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The Suicide Club
Gayle Wilson
Lindsey Sloan teaches the best and brightest students at Randolph-Lowen High School–exceptional teens with promising futures far from their small Alabama hometown. So when brash detective Jace Nolan arrives from up north and accuses her kids of setting a series of fires in local black churches, Lindsey is furious. No matter how Jace tries to convince her, Lindsey can't believe her pupils could do something so horrible, let alone be addicted to the rush of getting away with it.But when her attraction to Jace places her in mortal danger and people begin dying, Lindsey can no longer be sure just what her students are capable of. If Jace is right, it's up to the two of them to outsmart these criminal minds–before they carry out the ultimate thrill-kill.



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.
Just as he’d used plenty of other people to succeed at what he did. He’d misled them. Tricked them. Any cop who said he’d never done those things was a liar. They all did them on occasion because it worked. And because it served the ends they sought. The right ends. Justice.
“They’re probably out there tonight,” he said. “Driving around. Thinking about what they could do instead of this.”
“They haven’t done anything since the last one.”
Seven weeks. Or rather seven weekends. They’d all waited, diligently patrolling any spot that was particularly vulnerable. And Lindsey was right. Nothing had happened.
“That doesn’t mean they’re through.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know about the rush. I know it’s addictive.”
“Is that what made you a detective? The rush?”
Maybe it had. Maybe that’s what had kept him at this job when any sane person would have moved on to something else. Anything else. Instead of doing that, he’d come here—a south Alabama county as alien to him as the face of the moon.
At least he was doing something constructive with his addiction, he thought, pulling his mind away from people and places he couldn’t bear to remember. All these punks were doing was destroying. And he knew in his gut, as strongly as he’d ever known anything, that whoever or whatever they were, they weren’t through with their destruction.

Four
Ms. Sloan’s got a boyfriend.”
The comment came out of the blue during the last seconds before the tardy bell for second period. Lindsey looked up to see who’d made it, but half the class was sniggering.
The masculine half, she realized. And the voice that had made that announcement had definitely belonged to one of them.
“Ms. Sloan! Have you been keeping secrets from us?”
Renee Bingham was the prototype for the American cheerleader. Blond, blue-eyed, and slightly buxom, she was also enormously popular. And one of the nicest people Lindsey had ever known. No matter where someone ranked on the school’s rigidly established social ladder, Renee was friendly to them.
That same friendliness extended to her teachers, whom she was apt to treat with a familiarity that had nothing to do with disrespect. Since Lindsey was aware the girl’s taste in literature ran to supermarket celebrity magazines, she knew any gossip pertaining to a teacher’s love life would be irresistible.
She was grateful when the tardy bell sounded, bringing the last few stragglers to their desks as well as giving her an excuse to ignore Renee’s question. She opened her grade book, willing the telltale flush in her cheeks to subside.
“Paul Abbott.”
“Here.”
“Ms. Sloan, you aren’t just gonna call roll and not tell us.” Renee’s tone was indignant, as if an injustice had been done, to her and the class.
“Tell you what, Renee?”
“About your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. And if I did, that would hardly be something I’d discuss with y’all.”
“He’s the new detective in the sheriff’s office. From somewhere up north.”
Lindsey was surprised that Steven Byrd had been the one to share that information. He seemed to have little use for the rumors that ran rampant in the high school—who was dating whom, which couple was breaking up, which was reconciling.
“When I first saw them together,” Steven continued, his eyes shining mischievously behind his glasses, just as they had when he’d seen her and Jace that morning in the office, “I thought Ms. Sloan was in trouble with the law. Lucky for her, that wasn’t what the detective was investigating.”
There was a masculine chorus of “ooohs” from the back of the room in response to his slightly suggestive statement. Lindsey could feel the color rising in her cheeks again.
“That’s enough.” Lindsey looked down at her grade book in an attempt to gather her composure. “Leslie Arnold.”
“Here. Is that the guy you were with at the game?”
“I sold tickets at the game,” she said evenly. “I wasn’t with anyone. And I’ll repeat for those of you who don’t seem to get it, my social life isn’t any concern of yours.”
By now she realized she’d bungled this. If she’d made a joke, said something clever, claimed to be smitten, they would have let it drop. Instead, she’d stupidly added fuel to the fire by trying to quash it. Then she’d fanned the flames by letting them see that she was embarrassed by their teasing.
“We’re just glad to know that at your age you can still get a date.” Roy McClain’s comment drew laughter, still good natured, despite her mishandling of the situation.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to rectify that mistake. These were her seniors. She’d taught most of them for the last two years. Their interest in her social life was misplaced, but after all that time together, it was also pretty natural.
“I’m delighted to have relieved your mind about that concern, Roy. You may now consider yourself free to worry about your own social life.” The laughter that greeted her response told her she’d struck the right note. Maybe one that could carry them safely into today’s lesson. “Can we now concentrate on Beowulf rather than me?”
“Is he cute?” Renee’s lips were slightly parted as she looked up at Lindsey from the front row, blue eyes rapt. And she wasn’t referring to the hero of the Anglo-Saxon epic.
“As a little ole bug,” Charlie Higginbotham drawled. Coming out of the mouth of the biggest defensive lineman on the football team, the phrase provoked more laughter.
“I don’t think cute is the right word.” Although Lindsey had pointedly looked down at Renee as she answered, there was another outbreak of catcalls from the guys. “But we’re not going to spend class time discussing what might be.”
“Ms. Sloan, are you sure you want to date some Yankee?” Charlie asked. “Aren’t there enough good ole Alabama rednecks around here to keep you occupied?”
“Y’all were the ones worrying about my social life. I was perfectly content with it. I still am, by the way. So…with your very kind permission, ladies…” She nodded toward Renee. “And gentlemen…” she said to Charlie, who laughed. “I’d like to finish the roll. You should know by now you can only distract me so long before I crack the whip again.”
