school day had officially begun. Any other discussion with anyone about the surprise visitor she’d had this morning would have to wait until after it was done.

For a few select members of the staff, the teachers’ lounge was a refuge at the end of the day. Surprisingly, today the room was empty.

Lindsey glanced at her watch to find that it was only twelve minutes after three. Like her students in last period, she’d been more than eager to put this day behind her. She’d had her things gathered up almost before the last of the stragglers had left.

She set her canvas tote down on the table beside the nearest sofa and went over to the coffeepot. The liquid in the bottom of the glass carafe looked black and strong, which was exactly what she needed.

Picking her mug out from the dozen or so residing on a plastic lunchroom tray on the counter, she poured some of the thick liquid into it, relishing the slightly scorched smell. Before she could bring the cup to her lips, the familiar squeak of the outer door caused her to lower it again.

She turned to see the person she was closest to on the staff enter and drop her briefcase on the table by the door. Shannon Anderson was the Junior/Senior counselor. Although she was a few years younger and undeniably more hip than Lindsey, the two of them had struck up a friendship almost as soon as Shannon had been assigned to Randolph-Lowen.

“Any more of that?” she asked.

Lindsey turned back to locate Shannon’s mug on the counter and fill it. She held it out to her friend.

“Thanks.” Shannon took the cup with her right hand. With her left, she hooked a curling strand of long, dark hair behind her ear before she sipped the coffee. “I think I made this third period.” She pulled a face at the bitterness.

“How can you tell?” Lindsey asked with a laugh.

“Tastes like third period.” Shannon walked over to one of the couches. She sat, tucking long, boot-clad legs under her. Her colorful skirt spilled around her, almost touching the floor. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I hate the beginning of school. I’m so frigging tired.”

“You’re a twelve-month employee. You’re supposed to be used to working.” Counselors didn’t get the nearly three-month summer break teachers did.

“It ain’t work if the little darlings aren’t here.”

Lindsey laughed. Shannon loved interacting with their students more than almost anyone else on the faculty, but she was right. It was dealing with teenagers and their raging hormones that put the stress in all their lives. Shannon dealt with them on a much more personal, one-on-one basis, unlike the relationship in the classrooms.

“Who’s giving you grief now?”

“No one in particular.” Shannon raised her head from the back of the couch to take another swallow of her coffee. “Little darlings en masse,” she said, giving the words their correct French pronunciation. “‘Can you change my schedule, Ms. Anderson. I didn’t mean to sign up for Algebra II.’ Translation, I did, but now I don’t want crazy old Ms. Brock.”

“Can you blame them?”

“Well, no, but somebody’s got to be in her class.”

“She needs to retire. She was here when I was in school.” Fourteen years ago, which wasn’t quite as long as she’d just made it out to be. “We called her old Ms. Brock then, too.”

“Was she as bad as she is now?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have her. I don’t remember that kids talked about her the way these do. But, I don’t remember kids talking all that bad about any teacher back then.”

“You hung with the wrong crowd.”

“Or the right one.”

They drank their coffee, the silence that had fallen companionable and unstrained. Shannon leaned her head back, her fingers making that habitual rearrangement of her hair.

“Something weird happened this morning,” Lindsey began.

Shannon straightened, her eyes interested. “In class?”

“Before. Melanie told me when I signed in that Dave wanted to see me. Some detective with the sheriff’s department was in his office. He said the FBI has developed a profile of the arsonists in the church fires.” She hesitated, wanting to see if Shannon reached the same conclusion she had.

“And they wanted to talk to you? They think your kids are involved?”

“Apparently. I’ve been thinking about it all day, getting more and more pissed.”

Shannon didn’t respond, but Lindsey could almost track the thoughts moving behind her green eyes. She knew the counselor was running through the individuals in the gifted program, just as Lindsey had been all day. The fact that she had been was a large part of her building anger.

“He give you any idea who?”

“He wanted me to give him ideas.”

“Well, that sucks. You think…?”

Lindsey shook her head. “But I admit it ate at me. I kept trying to think of anyone who might be involved, but…You know them. Who the hell would do something like that?”

“I told you. Little darlings. They aren’t any different from the others except they’re probably smart enough not to get caught.”

