New Point (19 page)

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Seems fair enough, you don’t answer mine,” he snaps. I’m taken aback. He’s
never
spoken to me this sharply.

All of a sudden, I’m angrier than I realize, and my tone does nothing to hide the emotion. “I’m not going home with you until you tell me what Lacey wanted. This evasiveness makes it seem like you have something to hide.”

“Fine, then I’ll go home with you.” But his voice is still tense.

All of a sudden my world is upside down when he tosses me easily over his shoulder. “Miles!” I shriek. “Put me down, I’m trying to talk to you about something serious.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters.

“Put. Me. Down,” I growl, more frustrated than I realized.

He swats my ass, carrying me like I weigh no more than a feather across the grass between our yards. Outside my front door he sets me down with a flourish.

“There. Better now?” One of his arms slithers around my waist, and he tugs me against his chest. His hand drifts down to tuck an errant strand of my pin straight hair behind my ear.

“Not better. You’re hiding something from me, and I don’t like it.”

Pot meet kettle.
I steadfastly ignore the nagging voice.

Miles releases me like I’ve burned him. “
I’m
hiding something?” he asks incredulously. “How about the meaningful looks you share with my sister? Not to mention when we started all of this,”–he gestures back and forth between us–“
you
said you weren’t ready to tell me things. So, let’s try this again. Who’s the one keeping secrets?” I’ve never heard such bite in his tone. Anger flashes in his eyes, and he crosses his arms defensively across his chest.

“Miles…” Moisture builds up behind my eyes, and my throat gets tight.

When did I become this weak girl?
I’m ashamed of myself, which only makes me want to tell him less. I want to be the strong woman, but I’m not. I’m paralyzed by fear of how my confession will impact our relationship.

“I’m sorry.” My hands fall to my sides lamely, and my shoulders lift in a sheepish shrug. “There’s…” A tear trickles down my cheek, and I fall silent again.

Miles rushes forward, hauling me into his arms. His hand caresses my back in smooth, reassuring strokes. “No, no, it’s me who’s sorry. Please don’t cry, Zoe.”

Sniffling, I wiggle out of his grasp and stare into his fathomless brown eyes. “I never used to cry. It was like all my tears dried up after Mom and Dad died. And now they happen whenever they want, on freaking demand.”

He uses the pad of his thumb to brush the trail of liquid tracking a path down my cheek. “Lacey’s throwing a party at Blue in Green next weekend. Some summer-themed bullshit. She wanted to invite me. Of course I turned her down; you have nothing to worry about.”

“I know.” I shake my head, glad there are no more tears following the former. “I trust you.”

For a split second a flicker of sadness flickers in his expression. Just as quickly as it appeared it’s gone.

“Let’s go in,” I murmur.

The door is open a crack when Miles tugs me close, kissing me hungrily. There’s desperation in his touch, a different urgency than before. His powerful arms lift me again, and my legs find their way around his waist. Without breaking our kiss, he carries me up the stairs toward my bedroom.

We tumble to the bed and his hands are feverish, hurriedly removing my clothing. He’s wild, not wasting a second to undress both of us.

“Miles,” I gasp when he sinks his body into mine. My hands grip his shoulders, fingernails digging into the taunt skin, and he emits a low groan of approval.

Our fight long forgotten, we come together in a frenzied, passionate meeting. The only sound in the room is our breathless gasps and sensual moans.

For one more night I hold onto the darkest part of me.

I
t’s Monday. All morning I’ve caught myself daydreaming about my weekend getaway with Miles. Even though the trip is a few days away, I’m thinking about what we’ll do in Northern Michigan. Isn’t that the best part of a trip? Anticipating the vacation.

Now camp is winding down. A few of my kids wait patiently for their parents to pick them up when a shriek startles us from where we gather outside the library entrance. Alexa steps closer to me, her cheek near my hip.

“My ankle!”

Twenty feet from the entrance of the building Lacey is sprawled out on a patch of sidewalk. She’s clutching her ankle between whimpers and a string of curse words.