“He’s into that, is he?” Justin Carr’s question had not been asked in the same teasing tone of the rest.
Even the other students seemed to sense the difference. The mood in the room changed immediately.
One of the brightest kids in her program, Justin had never quite fit in. An Army brat, he must have attended a dozen schools before his father retired here to be near the facilities at Fort Rucker. Justin was respected for his intellect, but he was not well-liked.
“The roll,” Lindsey repeated softly, picking up where she’d left off. Thanks to the inappropriateness of Justin’s remark, this time she was allowed to finish.
Even the discussion of the section of the epic they’d been assigned to read last night went well, although she was aware the entire time that Justin’s eyes were fastened on her face. She ignored him, as she’d ignored his comment, concentrating instead on the elements of the heroic poem she knew would appeal to her teenage audience. Still, she was relieved when the bell rang.
As the other students left the room, Renee approached the lectern. “So how long have you been dating this detective?”
“I’m not. It’s nothing, Renee. Really. He invited me to get something to eat after the ball game. There’s no romance, I swear to you.”
“So…what is he?”
“What?”
“You said cute wasn’t the right word. What is?”
“I’d say the right term is…an acquaintance.” Lindsey emphasized the last word pointedly.
“Ms. Sloan!”
“Go to class, Renee, before you’re tardy again.”
“I’m just next door. What’s his name?”
“James Nolan.”
“James. Oh, that’s nice. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know yet.” She had thought he was until he’d taken her by the church. In fairness, he’d had a point to make in doing that. One that had been successfully driven home. “Honestly, Renee, you need to move on. Nothing to see here,” she said, repeating the familiar Star Wars phrase her students used to stop discussion.
In a further attempt to end the conversation, Lindsey turned, laying the senior anthology on the corner of her desk. Next period she would have her juniors. The atmosphere would not be as relaxed as it had been this period. Even if any of them had heard about her evening with Jace, they probably wouldn’t have nerve enough to tease her about it.
“When are you going out with him again?”
She wasn’t sure whether Renee was unwilling to take the hint or whether she honestly didn’t realize she was being too personal. “He hasn’t asked me.”
“But you’d go if he did, wouldn’t you?”
“Do I grill you about who you’re dating, Renee?”
“No, but if you did, I’d tell you. I even tell my mom.”
Lindsey laughed at the confession, provoking an answering giggle from the girl. “There isn’t much to tell with this one. We went out to eat. And he didn’t ask me out again.”
“Did you kiss him?”
“Renee.”
“But he tried, didn’t he. That’s a good sign.”
“Oh, please. Surely you’ve got something besides this to talk about.”
“Nope. I can’t think of a thing.”
“Well, then bless your heart. I hope you find a more interesting subject than my love life during next period.”
“In Ms. Miller’s class? I don’t think so.” Renee laughed again.
Agnes Miller had taught calculus for the last thirty years. Having been her student, Lindsey knew Renee was right.
“Well, go try,” she ordered, moving away from the lectern to retrieve the eleventh grade lit book from the stack on her desk. Her juniors were beginning to filter into the room, and she didn’t want the discussion to carry over.
“Okay, I’m going,” Renee said, “but I’m warning you, I’m not done with this. I’ve just got a couple of problems to finish before the bell rings.”
Which she intended to copy from someone else. Right now, if it got rid of her, that was okay with Lindsey.
One of the students coming in approached her desk, giving her the opportunity to turn her attention from Renee. Lindsey was conscious when the cheerleader finally left.
Two classes down and two to go. If they were all like the last one, this was going to be a very long day.

It had taken him until lunchtime to be able to think through the implications. Anger and anxiety had delayed his reaching any kind of rational conclusion, but when he had finally fought through the distraction they represented, he knew the one he’d arrived at was correct.
Ms. Sloan was being used. Any single woman her age was vulnerable to flattery and masculine attention. And he had no doubt the detective was laying it on heavy in hopes she’d help him finger students she believed would be capable of setting the fires.
Which was a pretty shrewd move on Nolan’s part, the boy acknowledged. There were few people here who would know the kids smart enough to pull those off better than the gifted coordinator did. Maybe Ms. Anderson, but she didn’t seem the type to be manipulated.
And that was what Nolan was doing. Manipulating Ms. Sloan to his advantage.
His mouth tightened as he pushed his books into his locker and fished out the notebook he’d need for his next class. Maybe it was time to let both of them know that nobody was going to roll over and play dead because some outsider thought he’d found a slick way to get inside information. His lips relaxed into a slight smile at the unintended irony of the phrase he’d just used.
He wasn’t stupid enough to take Nolan on straight up. He wouldn’t catch someone with the cop’s level of training and experience off guard. Ms. Sloan, on the other hand…
If he was wrong—if the detective wasn’t playing her for a sucker—then maybe Nolan would back off out of concern for her safety. And if he was right about what was going on, then he had no doubt she’d get the message. After all, she was too intelligent not to.

“So how was it?”
Shannon settled onto the couch opposite the one Lindsey was sitting on. The counselor slipped her shoes off and put her feet up on the coffee table between them.
“Typical Monday. Half of them asleep. Half revved up just to be here.” That enthusiasm was not because of the opportunity to learn, but because they were again with their peers, feeding off the energy produced by all those hormones.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lindsey. I didn’t mean today.” Shannon’s voice was rich with disgust.
She meant Friday night. She meant Jace Nolan. There was a good ten-years difference in Shannon’s and Renee’s ages, but her friend’s curiosity was no less intense than her student’s.
“We went to The Cove. We talked over dinner. Then he took me home.”
“That’s it?” Shannon looked at her over the rim of her cup, waiting for an answer before she took a sip.
