100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (29 page)

Some people had zero sense of humor.

I fished my phone out of my right back pocket, glancing at the unknown number. “Hullo?”

“It’s me.”

“Me?” I repeated.

“Me,” he said again.

Nothing but two people breathing. I’d recently given my digits to a lot of people; the students I sat beside in the hall when we had the emergency
thingamabob
, that is. Today I’d planned to track down the ones I hadn’t heard from and beg, borrow, or steal for their assistance. How could they assist? I didn’t know yet but would figure it out once I opened my mouth.

Then it hit me. Hit me like a brand spanking new Audi.

Dylan dropped Brynn like a hot plate, grabbing my arm in a steely vice. He lifted his chin arrogantly, eyes cutting through whatever bull I’d considered shoveling up. Then, as per usual, we morphed into one of our silent conversations when the words were going to get a little hairy.

Who?
he demanded.

I lifted my chin even higher,
Ben Ryan,
I answered.

You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,
he sneered.

Dylan sometimes led with his eyes, circling like a wolf before it attacked.

“You hypocrite,” I said aloud.

“Is that right?” he snorted verbally. “Well, getting you to admit to anything might throw the Earth off its axis, so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.”

I stared at him; he glared harder.

With one long stride, he backed me up against his locker. A flare of pure jealousy ignited his amber eyes to boiling. Good. Now we were getting somewhere because I’d take anger over standing here acting like not a dang thing was going on. And let me tell you, that was a first. Finally, he muttered, “For God’s sake, you’re making this so frigging hard on me. What are you doing, Darcy?”

Holding back my puke.

My chest heaved up and down. “I was expecting his call,” I lied. “Science experiment stuff.”

Dylan’s jaw clicked a few times, and I’m pretty sure if he were a vampire his fangs would be descended. I wriggled out from underneath him and grabbed Bean’s arm, continuing down the hall before Dylan could say anything else, or I could buckle.

“Hello, Ben,” I sighed. Bean and I got stuck in traffic. We didn’t do anything for a bit except hover in front of the Spirit Shop, the place you bought Valley paraphernalia.

“Hello, angel,” Ben murmured. “I was just making sure you hadn’t changed your number.” When I didn’t say anything, he said softly, “What’s wrong? You seem tense.”

He didn’t know me well enough to term me tense.

I explained, “I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions today, and everyone should approach with caution.”

“So you’re preoccupied.”

“That’d be a safe assumption.”

“I’d like to see you.”

“If you had aspirations of me being under the wheels of your car, then I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not interested.”

He chuckled, and that warmed me from head to freaking toe. Gah, I didn’t like it that I
liked
Ben Ryan. And I
really
didn’t like that he got under my skin. “I’ll have to go to Plan B,” he concluded oddly. “What’s the preoccupation?”

I told him about Coach’s car.

Yep, it was weird to confess that too.

That’s all it took for Bean to insert himself in the dialogue. He snuggled his cheek up beside mine, interjecting into the receiver, “That’s right. And we only work for a price.”

“It
is
the American way,” I agreed.

I assumed Ben would laugh again, disconnect, or blow me off as a misguided neophyte, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “So what’s the problem?”

Oh, where to begin. “The guys I would’ve sworn were involved aren’t.”

From what little I knew about Ben, he struck me as the organized type. Things were simple, yada, yada, yada. I mean, my word, he wore penny loafers. That was a level of distinction you didn’t encounter often in high school. “Then go back to the scene of the crime,” he suggested.

“Which one? Because I’m dealing with two dead bodies too.”

“…
What?
”

I sighed and clarified, “So stakeout the place where it happened?”

“It couldn’t hurt. Have there been any copycat occurrences?”

“Nope.”
Although there’d been a lot of vandalism around town
, I thought. Nowacki’s Videos and The Double-B to be precise.

“Then return to the scene and see if anything seems out of the ordinary.”

Placing Ben on speaker, I veered left at the cafeteria, making my way up the stairs. Bean predictably followed, though I wasn’t sure his next class was even on the second floor.

“I already took pictures,” I explained, “but they’re a grainy mess of the wrong rows. Besides, it would do no good to take them again. We have designated spaces.”

