Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 27

Fury.

She could feel it just beneath the surface, coiling under her skin like a snake.

"Calla?"

She stared at the ceiling, the covers pulled up to her chin and her hair fanned out on

her pillow like a pillar of flame. Plots and schemes ran through her mind, but mostly

she thought of blood.

Blood and revenge.

A soft knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Her mother cracked the

door and peered inside. "Hey, sweetheart. Cooper just pulled into the driveway."

The boy next door...not so innocent anymore.

Calla pushed aside the covers and slid out of bed, smoothing the front of her black

dress. This one was nothing like the risqué piece Rachel had convinced her to wear

to the dance. The thought sent a spasm of rage through her veins. It vanished just

as quickly.

She picked off a piece of lint and grabbed her purse, following Rosalind out into the

kitchen. Her mother enveloped her in a warm embrace before sending her outside,

leaving her with a promise to meet her at the church for Rachel's funeral.

The funeral. Calla detested funerals. The charade of tears and mournful gatherers

made her skin crawl.

Standing at the threshold of their house, Calla took a deep breath. She forced tears

into her eyes—an exercise in grief that she did not feel. Or if it was there, it was

buried somewhere deep, smothered by the dark rage that fueled her now.

I will make whoever killed her pay.

She hurried across the gravel driveway and slipped into the passenger side of

Cooper's Mustang, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She checked her

reflection in the visor.

"Fake tears?" Cooper asked, throwing the car in reverse.

"Practice makes perfect," she said drily, snapping the visor back into place.

"Excellent. I'd hate to think you'd grown a conscience overnight," he muttered. He

pulled at the collar of his white button down, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a

black suit, the fabric worn with age. The sleeves were too long; he wrestled with

them now, trying to hide the excess fabric.

Her leg bounced as they turned a corner. The line to school felt considerably larger

than usual. She blew out a frustrated breath as they slowed to a stop.

"In a hurry?" he asked, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

She thought about asking him the same. He appeared to be equally on edge. He ran

a hand through his hair in what she could only describe as a nervous tic.

A license to kill—that's what he'd given her yesterday. What he'd promised her. A life

in exchange for a life. The killer would die so that Cooper could live.

You can have your revenge.

She didn't deign to respond. Her restless leg spoke for itself.

It took less time than she would have thought to reach the front of the line. Cars

crowded the front lot, horns blaring as chaos unfolded. Cooper navigated to his

usual spot, stony faced as he threw the car in park.

"Calla—"

She opened the door and stepped outside. She swept the parking lot, absorbing the

flurry of black that descended upon the school. Almost immediately, her sights

landed on Vincent's unmistakable frame. He wore a nondescript black suit, the top

button of his shirt undone. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. His hair looked as it

had the night of the dance—wild and unkempt.

She'd thought him capable of murder. Funny, how quickly that theory had crumbled.

And it had only taken her best friend's death to convince her of his innocence.

She watched as he opened the driver door of a little red Volkswagen, parked just a

few spots down from where she now stood. Astrid crawled out, a breathtaking

sight in a black skirt and turtleneck. Even at a distance, Calla could see that her

eyes were red from crying. She wrapped her arms around Vincent's neck and let out

a sob.

Gareth was nowhere in sight.

Calla surveyed the scene with disinterest. She could feel Cooper watching her,

could feel his panic. Which made her wonder—how much had he guessed about

that night? Had Vincent told him about the dirty little details?

"I want you to stay away from him."

Her eyes slid over to Cooper. "Excuse me?"

"Vincent." His eyes hardened. "Stay away from him. This thing that we're doing? It

doesn't have to involve him or anyone else. So just..." His eyes strayed back to

Vincent. He and Astrid stood side-by-side, leaning against her car. Their

conversation looked hushed and intense. "Keep your distance. Call it a stipulation.

My one stipulation of whatever this is."

He waved a hand between them. Whatever this is. An accurate summary of their

bizarre camaraderie, to be sure.