“What did you expect?”
“I dunno. Something. Something besides that.”
“Well, that’s what happened.”
“You like him?”
“I don’t know him. He seemed pleasant enough. He can carry on a conversation.” Lindsey shrugged.
“You seem just a little too blasé about this whole thing. I take that as a good sign.”
“Of what?”
“Of interest. If you weren’t interested, you’d be telling me what was wrong with him. You aren’t, so I figure there must be a degree of interest there.”
Lindsey shook her head, eyes focused on her cup. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing happened. That’s it.”
“End of story.”
“Maybe.”
“He ask you out again?”
Déjà vu all over again. Shannon seemed to be channeling cheerleaders.
“Nope.”
“Shit.”
Lindsey laughed. “Hey, I managed to survive life pre-Jace Nolan. I’ll survive post-Jace Nolan, too.”
“What kind of name is that? Jace.”
“He was J.C. as a kid. Some kind of family thing. It got shortened to Jace.” Lindsey shrugged again.
“He tell you all that?”
“I asked about his name.”
“Polite conversation 101.”
“Something like that.”
“Anything else interesting?”
“We talked about the fires.”
“He tell you who it is they suspect?”
“I told you. My kids. I swear, Shannon, I’ve thought about everybody in my program since he told me that, and I just don’t see it. I can’t see any of them being involved in setting fire to those churches. Most of them grew up attending ones very much like those. Burning any church would be an act of blasphemy to them. And they’re too smart, for another thing. They have too much at stake to risk it all on something so mindlessly stupid, for another.
“My juniors and seniors have worked hard to raise their test scores. The seniors are already filling out college applications and applying for scholarships. They’ve taken every AP class we offer. Why would they take a chance on blowing all that to burn a couple of tiny black churches? These kids didn’t grow up during the Jim Crow years.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t know about them. Or that they couldn’t be racist.”
It didn’t, of course. There was still the occasional undercurrent of black/white tension in the school, despite forty years of integration.
“Do you think that’s why those churches were burned?” Lindsey asked. “Race? You think they were hate crimes?”
Although most of the staff would have jumped to deny the possibility, Shannon seemed to be thinking about the question.
Finally she shook her head. “I don’t. I didn’t from the beginning. I don’t think it has one thing to do with those congregations being black. Except maybe they knew the act would get more attention.”
“More bang for the buck.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but…Yeah. More exposure. More distress.”
“More danger,” Lindsey said, remembering Jace’s comment about thrill seekers.
“More danger?”
“A higher-profile crime. More people want them caught and are willing to work to bring that about. It ups the odds they will be caught. If they’d vandalized a car or burned a vacant house, do you think someone like Jace Nolan would have been assigned to the case?”
“Do you?”
Lindsey shook her head. “He thinks he’s put a stop to that particular brand of mischief.”
She hesitated, unsure she wanted to articulate the conclusion she’d come to some time in the middle of a nearly sleepless Friday night. But this was Shannon. And there were few secrets between them.
Like how attracted you are to Jace Nolan?
“He says they’re going to find something else to do,” she went on. “Something that will give them that same rush. That scares me.”
“Because you think he may be right?” Shannon asked. “About it being your kids, I mean.”
“It terrifies me that he might be. He seems so damn certain.”
“Then in all likelihood, he knows something he hasn’t told you.”
“Like what?”
“Something that brought him straight to you.”
“I’ve thought about this for almost a week. I still can’t fathom any of them being involved.”
“None of them?”
“What does that mean?”
Shannon shrugged. “I guess I just don’t believe they’re all as lily-white and innocent as you do.”
“Pun intended?” Lindsey’s sarcasm didn’t faze her friend.
“Maybe.”
“Who? If you’ve decided it’s possible, then you have to have thought about who might be involved.”
Shannon shook her head.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Shannon, you can’t say something like that and then clam up. Who do you believe would be capable of doing that?”
“If I tell you, you’ll never think about that person again without remembering my suspicion. That’s like accusing them. I don’t have any reason to do that. It’s just…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Gut reaction.”
“Female intuition,” Lindsey mocked.
“Maybe. Whatever I’m feeling is academic. I know what’s at stake. So I’m not going to tell you. Or Nolan. Or anybody else. As your friend, I’ll just tell you that you shouldn’t completely discount what he’s told you.”
“Has Dave talked to you?” That seemed to be the only explanation for Shannon’s willingness to embrace the detective’s theory. That she knew more than Lindsey.
“Dave? No. What made you think that?” There was the slightest bit of defensiveness in Shannon’s answer.
“I thought maybe the two of you had discussed possible suspects.”
“The only person I’ve talked to about this is you. And you’re the only one I will talk to about it.”
“Unless the police ask your opinion.”
“Even if they did, I’ve told you how I feel. I would never want to accuse someone—especially a kid—based on a hunch that he might be capable of doing something.”
“So it is a he?” Just as the FBI profile had indicated.
“I would think that’s a given. Arson doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a girl would do.”
It didn’t, Lindsey admitted. “It also doesn’t seem like the kind of thing any of my kids would do.”
Shannon shrugged, her expression saying as clearly as the gesture that she didn’t necessarily agree. For the first time in Lindsey’s memory the silence between them wasn’t relaxed.
“Well,” Shannon said, finally breaking it, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do to get ready for PTA tomorrow night and the usual flood of parents we won’t see the rest of the year.”
“You’re not complaining about that, I hope.”
It was the kind of remark that would have normally provoked Shannon’s ready laugh. Instead, as the counselor got to her feet, her expression was serious.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but…don’t be too trusting. You see them an hour a day. And some of them are adept at hiding whatever they’re thinking or doing during the other twenty-three.”
“You know, that sounds like a warning.”