That, too, was a thought that had occurred to Lindsey at some point. She had wondered if that’s why the profilers had zeroed in on the students in her gifted program—simply because of the lack of evidence, something law enforcement officials had openly acknowledged.

“I think that might be exactly what they’re thinking.”

“That they must be geniuses because the cops can’t catch ’em?” Shannon asked. “Isn’t that convenient.”

“They can’t admit that some dumb, redneck yahoo can outsmart them, burn three black churches, and get away with it. So, stands to reason, this has got to be somebody else.”

“Who was the detective? Anybody I know?”

Shannon had dated a sheriff’s deputy a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, they’d managed to maintain a friendship after the romantic relationship had ended. If, Lindsey amended, knowing her friend too well not to have wondered if all aspects of that particular relationship had come to an end.

“Jace Nolan.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I don’t think he’s from around here.”

“Want me to ask Rick why they’re looking at your kids?”

“Would it get back to Nolan if you did?”

“Not if I tell Rick to keep his mouth shut.”

“Would he?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Why not, indeed, Lindsey thought. And as Shannon said, what could it hurt?

Two

So I hear you got finally somethin’ on the fires.”

Jace raised his eyes to find one of the county deputies looking down at the papers spread out over on his desk. He resisted the impulse to push them together. After all, the man was a fellow law enforcement officer.

“A profile. From the Bureau. We’re working from that.”

“Yeah? I always thought those were pretty general. You think this one’s helpful, then?”

“A place to start.” The words echoed inside Jace’s head. Exactly what he’d told the two at the high school yesterday.

The transition from that realization to the next was almost instantaneous. Before today, few of the deputies had bothered to speak to him, not even when passing him in the halls, much less visit his desk to ask questions. Not that he gave a damn whether they did are not. Still…

A glance at the name bar above the man’s shirt pocket provided the name. Had Deputy Carlisle attended Randolph-Lowen? And if so, did he have ties to any of the people Jace had talked to there yesterday?

Like maybe the redhead who’d been so determined to question the validity of his interest in her kids?

He didn’t blame Ms. Sloan for her skepticism. She had every right to question why he suspected the students in her gifted program might be involved.

“So who are we looking for?”

“Thrill seekers,” Jace said, watching for reaction as he rolled out the now-familiar list of characteristics the Bureau had given him. “Young. White. Male.”

“How young?”

“Probably teens. Possibly early twenties. The profile isn’t that precise.”

“College age. Like those others.”

“Maybe. But since there isn’t a college in this area—”

“Junior college over in Carroll. Another near Bedford. Hell, thanks to old George Wallace and Lurleen, we got a junior college or trade school on about every other corner.”

“And neither of those is in the geographic center of the arsons. This community, and its high school, are.”

“Sounds like you got your mind made up.”

Despite the beginnings of what would soon became a paunch, Deputy Carlisle looked as if he might be a few years younger than Jace. Early thirties or so.

Old enough to know better.

As he waited for Jace to respond to that accusation, the deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, displaying what might be a hint of nervousness. The movement was accompanied by the creak of his utility belt, reminding Jace that whatever else he was, the man was a fellow officer.

“Like I said,” he said softly. “It’s a place to start.”

“I heard you were out at the high school yesterday.”

At least this approach was more honest than the previous one. Maybe he could even work it to his advantage.

“That’s right. Since I didn’t talk to many people there, I’d be curious as to who shared that information with you.”

The deputy grinned. “In a town this size, all information’s shared. Half the department probably knew you’d been over there before you got back in your car.”

“I’ll remember that. I thought maybe you had a friend who’d asked you to see if you could find out why I was there.”

The grin wavered so that Jace knew he’d struck a nerve. It hadn’t taken a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out the reason “Deputy Dawg” here had stopped by to chat, no matter how subtle Carlisle thought he was being.

“So you’re a friend of Ms. Sloan’s,” Jace went on before the man had a chance to think up an excuse.

“Sorry.” Carlisle shook his head. “Don’t believe I know her. That the teacher you talked to?”

“The gifted coordinator. I’m not totally clear what that means, but I’ll find out.”

“Yeah? Me, either. They didn’t have one of them when I was in school.”

“You go there?”

“Everybody around here did.”

“Know anybody there now?”

“I might. You looking to talk to people? Unofficially?”

“Something like that.”

“Kids?”

“I don’t care. Just somebody who’ll be candid.”