Calla considered his words. She'd already thought long and hard about the matter of

Vincent Townson. They hadn't spoken since the night of the dance; Vincent had

attempted to call her that night, no doubt to offer words of comfort. But words of

comfort could not help her. And Vincent, for all his charm, would only be an

unnecessary distraction.

She looked away from the duo across the parking lot, focusing her attention on

Cooper.

"Fine. Vincent's out."

"Just like that?" Cooper leaned back, aghast. He'd been expecting a fight.

I don't exactly make things easy for him, do I?

"He's a distraction," she explained, voice low. She braced herself against the roof of

Cooper's car. He frowned, about to protest, but she interrupted before he could. "I

need to be focused. Let him chase after Astrid. It'll give me a chance to focus on

Cory."

"Cory?" Cooper looked as if he wanted to argue, but he knew her well—better than

he probably wanted to admit. As far as he was concerned, Calla had no heart. No

compassion. No moral compass. Matters of the heart weren't exactly her forte.

"There's not an officer in Greenwitch that isn't on this case." Calla tapped the top of

the car with her index finger for emphasis. " That means Cory's dad might have

information we need. Evidence. A list of suspects. Something ."

"List of suspects? What, conveniently written down in his diary?"

Calla ignored him. "It's time to put our cards on the table, Coop. All of our cards."

Cooper scoffed, throwing up his hands. "Oh, I need to put my cards on the table?

Are you serious?"

"In case you haven't noticed," she hissed through clenched teeth, "my memory of

that night is a bit... faulty. "

"Faulty?" Cooper stared. "What do you mean, faulty?"

"I mean, I don't exactly remember the... events, of that night."

"Events," he repeated dully. "You commit murder, and you don't even have the

common decency to remember it?"

Calla's fingers convulsed against the car's frame. "Blame it on the alcohol. I don't

know. It's not important."

"You killing someone isn't imp—"

"Big picture, Coop!" she snapped. She scanned the parking lot, relieved to see that

the congestion had died down somewhat. Students flocked to the front doors in

groups of twos and threes, a wave of black on an equally dreary day. As if to

emphasize the point, a low rumble of thunder rolled over the town, promising more

violent storms to come.

Calla closed her eyes and tilted her head back, as if bracing for a sudden downpour.

"Look. Whatever happened that night...it's connected to the other murders. I just

don't know how. We need to go over what we know to figure that out. And," she

emphasized, opening her eyes to shoot him an irritated glare, "it'll help us find the

one who most definitely wants you dead."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, leaning against the car. He sighed. It was cold enough that

she could see his breath. "There's not much to tell. Not about the Halloween party,

anyway. I already told you everything I know."

So. We have a cryptic note and a shadowy figure on the staircase to go on. Wonderful.

Calla frowned. "That's it?"

"That's it." Cooper shrugged, abashed. "Vincent made me leave my camera behind

at the party, so I'm no help there. Although..."

"Yes?" she prompted, impatient.

Cooper glanced over his shoulder. The parking lot had all but emptied. Calla knew

they would have to head inside soon, or risk walking into the student assembly not-

so-fashionably late.

He turned back to her and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were

completely alone. A burst of icy wind ruffled his hair, sending it sweeping across his

forehead. "Tom Sahein."

That name again.

Calla's eyes narrowed. She slipped a hand into her purse and dug around until she

felt it—Rachel's key. She clutched it in her palm, a lifeline grounding her in reality.

"The yearbook kid?"

"I'm the yearbook kid too, you know."

"You're the yearbook kid who has five seconds to speak before I rip—"

"Temper." Cooper held up his finger. "We need to work on your temper. Seriously."

Calla sucked in a deep breath. The key dug into the palm of her hand. She resisted

the urge to reach over the car and slam his face into the cold metal.

"Sahein. He's notorious. For all the wrong reasons, of course." Cooper spoke in a

rush, no doubt sensing how very close Calla was to the end of her rope. "He's

always creeping around. Remember that feature with Patrick last year?"