“It’s meant to be. You said that Nolan believes they’ll find something else to give them the rush he’s cheated them out of. He’s probably right. And frankly, I don’t even want to imagine what that might be.”

Five
The turnout for the PTA meeting and the Open House following it had been one of the largest Lindsey could remember. The main attraction was the new field house, of course, which brought in people who hadn’t darkened the door of the school as long as their kids had been in attendance.
As usual, most of her tenth grade parents showed up and almost half of the upper class parents as well. Since many were accompanied by their children, she’d found herself thinking about the kinds of homes the kids Nolan was accusing of arson came from. Homes very much like the one where she’d grown up—loving, religious, with intact families. Because of that, she was still having a hard time reconciling the crime with the so-called criminals.
She inserted the key into the lock on her front door and turned it. As the door swung open, the interior of the house appeared totally dark. She would have sworn she’d left the kitchen light burning, but in her hurry to get back to the school, she must have forgotten.
The porch light illuminated almost half of the foyer. She stepped inside, setting her purse beside her tote bag on the hall table. She reached for the switch, but her hand hesitated halfway there. The familiar scent of home had been replaced by something strange. Chemical. Unpleasant.
She breathed through her nostrils, attempting to identify the smell. Something she should recognize, but, perhaps due to its unexpectedness in this environment, didn’t.
Finally she flicked the switch upward, her eyes narrowing against the resulting influx of light. The hall appeared exactly as she’d left it more than four hours before.
Her gaze swept the adjacent living room, but nothing there seemed different, either. Reassured, she secured the lock and the dead bolt on the front door before she slipped the end of the safety chain into its slot.
When she turned back, she raised her chin, slowly drawing air in through her nose again. The odor seemed less distinct than when she’d opened the door. Either the smell was fading or she was becoming accustomed to it. Still, she hovered in the hall, strangely reluctant to go farther into her own house. That scent, along with the absence of light—
Only with the juxtaposition of the two did she realize what must have happened. She knew from school that when a fluorescent bulb failed, its dying was accompanied by a distinctively unpleasant smell.
Relieved to have arrived at an explanation for both, she crossed the foyer and headed toward the kitchen. Although she didn’t have a replacement bulb on hand, she could at least verify that the old one had gone bad.
When she reached the entrance, she could see moonlight shining through the glass half of the back door. She normally pulled the café curtains across it at night, but that was something else she must have forgotten.
Without bothering to test the fluorescent, which had been her intent in coming here, she walked across the pale tile, her heels echoing with every step, and drew the fabric over the glass. Then, through force of habit, she checked the lock and the dead bolt. Both were secure.
She turned, the burned-out bulb almost forgotten now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The familiarity of the room was reassuring. A little exasperated with her initial unease, she started back across the tile.
Although she’d brought papers home this afternoon, she decided she was too tired to mark them. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep. She’d already taken a shower before she’d dressed for the meeting. She wasn’t going to take another. At least not tonight.
She turned off the light in the front foyer and then, in the darkened house, moved down the hallway to the bathroom doorway. She reached inside the small room, flicking the switch up. She resisted the urge to put away the few items of makeup she’d left out on the counter as she’d gotten ready. Wasted effort since she’d use them again in the morning.
She continued down the hall to her room. Without turning on the overhead, she slipped off her heels and carried them to the closet. The carpet seemed to massage her tired feet.
She’d hung the hangers for her suit and the silk shell she was wearing over the top of the door. She took them down, dropped her shoes inside, and then stripped down to her underwear, carefully re-hanging each item as she took it off.
Finally, she took out a nightgown and carried it with her to the bathroom. As she entered the room, she again caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong.
Whatever it was, it was so faint she forgot about it as she walked over to the counter. She leaned forward, peering into the mirror. Although her skin had always been one of her best features, especially for someone with her coloring, it looked sallow. Tiny lines had begun to form at the corners of her eyes, and the delicate area beneath them was dark.
Too many nighttime hours spent thinking about what Jace Nolan had told her. And a few spent thinking about Jace Nolan himself. Which was sad. And a little desperate.
No wonder Shannon and her students were interested in pairing her up with him. The words “last chance” flickered through her mind before she ruthlessly denied them a place.
She straightened, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra and lay it on the counter. She took off her panty hose, standing on one foot and then the other, and put them into one basin of the double lavatory. She set the stopper before she turned on the water and added a squirt of shampoo.
Only then did she push her panties down over her hips and thighs, allowing them to fall to the floor. She scooped them up, placing them on top of the discarded bra.
After she’d slipped on her nightgown, she used baby oil and tissues to remove her makeup and then brushed her teeth. As she was turning to go back to the bedroom, the small pile of underwear caught her eye.
She grabbed the panties and bra in one hand, carrying them over to the wicker clothes hamper. More decorative than utilitarian, it held less than a week’s worth of laundry.
Intending to lift the lid with her left hand and toss the clothes she was holding in, she bent over the basket. Again that hint of something unpleasant assailed her nostrils.
Although it was definitely stronger over here, the smell was still faint. Not chemical, she thought, as her fingers grasped the edge of the top. This was something earthy. Slightly rank. Like mushrooms. Or decay.
She had already begun to raise the lid of the hamper when she became aware of the sound inside. A sizzle, like bacon frying or like someone rustling papers—
Rattles. By the time her brain had put it together, it was too late to stop the muscle contraction in her arm, which had continued to lift the lid.
The split second of realization had been enough, however, to cause her to jerk her upper body backward, allowing the top to fall as the body of a snake exploded out of the hamper.
Stumbling backwards, she felt rather than saw it strike. Too quick to be seen by the naked eye, the power of its momentum seemed to literally disturb the air between them.