“I’ll think about who I know. You believe whoever’s doing this is a genius.”

“They burned down three churches without leaving physical evidence. Does that make them a genius?”

“Might just make ’em lucky.” Carlisle’s grin was back.

“That’s what I figure.”

“’Course my daddy always said it’s better to be lucky than good.”

“Eventually luck runs out.”

On Jace’s orders, the remaining black churches in this county and the adjacent ones had been under patrol since the last fire. So far it had worked, but if he was right…

If he was right, something else was going to happen. Sooner rather than later. And he intended to be on top of it when it did.

The slight headache Lindsey had been conscious of when she’d awakened this morning, after another night of less-than-restful sleep, had become full blown. It was the Friday afternoon pep rally, and the entire student population was crammed into a gym that had been too small to hold it for at least three years. The band blasted away on the fight song, the sound of the drums throbbing through the prefabricated building like a toothache.

She had thought about retreating to the quietness of her room until the dismissal bell, but faculty was supposed to supervise assemblies. As a compromise, she had moved to one of the two pairs of open double doors, so that she was actually standing out in the hall, looking back into the gym. Not only was the noise less out here, so was the heat and the claustrophobic press of bodies.

In any case, this one was almost over, with only the obligatory speeches by the game captains and Coach Spears remaining on the program. After those, even the cheerleaders would give up, trailing out of the gym after the transported students, who’d be off to catch their buses.

As soon as the fight song ground to a halt, the football coach, who had held his position for more than twenty years, took the microphone and began introducing the two boys standing diffidently beside him. Lindsey took a deep, calming breath, savoring the fact that the week was almost over. She could sleep in tomorrow morning. Right now, she couldn’t think of anything more appealing.

“Will they win?”

In spite of the brevity of the question, the accent was distinctive enough to allow her to identify the speaker even before she looked around. Detective Jace Nolan was beside her, his dark eyes focused on the three people standing along the midcourt line. When she didn’t answer, he turned his head, peering down at her.

From this angle his lashes looked incredibly long. A hint of stubble that hadn’t been there Tuesday morning darkened his cheeks. The knot of his tie had been loosened, although the pale blue dress shirt still managed to look crisp. As did his midnight hair, which in the humidity was displaying a surprising tendency to curl.

“What are you doing here?” Lindsey asked.

“Watching the pep rally. I thought that was permitted.”

Parents and others from the community always showed up at assemblies. At Randolph-Lowen they’d never imposed the strict security measures other schools now took for granted, given today’s climate of fear. At this moment dozens of outsiders lined the court, mingling with the faculty and staff.

“It is. I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m interested in anything that goes on around here. It’s part of my job.”

He refocused his eyes on the trio at center stage, appearing to listen to the senior captain’s stumbling rhetoric. Lindsey’s gaze followed his, but she heard nothing of what the football player was saying. She was examining the implications of Nolan being back at school so quickly, as well as those inherent in him once more singling her out.

“And you’re on the job now?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the boy holding the mike.

“Since the county’s paying me for a full day’s work.”

“Why here? Why today?”

“The fires occurred on a weekend. I’m trying to get a feel for what these kids do outside of school.”

“So you came to school?”

He glanced down again, a slight tilt at one corner of what she’d once thought of as a hard mouth.

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? What would you think about showing me?”

“Showing you what?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lindsey knew what he wanted. Despite that, she was unprepared when he put the request into words.

“What these kids do on a Friday night.”

She looked back toward the center of the gym, watching Ray Garrett pass the microphone to the second captain, their junior fullback. She eased a breath, unobtrusively she hoped, and then raised her eyes to Nolan again.

His were on her face. Waiting.

“They go to the football game,” she said.

He laughed. “Yeah, I figured that. And afterward?”

“That depends on the kids. They go out to eat. Or to a party.” She didn’t particularly want to discuss with him the myriad other actions she knew students this age engaged in.

“Couples? Or groups?”

“Both.”

“Yours, too.”

“Mine are like all the others. They date. They hang out. They drive around. They stay out too late—”

“They burn churches.”

She closed her mouth, fighting to control her surge of anger. She was pleased with how rational she managed to sound when she was able to respond. “Not in my opinion. And I’ve yet to hear any credible evidence to the contrary.”