“Stay right here,” I tell the cluster of children peering at the injured woman.

“It hurts so bad,” she wails when I crouch next to her, her whine piercing through my eardrum. Her foot is bent at an unnatural, ugly angle, and a skinny, five-inch heel lies discarded a foot away. My hand hovers above her ankle, wanting to help but not having a clue what to do. This vulnerable Lacey is unlike the usual bombshell who saunters by me with apparent disdain.

“Don’t touch me!”

There’s the Lacey I know.

“I’ll call an ambulance.” I try to temper my annoyance and remember she’s injured.

“No! I don’t have health insurance and ambulances are expensive.” She grabs my hand in hers, squeezing my hand tightly as if to transfer some of her pain to me.

“What’s going on?” Miles materializes out of nowhere, squatting to our level. At the same time Sharon appears outside near the clumped children. She watches us with concern.

“Are you stupid? I broke my fucking ankle!”

Sharon noticeably gasps, gathering the three remaining children and scooting them further from the drama.

“Miles, you need to take me to the emergency room.”

His eyes find mine hesitantly.

“Go.” I’m adamant.

“What about Alexa and Duke?”

Lacey emits a painful growl. “
She
can watch them, they’ll be fine. Take me to a doctor!”

Miles eyes shut briefly, as if trying to calm himself from snapping at her disregard for the children.

“No problem, they can hang with me.”

He glances at me appreciatively. “I’ll call you when we get an update from the doctor.”

I use my hands to push off the hot concrete and stand. Even though I know he’s only helping her in a time of need, it irks a little to watch Miles scoop Lacey off the ground in his strong arms and gingerly carry her to his Jeep.

“Feel better, Lacey,” I call after them. She doesn’t respond and when Miles turns back toward me, his eyes silently conveying a desire for me to understand. My lips tilt up a little, and I nod. “See you later.”

He hurries around the car to jump into the driver’s seat. By now only two campers remain.

“Where’s Lacey going?” Alexa asks with wide, unsure eyes. I reach down and clasp her hand in me, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Miles took Lacey to the doctor because she hurt her foot. We three get to spend time together until they are finished. What do you think about that?”

“Yes!” Duke cheers, hopping up and down excitedly. Alexa’s less enthusiastic, gnawing at her lower lip.

“Lacey will be just fine.” I try to placate.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I can handle things here,” my boss offers generously.

“Sharon, you don’t have to do that. You’re supposed to be headed home now,” I respond quickly, although it would be easier to keep Alexa and Duke entertained outside of the office.

“Life gets in the way of best laid plans. These kids look like they need some ice cream.”

That cheers Alexa up a bit, a tentative smile appears.

“How about lunch and then ice cream?” I suggest and the kids eagerly agree.

It takes less than two hours for Alexa, Duke and I to munch our way through a meal at a restaurant near the library. Now we’re sitting on a picnic bench outside the Dairy Barn, my charges happily licking chocolate chip ice cream from sugar cones. As they finish their dessert we watch New Point pass us by. There’s still no word from Miles, and I’m beginning to wonder what we’ll do next when a lone raindrop lands on the tip of my nose. Glancing up, I find thick clouds darkening the sunny sky.

When my stomach pinches with anxiety, I try my best to ignore it.

“Looks like rain,” I tell the kids sitting across from me. “Why don’t we go back to my house and watch a movie?”

“Can I pick the movie?” Some of Alexa’s shyness disappeared after I got her a grilled cheese sandwich at the local diner.

“Of course.” I send a text to Miles letting him know where we’ll be. He responds quickly, telling me they’re still waiting for the results of Lacey’s x-ray.

Why didn’t he text me first? What’s going on over there?

Pushing the jealous thought away, I lead the kids back to my house. We take the beach route because it’s the fastest. By the time we escape inside the foyer, rain dribbles from the sky at a steady pace. I settle the kids in front of the TV, letting Alexa select a cartoon from my video streaming application.