Despite the lid she’d dropped on top of it, the rattler’s ugly, triangular-shaped head had easily cleared the top of the basket. Before she could think of a way to prevent it, the rest of the squat, powerful body trailed over the rim.
She knew enough about snakes to know this one didn’t have to be coiled to try for her again. And that the range of its strike could be as much as half its length. Despite the panic clawing at her chest, she continued to put distance between the rattlesnake and her bare feet and legs.
By now it had flowed down onto the tile. As Lindsey backpedaled, it began to re-coil. Head now erect, the snake’s cold, black eyes seemed to fasten on its prey. At the same time, the tail lifted and began to tremble, its ominous warning echoing off all the hard surfaces of the bathroom.
Unable to tear her eyes away from the deadly, seductive movement, Lindsey located the edge of the bathroom door with a hand that shook. She stepped out into the hall, pulling the door with her so that it slammed shut before the snake could make another attempt to reach its warm-blooded target.
The episode had occupied only seconds. One of those “life flashing before your eyes” moments, when you knew with absolute certainty you were going to die.
Despite the seeming safety of the wooden barrier between her and the snake, Lindsey’s breath sawed in and out through her open mouth. Somehow she had managed to escape. And, as incredible as it seemed, without being bitten.
Before she had time to fully relish what a miracle that was, her eyes focused on the crack of light beneath the door. A gap big enough for the rattler to slither under?
She had no idea how wide that would need to be. But she couldn’t take a chance.
The only thing worse than knowing there was a venomous snake inside her house was knowing that and not knowing where it was. If she followed her instincts to put more distance and more doors between them, and the rattler got out of the bathroom, they might never find it.
And she would never again spend another night here.
Realizing she still held the wadded underwear in her hand, she bent and began gingerly to stuff them into the crack under the door. It quickly became apparent that was not enough fabric to fill its length. Even if it had been, those wisps of nylon didn’t seem substantial enough to create a strong enough obstruction if the snake tried to push through.
There was nothing else close enough that she could reach it without taking her eyes off the ribbon of light at the bottom of the door. She fought a renewed sense of panic as she tried to figure out what she could use to keep the rattler trapped in the bathroom.
The comforter on her bed would be both large enough and heavy enough to block the opening. To get it, she’d have to leave the hallway. Could the snake get out in the few seconds it would take to retrieve the spread and bring it back here?
That was a risk she would have to take. Otherwise, she might still be out here in the dark hall when she discovered that there was room enough for him to work his way through that crack. That possibility was enough to end her paralysis.
She bolted for the bedroom, throwing the light switch at the end of the hall as well as the one in her room. She grabbed the comforter and sprinted back, her eyes searching the gleaming hardwood floor in front of her as she ran, looking for a darker streak than those revealed by the grain of the wood. One that moved.
When she reached the bathroom door, she threw the spread down in front of it. Then, on her hands and knees, she crammed the thick, quilted material into the crack.
Even when she’d blocked the last bit of light escaping from the bathroom, she wasn’t convinced she’d created a sturdy enough barrier to keep the snake confined. Once more she made the trip to her bedroom.
As her bare feet made contact with the carpet, she had a flashback to the first time she’d entered this room tonight. Her feet had been bare then, too, except for her hose. And she hadn’t turned on the overhead light.
What if the snake had been in here, rather than in the hamper? What if she’d stepped on it in the darkness? Even as she looked for something to reinforce her makeshift barricade, she shivered at the thought.
And then she froze at the next one. Her rational mind had, in the last few minutes, given way to the far more primitive part of her brain, the one that viewed the creature in her bathroom with the same primordial fear her ancestors had.
Admittedly, this was snake country. One Alabama city held a rattlesnake roundup each year, capturing hundreds from among the scrub. It was certainly not unheard of for snakes to get inside a house. But inside a closed hamper?
There could be only one explanation for that. One she didn’t want to think about.
Someone had put the rattlesnake inside that basket, where, angered by the confinement, it had waited until she’d come into the bathroom. Highly sensitive to the body heat of prey, it had been coiling to strike even while she’d hesitated, her hand on the lid of the hamper, trying to identify what she smelled.
And she’d been right about that, too. It had been something far more alien than a burned-out fluorescent bulb.
In spite of not wanting to take the next step in this chain of logic, its conclusion was already inside her head, impossible to deny. If someone had put a snake in her laundry hamper, then it was possible the one she had trapped in the bathroom wasn’t the only rattler inside her house.
As her terrified gaze swept the cream-colored carpet surrounding her, she knew that if there were others they’d be hidden, as the first had been.
In the drawer she’d taken her nightgown from? In the closet where she’d hung up her clothes and put her shoes? Or somewhere she would never think to look until it was too late?
She had to get out of here until somebody could conduct a thorough search of the entire place. Somebody…
Who the hell did you get to search your house for snakes? Whoever it would be, she owed it to them to complete the containment of the one whose location she did know.
Hurrying as much as her growing paranoia would allow, she began to take books off her bookshelf, expecting another triangular-shaped head to dart out of the space left by each one she removed. Then, arms full of the heaviest volumes the shelf had contained, she returned to the bathroom door and laid them end-to-end on top of the comforter.
With the placement of the last book, she stepped back to check once more for any light seeping underneath the door. It would have been easier to do that with the hall fixture turned off, as it had been before, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw the switch.
When she was satisfied with the barrier she’d constructed, the need to get out of the house was irresistible. Her cell was in her purse, which she’d left on the front hall table. She’d go out that way, picking it up as she went through the foyer.
She turned on lights in front of her as she ran, eyes again searching her path. She grabbed her bag off the table, slinging the strap over her shoulder to free her hands so she could deal with the locks.
Only when the door was open, and the heavy heat of the September night rushed into the coolness of the house’s interior, did she think about the danger of stepping out into the darkness barefoot. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done that before—to get the weekend paper or to cut off the sprinkler. But all that had been before she’d had a firsthand experience with something whose deadliness she’d recognized—and taken for granted—all her life.