“Normally we don’t share that kind of evidence.”

“But you have it?”

She could hear the blatant need for reassurance in her question. Tuesday she’d been convinced that he was bluffing. Fishing for information. In the intervening days, for no reason she could pinpoint, that conviction had weakened.

“Despite the acknowledged charms of Ray Garrett’s recent pep talk, why else would I be here?”

And that was what bothered her. His surety. She could probably put that down to an inherent arrogance. A sense of self-worth that might have been born of success, but one that might also be based on nothing more than a mistaken belief in the superiority of anything not native to the region.

Like Jace Nolan himself.

“You caught me off guard on Tuesday, but since then…I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

She sensed that his attention had sharpened. The sensation was so strong it was almost physical.

“And?”

“And in all honesty,” she said, each word carefully enunciated, “none of my kids would do anything like that.”

“You just said they were like all the others. I’ve been doing a lot of research into the annals of youthful offenses around here. Despite the bucolic nature of the environment, these kids appear to get involved in the same kinds of criminal activities that they do in any other locale.”

“In the ten years I’ve been here, I can’t remember one of my students being mixed up in anything like that.”

“How would you know?”

“What?”

“Juvenile records are routinely sealed. Parents are under no obligation to tell the school about any charges or probations imposed on their children.”

“You’ve forgotten where you are, Detective Nolan. Everybody knows everything about everyone around here.”

“Except nobody knows who burned those churches. Or don’t you believe that?”

“Do you?”

“It doesn’t match my experience. Kids talk. Unless there’s a very strong reason not to.”

“Like a fear of prosecution. Or going to jail?”

“I meant talk among their peers.”

“As angry as people in this community are, whoever burned those churches would have to be very stupid to do that.”

“Bingo,” Nolan said, turning back to look into the gym.

The cheerleaders were gathering up their megaphones for a last cheer at center court. After that the band would play everyone out with another repetition of the fight song.

A few teachers and some of the parents were already making a break toward the two pairs of double doors. Although the other adults might continue to the parking lot, most of the faculty would do what she was doing: stand near the entrances to supervise the dismissal.

The fact that Lindsey was talking to the chief detective in charge of investigating the arsons would be noticed. It would undoubtedly cause comment and maybe even questions, neither of which she was eager to deal with.

“If that’s your so-called evidence for thinking my kids were involved—”

“It does make sense, doesn’t it?”

A couple of people had reached the doorway where they were standing, providing Lindsey with an excuse to move off to the side. After nodding in response to the curious stares of departing parents, Nolan followed.

“You and Carlisle seem to be right.”

“I’m sorry?” Had Shannon’s ex actually approached him?

“You said everybody here knows everybody’s business. I guess they know everybody, too. They seem to be trying to figure out who I am and why I’m here.”

“We’ve all been warned often enough about strangers in the school.”

“Except I had no trouble walking right into the building. Not on Tuesday. Not today. Apparently your administration doesn’t take those kinds of warnings very seriously.”

“The curiosity you admit to arousing is, in itself, a safeguard.”

“Against outsiders. Statistically, however, that isn’t the real threat in any high school.”

He was right, of course. The school tragedies in this country had almost all been student-directed.

That didn’t mean that the students here posed a threat, she reminded herself. Just as the fact the arsons had occurred in this general vicinity didn’t mean anyone from this community had been involved.

The 3:00 p.m. bell rang, preventing her from having to formulate an answer. Kids poured out of the gym in a wave, the sound of the band seeming to add to the general sense of chaos. In response to the flood of students, Nolan grasped her elbow, directing her away from the doors.

She had been conscious of the feel of his hand on her arm when he’d attempted to steady her outside Dave’s office. Today, the warmth of his fingers seemed to burn into her bare skin. She was aware of their strength and hardness. Sensitive to their callused roughness. Totally masculine and yet surprisingly pleasant.

Surprising. Like the length of his lashes and the sensual appeal of that five-o’clock shadow. Even his voice, despite the unfamiliarity of the accent, was intriguing.

Realizing that she was in danger of being overly intrigued, she pulled her elbow from his grip. “I have to go back upstairs and get some papers from my room.”

It was a lie. She had decided she wasn’t going to do any grading this weekend. She was working the gate at the game tonight, and she intended to sleep in tomorrow. The few essays she needed to finish for her fifth period class could be done during her free period Monday.