That caught Calla off guard. She leaned back, dropping the key and pulling her hand

out of her purse. Cold air stabbed at her fingers. "Patrick Kein and Quinn Richards?"

Talk about a scandal. Patrick's then-girlfriend, Venus Upton, had missed a week of

school once the news broke that he'd gotten with Greenwitch's star linebacker.

Venus had sworn up and down that she'd caught the flu, but everyone knew exactly

why she'd been embarrassed to show up to class. But the worst blow had been

Patrick's transfer to their rival school. He couldn't outrun the gossip—but he could

outrun the fury of his scorned ex-girlfriend.

"Yup." Cooper winced. "I've never seen Steph so thrilled to sneak a story into the

paper. Sahein's been looking for a feature ever since. The kid's relentless."

Calla scowled. "He sounds like a nosy busy-body. Cory told me about him.

Apparently his father brought him in for questioning the night of the Halloween

party."

"Cory's got pretty good intel," Cooper admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Sahein was at the gala, too. The pictures on my camera are only half the story. And

I bet his half are a lot more interesting than mine."

"Is there a way to get a look at those pictures?" Calla stepped away from the car,

slowly working her way toward the school. Cooper followed, keeping pace with her

slow march. "Y'know. Steal the camera, or whatever."

He grimaced. "Actually...I might have to. Kid's paranoid. He doesn't want anyone to

steal his next big break, he calls it. I doubt he'll upload anything worth a damn on the

yearbook lab's drive."

"Still. It's worth a look." Calla tucked her hand back into her purse, her fingertips

brushing the edge of a wrinkled piece of paper. "Consider it your homework

assignment."

"Aye, aye." He side-eyed her. "So. Any other cards you'd like to put on the table?"

"I've all but admitted to first degree murder," she muttered, still staring ahead. A

swell of bodies stood just inside the front door. She dreaded wading into that mess.

Cooper drew her to a stop. "I mean...what if you didn't? If your memory's fuzzy—"

"I woke up with blood on my hands and the murder weapon buried in my backyard."

She pulled away from his touch. He let her go, his arms falling to his sides.

"Then explain the book."

She looked away. A hundred rebuttals danced on the edge of her tongue.

"I can't," she finally said, lingering on the sidewalk. To anyone else, it would look as

if she were mentally preparing herself for the day ahead. "No memories.

Remember?"

"You don't own a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales?" he pressed, trying her last nerve.

"No," she snapped. "I don't."

"If you're a murderer," he started slowly, carefully, "and you left that note behind at

the first crime scene...then how do you explain that?"

"If I knew, I would tell you." She pulled away from him. "I know where you're going

with this. You think it could be a frame job."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Well, I'd like that to be true. Then I wouldn't have

to feel so damn guilty about..." He gestured to the space between them. " This."

Calla stared up at the sky. She shoved down the impulse to snap, to rage. She

couldn't afford to lose her temper in front of the entire student body.

"Sorry to disappoint," she said, her voice like ice. "But you're working with a

monster, Coop. Get used to it." She took a deep breath. "I do have a theory about

the book, though. I don't have a copy. But I think Aunt Alice does."

Her distraction tactic worked. He shot her a look. "Aunt Alice?"

"Rachel's aunt, Alicia. Apparently, the woman is a literary fanatic. She has a home

library full of...the classics, so to speak."

"The classics." Cooper paused, jumping to his own conclusion. "You think the killer

stole the book from the Smith's library."

The killer. Best to leave the term as neutral as possible, she supposed. If Cooper

wanted to live in denial...

"I do. Her aunt noticed a book went missing after the party."

"Not a coincidence," Cooper agreed. "If that's true, then that's where the death

notes are coming from."

Death notes. Calla almost laughed. "Mostly."

He sighed. "What now?"

"The note I found in Rachel's purse. It...it was odd."

"Odd how ?"

"It doesn't match." Calla shook her head. "It's just a scrap piece of paper. Someone

wrote a juvenile threat— you're next. And the three scribbled on there looks like it

might have been written in marker. Not pen."