She put on the porch lights as well as the spotlights on the corners of the house. And then she stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
The porch tiles were cool and smooth under the soles of her bare feet, the brick steps below them incredibly rough in contrast. Once she reached the sidewalk, she turned to look back at the front of her home.
For a moment she wondered if she would ever again feel the same way about it as she had before tonight. That it was a sanctuary. Somewhere safe. Security from the threats of the outside world.
She shook her head at the disconnect those words evoked, given what she’d just gone through. In spite of her escape, she knew this wasn’t over.
Her first impulse was to call her dad. He would come, of course, bringing one of the guns he kept locked in the tall, glass-fronted case in the hall. Armed with that, he would open the door and step into her bathroom—
She shook her head again, acknowledging that as much as she wanted him here, she wasn’t going to allow him to do that. Not at his age.
This wasn’t his job. She wasn’t sure whose job it was. But right now, she didn’t much care.
At least she knew where to begin finding that out. She reached inside her purse and dug out her phone. She flipped the case open and, for the first time in her life, dialed 9-1-1.

Six
It had taken only minutes for a county cruiser to respond to her call. The deputies had listened to her story and then radioed its details to the sheriff’s office.
After almost a half hour’s wait, a hard-bitten, older man had shown up. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he had come equipped with a forked metal pole and a heavy vinyl bag.
Without so much as an introduction, he and the two deputies had disappeared inside. From then until now, maybe an hour later, no one had bothered to tell her anything about what they were doing or what they’d found.
In this close-knit neighborhood, it hadn’t taken long for a couple of neighbors to join her on the front lawn. Especially since the cruiser was still parked along the curb. Both had expressed disbelief at her assertion that someone must have put the snake into her hamper.
“That thing probably just crawled in there while you were at PTA,” Betty Savage had said.
“And closed the lid behind it?”
“Lindsey, you don’t honestly believe somebody broke into your house and put a snake in your clothes basket, do you? Who in the world would do somethin’ like that?”
“Maybe it was in some gardening clothes you brought in out of the yard,” Milt Trump suggested. “You just didn’t see it.”
Faced with their disbelief, Lindsey hadn’t continued to argue. Maybe their determination to deny what she was telling them was based on an unconscious realization of how much believing her might change their view of this neighborhood.
That was okay with her. She no longer had any doubt what had happened tonight. And now, after more than an hour of having nothing to do but think, she also had an idea of why.
The three of them turned when a second police cruiser pulled into the drive, lightbar flashing. When Shannon’s friend Rick Carlisle climbed out from behind the wheel, Lindsey walked over to meet him.
“Heard about your snake on the scanner as I was heading home,” he said. “You think somebody put it in your hamper?”
She hadn’t thought about how quickly her accusation would spread when she’d made it. Still, it’s what she believed had happened. And no matter how unpalatable that belief might be to anyone else, she wasn’t going to back down from it.
“That rattler didn’t crawl in there by itself. The basket was closed, Rick. Somebody had to put it there.”
“That’s a serious accusation, Linds.”
“Yeah? Well, it was a ‘serious’ snake. A pissed-off one.”
“You got an idea who might have done somethin’ like that?”
“A few.”
“You want to tell me?”
“I can’t. Not specifically.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t have a suspect, but…”
“But?”
“I think I might know what this is in relation to.”
“You make somebody at school mad at you?”
“Shannon told you that Detective Nolan thinks some of my kids might have had something to do with the church fires. I think this may have something to do with that.”
“Like what?”
“Nolan took me to dinner after the football game last week. He just wanted to pick my brain, but some of my students made a big deal out of seeing us together.”
“A ‘big deal’?”
“Like it was some kind of romantic relationship.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t even know the guy, Rick. After we ate, he took me out to Rohanna to show me the ruin.”
Rick’s mouth pursed. “To prove what?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe just to make me more aware of the destruction. He doesn’t think they’re through.”
“Whoever burned the churches?”
“He believes that since they can’t do that anymore, they’ll turn to something else. Maybe this is it.”
“You think this is what they’re doing because we’ve got patrols on the churches? Putting snakes in clothes hampers.”
Rick sounded amused, which she resented. “Not exactly.” She hesitated to put into words what she had been thinking. But since she’d started this…“I think when they saw me with Nolan, they thought I’d sold them out.”
“You know something about the fires you haven’t told us?”
“Of course not. Until Jace said it, I’d never had any reason to think about my students in connection with them.”
“Jace?”
“Nolan,” she amended, catching the look in Rick’s eyes. “I had dinner with the guy. During the course of the meal, we exchanged first names. It’s…” She shook her head, realizing she’d gotten off track. “Look, I probably wouldn’t have put any of this together except yesterday my seniors made such a thing about seeing me with him.”
“Give me some names, Lindsey.”
“I’m not saying there’s a correlation with the kids who brought it up. They were just the ones who saw us. But you know how things like that get talked about. And then tonight…Tonight, when every kid in that high school knows where I’m going to be and when I’m going to be there, I come home and find a rattler in my laundry basket. I can’t help thinking—”
The front door opened, and the deputies and the guy with the sack and the pole came out. Although she didn’t want to look at the bag, Lindsey could tell there was now something inside.
As the older man headed toward his pickup, one of the deputies started across the lawn to where she and Rick were standing. On the way, the deputy nodded to her neighbors, slowing to answer a question one of them asked, before he continued toward her. Neither she nor Rick said anything as they waited for his arrival.
“I don’t think you’ve got anything else to worry about, Ms. Sloan. We poked around in there pretty good.”