“So I take it you aren’t interested in being my guide to Friday night in Randolph.”

In the unfamiliar rush of emotions she’d forgotten his invitation. She didn’t intend to accept. Not until she’d had time and space to control her physical response to Jace Nolan.

“I don’t think so. Not when you seemed to be so tightly focused on my kids as the perpetrators.”

“I’m willing to have you change my mind.”

“I’m not willing to try. You’re wrong. Sooner or later you’ll figure that out without any help from me.”

As exit lines went, it wasn’t particularly powerful. Nolan didn’t argue, tilting his head as if acknowledging the possibility. The quirk she’d noticed before at the corner of his lips occurred again and was once more controlled.

“If you change your mind, you have my card.”

It was the perfect opening to respond with something rude. Deny that she’d ever change her mind. Defend her kids.

She did neither. The attraction was strong enough that she couldn’t be sure that if he kept on, he wouldn’t wear her down. She wasn’t going to give him a chance.

She’d learned early in her professional life not to make a threat unless she was willing to carry it out and that the fewer words she said in any situation, the fewer she would have to eat if things didn’t work out as she’d anticipated.

With Jace Nolan, she had a feeling that things not going as she’d anticipated was a distinct possibility.

Three

Think we can go ahead and shut down?”

Shannon’s question caused Lindsey to look up at the scoreboard. It was nearing the end of the third quarter, which was the traditional closing time for the booth. Tonight only a handful of tickets had been sold since the half. They’d already counted up the money in both cash boxes, keeping only a few dollars out to make change.

“I don’t see why not.” The score was lopsided enough that people were beginning to eddy out of the stadium toward the parking lot. That movement was unlikely to reverse.

“Me, neither. If Coach doesn’t like it, he can get somebody else next week.”

Although the faculty members who manned the booth and the gates each game were paid minimum wage, this was mostly volunteer labor. Those who normally worked were mostly hometown products who perhaps felt a stronger loyalty to the program as a result.

The aspirin Lindsey had taken and the cooler night air had banished her headache, but not her tiredness. And although she’d been raised to finish whatever task she started, closing a few minutes early wasn’t going to break the bank.

“How much?”

The question brought her head around. Jace Nolan was standing in front of her window, opened wallet in hand.

At her hesitation, Shannon replied, “We don’t charge after the third quarter.”

Jace looked at the scoreboard and then back to Shannon. “Consider it a contribution. I’d just as soon not wait.”

“I didn’t mean you had to wait. You can just go in.”

“You sure?”

“This isn’t that much of a game.”

Shannon was obviously in flirt mode. Despite her initial dislike of the detective, Lindsey had admitted he was an attractive man. Why should she be surprised her friend had reached that same conclusion?

“So what do you do when you close?”

For the first time since he’d questioned the price of admission, the focus of those dark eyes was on Lindsey. Since it was clear to which of them the question had been addressed, Shannon kept her mouth shut, leaving it up to her to answer.

“We turn in the money and go home.”

“Not interested in watching the coup de grâce?”

“Not tonight.”

Shannon’s sneaker-clad foot made contact with the side of Lindsey’s ankle. Although she, too, might have been attracted to Jace, Shannon was smart enough to have picked up on the obvious undercurrent between them. The kick had clearly said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

An attractive man. A single woman on the wrong side of thirty stuck in a town this size. An invitation.

To Shannon—and to anyone else in Lindsey’s situation—that should spell “yes,” rather than such a definite “no.”

“You go on,” Shannon urged her before turning to smile at Jace. “I’ll take the money up to the press box.”

“If you aren’t interested in the game,” he said, again speaking directly to Lindsey, “maybe we could get something to eat. It’s been a long day, without any chance to grab dinner.”

For her, too. She’d spent the couple of hours between the end of school and her duties at the game lying down while she waited for the aspirin to work its magic. Because of her headache, she hadn’t eaten much lunch.

Apparently Shannon sensed the weakening of her resolve. “Friday night special at The Cove is hard to beat.”

“The Cove?” Jace’s gaze swung back to her.

“Out on the highway,” Shannon said helpfully. “One of our better restaurants. Who am I kidding? It’s the only decent food within thirty miles. And Lindsey’s favorite.”

“I appreciate the information. Ms. Sloan?”