He dramatically sighed. “Angel, I’m disappointed. If you already knew where you could find the drivers in question, then why haven’t you interviewed the owners personally?” He paused, and I could feel the beginnings of a flirty vibe. “Unless you’re afraid to be that brazen. Surely, you’re more than a pretty face, or maybe you’re simply a dumb blonde. That is, considering you’re a real one.”

If my foot could make it through the phone, Ben’s mouth would be full of Nike. This boy had no couth. Still, I found myself genuinely laughing.

“Ben, Ben, Ben,” I teased while he chuckled he was only joking, “I’m blatantly talking on my iPhone which is against the rules as I’m walking past the assistant principal. And yes, I’m a real blonde. A dirty one,” I giggled, “but a blonde, nonetheless.”

Shoot, that was slutty-girl suggestive, but I honestly didn’t care.

“Miss Walker,” AP Unger scolded. “Must you always buck the system?”

I waved him off, giggling to Ben, “He says hi, by the way.”

AP Unger gave an exaggerated eye roll, but instead of apprehending my phone, his eyes went wide as ping-pong balls as he lunged for Jagger and Ivy. They were plastered up against a locker, putting a whole new spin on the term PDA. Hands were everywhere, and feet were…well, off the ground.

Aww. Happy. Endings.

Jagger broke free with a shaky breath when AP Unger yanked him by the ear. “She’s my backup,” he laughed in my direction. If Ivy had a samurai sword, my entrails would be decorating the ceiling.

Ben murmured, “Tell me more about this guy.”

“Jagger?” I clarified.

“Is he the guy who had his car vandalized?”

That truly would be a capital offense. Jagger drove a Mercedes SUV like Rookie’s—this week, that is.

“No,” I answered. “It’s our basketball coach’s. He’s divorced, and it was far from amicable.” And his wife’s involvement had crossed my mind, but as far as I knew she could be turning tricks on Mars.

“Give me her name.”

“Why?”

“Trust me,” he chuckled.

I thought back to the caption on the backside of Coach’s photograph and told him, “Jacinda Olivia Jemima Opal Wallace.”

“Who in the world has five names?” he laughed.

“My guess is a whole lot of woman.”

He was quiet for a beat, as though he scribbled down notes. “So who’s this Jagger?”

I looked back toward Jagger who futilely tried to explain his actions to AP Unger. I didn’t know if I’d term him misunderstood, understood, or lost cause.

“School playboy,” Bean answered for me.

“I’m assuming you’re his Plan A,” Ben said.

I shivered at the thought. “He’s a fastard…pardon my language. And he likes anyone he can’t have, but once you fall under the spell, he jettisons you.”

“Spoken from experience?” he murmured.

“Spoken from observation.”

“And the guy you’re with?” Ben pushed.

Bean threw his arm around my neck as we stopped in front of Mr. Himmel’s door. Bean smelled like mothballs. A fact my nose was having trouble negotiating with. “I’m her best friend,” Bean beamed.

Shoot, it struck me like an arrow to the heart that position might become vacant real darn soon.

“That means it’s only a matter of time, angel.”

Disconnect. Dial tone. Cue the confusion.

As stupid as it sounded, I found myself attracted to the guy who’d mowed me over with his car and insulted me at least three times in our five-minute conversation. But I barely knew him—I didn’t know if he was a jock, member of the chess club, band geek, student council representative, or fugitive from the law.

I sighed. I sighed so loud Bean jumped.

I needed these unconditional conversations from Dylan. You know, where you talk and no one goes ape poopoo when they find out how freaking bizarre you really live your life. Dylan would never understand in a million years that Vinnie and I’d broken into someone’s house just so I could prove they were a bad person. Dylan was too protective and sometimes too practical. Ben strangely goaded me into action, and he didn’t even know it.

16. Answered Prayers

I
’d always lived my life
one way: go big, or go home. I’m pretty sure I was about to go crazy.

During the fifty-two minutes I was supposed to be reading my science book, I tracked down the students I spoke with in the hallway via text. The answers were one, they’d forgotten; two, they didn’t remember me (blow to my ego); or three, they wanted to talk about the Winter Formal. So what little hope I’d had earlier had been sucked dry by idiots.