Despite the cringe factor inherent in having people look through her closets and less-than-orderly cabinets, she had pleaded with them to check out the rest of the house. While that wasn’t as reassuring a message as she’d hoped for, they’d probably done all they could tonight. Whether that made her comfortable enough to go back inside and crawl into bed…
“She thinks somebody put the snake into that hamper.” Rick raised his brows, shrugging slightly. “I don’t see how it could have got into a closed basket otherwise.”
In spite of her own conviction that that’s what had happened, hearing him put it into words created a sickness in the pit of Lindsey’s stomach. Never in her life had anyone deliberately tried to hurt her. To think that one of her students might be involved in this made her question every day of the ten years she’d spent in the classroom.
“You see any sign of forced entry?” Rick asked.
“No, but we weren’t looking for them, either. You got any idea who might have done something like that, Ms. Sloan?”
She remembered what Shannon had said. In a town like this even the suggestion of wrongdoing could taint a kid’s life.
“No.” She didn’t dare look at Rick.
“Lindsey.”
She turned her head, meeting his eyes. “I don’t. I told you I don’t have a name. Anything else is just speculation.”
“I’d say it’s a little more than that.”
“Not really. Besides, what I’m willing to tell you as a friend is very different from what I’m willing to put into a police report.” She looked back at the deputy who’d responded to her call. “Thanks for taking care of the snake and for searching the house. If I think of anything, I’ll call you.”
“You teach at the high school, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Think this could have been some of your students? Some version of the old puttin’ a frog in the teacher’s drawer.”
She should have expected the question, once the subject was broached. “I can’t think of a child I teach who’d do something like this.”
She heard Rick’s snort of disbelief, but she wasn’t being dishonest. Whether she bought into the idea that her students were involved in the fires or not, she couldn’t believe any of them harbored this kind of animosity toward her.
And toward Jace Nolan?
“Okay, then,” the deputy said, sounding relieved. “If you think of anything else or if you want us to check out the whereabouts of any of your students tonight, let us know.”
She knew where her kids would say they’d been. Either at school or at home, while she and their parents had been at the PTA meeting. And very few of them would be able to produce any witness who could verify their presence there.
“Ma’am.” The deputy touched the brim of his hat before he turned to join his partner who was waiting in the patrol car.
“You want me to come in with you?” Rick asked.
The idea was appealing, but Rick had obviously just finished his shift. He was probably tired and wanted to get home to his own bed. It must be nearly midnight by now. If the other deputies and the snake hunter hadn’t found anything…
“I’ll be okay. But thanks. I appreciate the offer. And thanks for coming by. I appreciate that, too.”
“You call me if you need me, Linds. I mean that.”
“I will.” She leaned forward and hugged him.
His arms closed around her, squeezing hard. When he released her, there was an awkward silence. Despite the number of times she’d been around Rick while he and Shannon dated, she’d never thought of him as a friend. He had been tonight.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll do some looking around on my own. Talk to a few of the kids.”
“I don’t want to accuse my students and then find out I was wrong. Something like that can follow a kid for the rest of his life. Shannon will tell you that.”
“Maybe you and Shannon ought to be more concerned about yourselves. That wasn’t a frog in your hamper. You remember that.”
She nodded, unable to dispute his assertion. She was lucky she wasn’t at the emergency room being treated for snake bite. And she knew it. “Thanks again.”
“I meant what I said. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
“You going to school tomorrow?”
“It’s a little late to get a sub.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t say anything about this. Not to the kids. Just watch how they act around you. See if you see anything that sets off alarms.”
“Like what?”
“Someone who seems a little strange. They may not, but you never know. Especially if you act like nothing happened.”
“You know how long it will take for this to get around,” she said, glancing back at her neighbors who were still standing in the middle of her yard.
“Not by tomorrow morning. Just keep your radar up. Whoever did this is probably going to be looking to gauge your reaction. Maybe you can tell which kid that is.”
She nodded, even though she wasn’t convinced she’d be able to tell anything by the way her kids acted. Between hormones and football, anything approaching normal was a crapshoot.
“You want me to let Nolan know?”
Rick’s question caught her off guard. It was logical that he’d want to tell the guy in charge of the church fire investigation that she was wondering if this were related.
“Do what you think is best,” she said finally. Jace had a right to know. And he was bound to find out anyway.
Was letting Rick tell him the coward’s way out? Maybe. But right now she didn’t want to have to face Jace and confess that she was wondering if he’d been right. Let Rick convey her doubts. In the meantime, she needed to try to get some sleep and get ready for tomorrow.
“You gonna be okay?”
Rick’s question brought her eyes up. “Of course,” she said with more conviction than she felt.
And if she wasn’t, she would deal with it in private.

Although she’d resisted the impulse to pack a bag and spend the remainder of the night at her parents’ house, she hadn’t been able to just crawl into bed and go back to sleep.
She’d settled down in the den instead, the light beside her recliner on so she could see most of the room. And if she occasionally thought she caught motion in one of its shadowed corners, that was only to be expected.
She had always functioned okay in college after pulling an all-nighter. She’d be all right at school. Then if she still felt that she couldn’t sleep here tomorrow night—
The doorbell interrupted the endless cycle of trying to deal with this. She looked down at her watch and found it was almost two. If they thought she was going to be stupid enough to open the door after what they’d done—
The bell rang again, strident and demanding.
Maybe the deputies had come back. Maybe they’d already discovered something. As appealing as that thought was, she was still reluctant to face anyone right now.
When the bell rang once more, she righted the recliner, slipping her feet into her shoes. As she headed toward the front door, she turned on the lights in her path.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jace. Let me in.”
She wasn’t prepared to deal with him right now. That’s why she’d agreed to let Rick tell him what had happened.
“Lindsey? Open the damn door.”