Avoiding Shannon’s eyes, she met Jace’s instead. They were amused. And slightly challenging.

“I’m not dressed for The Cove.”

“On a ballgame night?” Shannon asked. “Honey, you’ll fit right in.” Her tone implied, And you damn well know it.

“You look fine to me,” Jace said.

The dialogue—the entire scenario—was so hokey, it was humiliating. And becoming more so by the second.

“Look—”

“Dinner,” Jace said. “No tour guiding involved.”

A reference to their conversation outside the gym this afternoon. At least Shannon had sense enough to keep her mouth shut, despite her almost palpable curiosity.

“Then…dinner.”

Why the hell had she agreed? Had she lost her mind? The man wanted to prove that one of her students was a criminal.

And if that were true? Wouldn’t she—and everyone else in this town—want to know?

“You sure you don’t mind closing up by yourself, Ms…?”

“Anderson. Shannon Anderson. I don’t mind. It’s a matter of walking up the stadium steps and handing in the cash at the press box.”

“You have a security escort?”

“Uh…Not in Randolph,” Shannon said with a laugh. “Everybody in the stadium knows what we’re doing. Believe me, nobody’s gonna try to make off with the money.”

“Then if you’re ready, Ms. Sloan.”

“Lindsey.” Again she wondered if she’d lost her mind.

“Lindsey.”

Sitcom dialogue. She looked at Shannon, daring her to laugh at the silliness of it. Surprisingly, her friend was looking exceptionally pleased with herself, but not amused.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Lindsey said to her.

“Y’all have fun.”

God, could this possibly get any worse? Lindsey stepped to the back of the booth and opened the door. She stood there a moment, trying to control her sense of unreality.

“Ready?” Jace had walked around to retrieve her.

“It doesn’t have to be The Cove. There are a couple of places that are nearer.”

“In a hurry to get home?”

She wasn’t. She was just a little out of her element.

Which had nothing to do with the restaurant and everything to do with the man she was going there with. The man half the town would see her with, which would inevitably create more gossip. And after the pep rally today…

“Compared to most places around here, The Cove is expensive. And likely to be crowded.”

“Then maybe if we left now…”

Jace’s suggestion was logical. To keep resisting would only make her appear more immature than she did already.

“My car’s here.”

“We can pick it up after we eat.”

On the way to where? she wondered. That had sounded as if dinner wasn’t the only thing he had in mind.

“Ready?” Once more Jace took her elbow, guiding her toward the parking lot. It was beginning to be a habit. One she discovered she was in no hurry to have him break.

“Jace. That’s an unusual name,” Lindsey said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

Since he’d made this same explanation dozens of times, Jace didn’t even have to think about what to say. “Probably because my family made it up.”

They were headed out of the restaurant, where the food had been as good as advertised. Not his preferred style of cuisine, but definitely eatable. Which was more than he could say about some of the meals he’d had down here.

“Made it up?”

“My great-grandfather was James Christian Nolan. He was called James. My grandfather was James Christian Nolan, the second. Jimmy. They called my dad Trey, because he was the third. When I came along, somebody got the bright idea of calling me J.C., which became Jacey when I was a toddler. At some point, that got shortened to Jace. By the time I started to school, I thought that was my name.”

“Sounds like a story someone around here might tell.”

“What does that mean?” he asked opening the car door for her. He waited as she slid into the passenger seat.

“The whole name thing. We’re big on family down here. It just…I don’t know. It sounded…Southern.”

“Yeah. Well, I don’t think my family would qualify as Southern by any stretch, but for what it’s worth, we’re big on family, too.” He returned her smile, but the ease they’d found over the meal—talking about everything from football to food—seemed to have evaporated into the same sense of awkwardness that had marred the drive over from the stadium.

Jace closed the door and walked around the front of the car, trying to decide if it was worth doing what he’d planned. Probably better to play it by ear and see how she reacted.

He opened the driver’s side door and slid in behind the wheel. As he inserted the key into the ignition, Lindsey turned to look at him. He met her eyes, his questioning.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“My pleasure.” It had been, Jace acknowledged.

Once the initial awkwardness had dissipated, he’d found her easy to talk to. Of course, he’d avoided the subject he knew would set off all her defense mechanisms. That wasn’t something he could continue to do, not if he was going to get any of the information he believed Lindsey Sloan could provide. If she wanted to.