Once they are sufficiently engrossed, I go to the kitchen to get ahold of Miles. Boulders of uncertainty settle in my gut. Is Lacey demanding that much of his attention?

Nothing but dial tone and voicemail answer my call.

Boom!
A clap of thunder sends my heart into overdrive. My hand flies to my chest, willing the pounding muscle to ease.

“Calm down, it’s just a little storm,” I whisper to myself.

“Miss Zoe?”

Forcing my trembling hands to my sides, I inhale a deep breath. “Yes, Duke?”

“The movie got stuck.”

Outside there’s another flash of lightning and crackle of thunder. My shoulders jump in response. I force myself to smile at the kids who have wandered into the kitchen, though it feels tight on my face. “I can fix it.”

“Are you okay? Your face looks like Mom’s does when she sees soldiers on the TV.”

I open my mouth to respond when there’s a loud
bang
from near the front door to the house.

He’s back.

Everything goes dark except Alexa and Duke. I have to get them safe. I can’t let anything happen to them. Whatever it takes to protect them from Clinton Smith. Lunging across the kitchen I swallow them against my chest and shove them to the floor.

“Stay down,” I say sharply, hardly registering their response. I squeeze my eyes shut, gathering them as closely as I can.

Then I’m back to where I never want to visit again.

“
C
ook County nine-one-one, what’s the location of your emergency?”

Bump, bump, bump. Instead of responding in that half second, my thoughts center on the erratic thump coming from my chest. My heart thuds so loudly I’m certain the man with the too-close together eyes can make out the sounds as easily as I can.

“Cook County nine-one-one, what’s the location of your emergency?” the operator repeats, this time urgently.

At the operator’s instance, I snap out of the terror-filled trance and spring into action.

“Clarkes Elementary School on Belmont, there’s a young man here with a gun. And – and,” my voice stutters when my companion meets my gaze. In that moment, when it matters the least, I observe that his eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, like two shimmering sapphires. On any other day they would be considered beautiful.

“He says he is going to shoot the children.”

I wedge the phone underneath my ear and force myself to stop thinking about the cadence of the muscle pumping in the chest. Through my nose, I inhale and exhale deeply.

“Where are you in the building?” the person on the other end of the line demands.

“Student check-in,” I murmur.

“No cops inside the school,” the gun-wielding man suddenly snaps, brandishing his handgun as he lurches closer, though a half wall and counter separate us.

A few minutes earlier when I heard the front door of the school fly open with a vicious bang, I reacted automatically, dialing the emergency services number. But before I could speak, the wild-eyed man found me and started barking orders. For some reason unknown to me, he didn’t demand I hang up the phone. Maybe he was trying to maintain the upper hand, knowing that the police were already notified.

“Did you hear that?” I ask the operator through a hoarse voice.

“Yes, ma’am, tell him no officers will enter the building.”

“No police,” I confirm, meeting his unblinking gaze again.

“Put the fucking phone down!” he shouts suddenly. My body starts, and the phone jumps on my shoulder. Carefully I place the piece of plastic, mouthpiece up, on the laminate countertop, right next to the clipboard where we sign in students arriving late or leaving early. Side by side they are innocuous enough, but today these items have lost their innocence.

We can both hear the muffled voice of the operator, and our eyes trickle down to the receiver.

“Is this all right?” I ask with trepidation.

He nods jerkily but his white-knuckled grip on the small, automatic handgun doesn’t loosen. In fact, his fingers curl around the grip tighter.

Then he stalks away from where he faces me on the other side of the counter. It’s only the second week of school, still warm outside, so when I stretch my body across the white slab of countertop to watch him, a wave of goosebumps erupt across my bare forearms. Thankfully he doesn’t venture toward the cafeteria or down the hallway in the direction of classrooms. Instead, he yanks open the door to the check-in room. I whirl to face him, the material of my gauzy, school-appropriate dress twirling around my legs. At the time I was thrilled to build a wardrobe for my brand new job. The damn skirt, sensible shoes, and entire librarian wardrobe are frivolous and insignificant now.