It was fifth period, government. I’d already had lunch and the menu was bean burritos with cheesy rice. In essence, I could legitimately walk up to my teacher’s desk, paint on a face of nausea, and beg to hit the restroom. Thankfully, Mr. Barton seemed distracted. When I asked, he simply replied, “Sure, Walker,” and that’s all it took.

So now I roamed the second floor hall toward the west end of the building, facing the parking lot. The great thing about our building was the front was almost total glass. My plan was simple: look out the windows and see if anything weird was going on. Since AP Unger normally traveled this route, I ducked into the janitor’s closet and immediately checked to see if I was alone. I didn’t see any pairs of feet but decided to yell an “Is anyone home?” anyway. When no one answered, I swatted away a spider’s web and realized the best view to the parking lot was from the corner window, several feet from the ground.

I got my ninja on, crawled up to the window seal, and waited…and waited…and waited. I picked at my nails, pulled lint off my texting gloves, glanced at my watch, and concluded I’d been gone for close to fifteen minutes.

Not good, not good at all.

After I played with the pompom on my toboggan, I slid my iPhone out of my jacket, attempting to snag a signal. I’d missed a text.

Jojo Wallace works at Dingo 31 at Voice of America Plaza.

Ben Ryan
, I laughed. He’d spelled out and punctuated everything in his text perfectly…figures, the managerial type. Jojo was apparently an acronym for Jacinda Olivia Jemima Opal. I think I’d make an acronym too, but who was I to debate the etymology of someone’s name? My name’s Darcy Walker—a dark walker. Whether it was stroke of genius or stroke of stupid, my parents hit the freaking bull’s-eye.

Here’s the thing. When Ben said to trust him, he really meant to
trust him
. But how in the world could he sniff out the lady’s name, plus where she worked? I put that thought on ice and thumbed in “thnx.”

I then heard that still, small voice Murphy claimed was the voice of God. I didn’t hear it much. Maybe it’s because I didn’t take the time to listen, or maybe it’s because the language was so foreign it’d take years more of practice. Either scenario, I heard, “Welcome to the land of the all-knowing, kid. Here’s your ‘juicy stuff’ you requested. Don’t question me again.”

I took the time to pause. I didn’t know what to do or if I should even comment that God kinda sounded like a smarty pants. Before I damned myself to burning fire, I noticed movement. Several students slowly filed out to their cars. Two guys in dark down coats huddled together, like they stole one another’s warmth or perhaps talked about something private. And if my eyes hadn’t fooled me, they were corralled around a red Mustang and silver Chevy Colorado. To pile on the wonder, a dirty white van pulled up alongside them, its exhaust sputtering and smoking in the frigid air.

It was darn Ground Hog’s Day.

Problem was, this group appeared to be leaving. It was only fifth period, so that meant they were seniors. No one else would be allowed to take that light of a schedule except those with the required classes under their belts. I could do one of two things: chalk this up as answered prayer number two or go one step further and interview them as Ben suggested. My instincts took over, and I blood-hounded my way out of the closet like my next meal depended on it. Taking the stairs three at a time, I one-handed the door and pushed outside.

The air exploded in my face. I didn’t have a coat, and the air was so blistering cold I saw my own breath. Unfolding my texting gloves, I quickly snapped them over fingers as stiff as a corpse. Then I walked—
no, skipped
—thought that looked stupid so compromised and strode really fast. I felt like a Catholic schoolgirl off the leash. This was my big break. I had no idea how to broach the subject, but I’d introduce myself and pray the rest came naturally.

Uh, a face-to-face seemed like a better idea when it was merely in my mind. All three looked at me like I was a first class idiot. Probably because the chill had reached my bones, and I currently did jumping jacks.

I produced an awkward, breathy, “Hi.”

The guy from the white van opened a rusty, rickety sounding door and stumbled out. He wore a mustard-colored jumpsuit like those on construction sites do. On his head was dark blond, curly hair and black horn-rimmed glasses. A white ball cap shaded his eyes and the upper portion of his face. I couldn’t get a read on him. The other two seemed like your average Joes: jeans, white sneakers, a pimple here, a pimple there. Where most tried to avoid eye contact with seedy characters, I was the type that stared until it was uncomfortable. All three eyeballed me as though they considered strangling me or shoving me into the van.