Decision made, he put the car into reverse. When he reached the highway, instead of turning back the way they’d come, he headed in the opposite direction. As if on cue, Lindsey offered the protest he’d been expecting.

“This isn’t the way to the stadium.”

She didn’t sound alarmed. It was more as if she thought that he, as a newcomer, might be confused about the location.

“I wanted to show you something.”

“Look—”

“Relax. Your virtue’s safe with me.”

He was no longer entirely sure of that. His original intent in asking to meet Ms. Sloan that day had been strictly business. He’d never expected to be attracted to a teacher.

Auburn hair should mean at least a few freckles. Instead, flawless ivory skin overlay a classically beautiful bone structure. The copper-colored eyes were open and direct.

So why the hell was she available on a Friday night? And, judging by her friend’s eagerness to push her to come with him tonight, most other nights as well?

“It’s been a long week,” she said, her voice no longer relaxed. “I enjoyed dinner, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d take me back to my car.”

“This won’t take five minutes. We’re almost there.”

He knew that as soon as he turned off the highway and onto the two-lane road, she’d recognize their destination. He could imagine her reaction.

Still, this had been the purpose of the entire exercise. He wasn’t about to let the fact that the prelude leading up to the main event had been enjoyable keep him from doing his job.

She didn’t bother to argue, which he also liked. In his experience, it was a rare woman who knew when to keep her mouth shut. The silence lasted exactly as long as he’d anticipated it would.

“I’ve seen the church,” she said flatly.

“I’m sure everyone around here has. I just need to check on something.”

“If this is intended to make me more willing to concede the possibility—”

“It doesn’t matter to me whether you believe what I told you or not. Your opinion isn’t going to change the course of the investigation.”

She turned her head away, looking rigidly out the side window as he pulled into the unpaved area in front of the ruin. He couldn’t tell if she was studying the burned-out shell or if she simply couldn’t stand to look at him.

He stopped the car directly in front of the church, turning off the engine. After a moment the headlights went out. Gradually, in the moonlight, what remained of the church was silhouetted against the lesser darkness behind it.

“Walk with me.”

Without waiting for her agreement, Jace opened his door and climbed out of the car. The sound of its closing echoed through the stillness of the clearing.

He headed toward the ruin, not looking back to see if she was following. Finally—and with a sense of relief—he heard her open and then close her door. Her footsteps made no noise in the soft dirt, but when he turned his head, she was beside him, her gaze focused on the building.

After a moment, she looked up at him. “It’s tragic, and I hate more than you can imagine that it happened. For the people who went to church here and for the rest of us. But I don’t know anything that can help you find out who did this.”

“You may not know that you know.”

“I’ve thought a lot this week about what you said. I looked at every kid who came through my classroom and wondered. And after all that, the answer I came up with isn’t any different from the one I gave you on Tuesday. I don’t believe any of my kids was involved.” She turned to look at the ruin again. “I don’t believe any of them are capable of this kind of…I don’t know. Senseless destruction.”

Except Jace knew it hadn’t been. It had been premeditated and deliberate and very carefully thought out.

That wasn’t what the media had suggested with their spur-of-the-moment copycat theory. At that point he’d seen no reason to correct their impression.

He still didn’t. He had just wanted the people involved to be aware that as far as he was concerned, this wasn’t over.

“Maybe…Maybe they’re through with it,” she went on. “You said they were after the adrenaline rush, but maybe all the attention scared them away.”

“The only thing scaring them away is irregularly spaced patrols of all the other isolated churches in the area.”

“Then why don’t they go somewhere else? There are plenty of places in this part of the state—”

She stopped abruptly, making it obvious she’d made one of the connections he had hoped she would. He didn’t say anything, preferring to let her work it out herself.

She turned to look at him again, the perfect oval of her face revealed by the moonlight. “They have a curfew.”

“And somebody who waits up for them. Maybe even somebody who checks the mileage on the car they drive.”

“The fires are on the weekend because they aren’t allowed out on a school night,” she said, continuing to put it together. “That’s why you’re convinced they’re students.”

It wasn’t the only reason, but it appeared to be enough to make her buy in to the theory that the task force had devised. Once she did, he should be able to use her to get into the heads of her students.