The air of command she’d previously classified as arrogant was suddenly appealing. Jace sounded furious. As if he were prepared to kick someone’s ass. And right now, that was exactly how she needed him to feel.
She slipped the chain out of the slot, then threw the deadbolt and turned the handle. The porch light verified her initial impression. Jace was furious.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped back, allowing him to enter. Before she turned to face him, she secured the locks on the door. The process not only occupied her trembling hands, but it gave her a moment to get her act together.
When she’d seen him standing outside, she had wanted to throw herself into his arms. It was a feeling that made no sense. If anything, she should be angry at him for putting her in this situation. If he hadn’t singled her out, both at school and at the game…
Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face him. It was the first time she’d seen him in casual clothes.
The black T-shirt emphasized the muscles of his chest and upper arms, which had up until now been camouflaged by the suits he normally wore. The worn material of his faded jeans was almost as revealing as the knit shirt. And the five-o’clock shadow she’d noticed Friday night was much darker now, giving him a hard, almost sinister appearance.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Without any hesitation, she told him what she believed. “Somebody put a rattlesnake in my clothes hamper.”
“Somebody?”
She’d already been through this with the neighbors and the deputy. As convenient as it might be to accept the theory that the snake had enclosed itself in that basket, the explanation didn’t fly. And she was tired of trying to convince people who should know better why it wouldn’t.
“Somebody,” she repeated. “They came into my house while I was at PTA and dumped a snake where they knew I’d find it.”
“Any signs of forced entry?”
“No, but I found a window in the study that wasn’t locked. They may have used that.”
“So how could they be sure you’d open the hamper?”
“Chances were good I was going to undress tonight.”
“You always put your clothes in the hamper.”
“Of course.”
There was a visible relaxation of his tension. “Most people don’t, you know.”
“Don’t put their dirty clothes in the laundry?”
“The snake might have died of old age at my place.”
“Anybody who knows me—”
“Knew full well you’d open that hamper tonight.”
She nodded and then realized she’d made his point.
“You want to show me?”
“The hamper?”
“Eventually. The window first.”
“All right.”
She moved past him, leading the way toward the back of the house. When she’d bought the place, she’d turned one of the two generous-size bedrooms into an office, which was where she’d discovered the unlocked window. It was one of the few that hadn’t been painted shut.
When she’d worked in there last spring, she had opened the window and turned on the ceiling fan, allowing it to pull in the scent of honeysuckle along with the cooler night air. It had been too hot and humid to do that this summer, of course, and although she found it hard to believe the window had been unlocked for months, she couldn’t deny the possibility.
“In here.”
Jace stood in the doorway of the room she’d indicated, a hand on either side of the frame. “They dust for prints?”
“I didn’t find this was unlocked until after they’d left.”
He walked across the room, looking intently at the carpet, which, chosen for its tight weave and durability, didn’t show footprints. Then he leaned forward, making an inspection of the sill. “I’ll get someone out here.”
“What for?”
“To dust for prints.”
“Does it have to be tonight?”
He turned, eyes examining her face. “Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She laughed. “Call it residual snake phobia.”
“You don’t like them.”
“No better and no less than the average person.”
“Yeah? They give me the creeps.”
His honesty surprised her. Most men she knew, even if they felt that way, would have been reluctant to admit it.
“He strike at you?”
She nodded, crossing her arms over her body as she remembered the near miss.
“So how come he didn’t hit you?”
“I don’t know. I heard him. But first…”
“What?” he asked when she hesitated.
“I remembered something my grandmother told me when I was a little girl.”
“Your grandmother?”
“We used to pick blackberries every summer when we went to visit her. Snakes love to hide in the vines. They stink—like goats, my grandmother told us—and that if we ever smelled that, we should run.”
“Goats?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what goats smell like. This was…rank. Unpleasant. I smelled it when I leaned over the hamper. Actually, I smelled it when I came into the bathroom, but I didn’t know what it was. Not until I heard the rattle. By that time…” She shivered, the image of that lethal, arrow-shaped head shooting out of the basket in her mind again. “In the middle of lifting the top off the basket, I just suddenly knew what was inside. I jumped back and let go of the lid. It fell on the snake. I don’t know whether that distracted him or whether he wasn’t long enough to get to me. And I didn’t stop to figure it out.”
“At least he warned you.”
“I wondered if that was deliberate.”
“On the part of the snake?” Again, there was that hint of amusement in his voice.
She found she didn’t mind it, even if it was at her expense. “On the part of whoever put it there.”
“You think…they didn’t intend for you to get bitten.”
“Wishful thinking?”
“Maybe. If this was a prank, it was a dangerous one. And they went to a lot of trouble to carry it off.”
“I don’t think it was a prank.”
“Yeah? Neither do I. For what it’s worth.”
“My kids knew we had dinner together.”
“So?”
“It was discussed in my senior English class yesterday.”
“And you think this is related.”
“Don’t you?”
“You first.”
“Maybe I’m too prone to look for symbolism, but…” She took a breath, steeling herself to say it. “I do believe it’s related. Somebody thinks I’m helping you.”
“So they put a snake in your house.”
“Snake in the grass,” she said softly.
“What?”
“They’re saying I’m a snake for helping you.”
“Sorry. A little too much symbolism for me.”
“Even the kind of snake they used, notorious for warning about its intentions to harm.”
“So…you think this was a warning?”
“Don’t you?”
He shrugged, his eyes tracking back to the window that had probably given them access to her home. Her sanctuary.
“If it isn’t a warning,” she prodded, “what is it?”
“It’s exactly what I told you before.”
“I don’t understand?”
“A new way to get that rush. You know. The one that, before we stopped them, they used to get from setting fires.”

Seven
No fingerprints on the window or the basket. Other than yours.” Jace flipped the page, eyes scanning the report he’d received shortly before Lindsey arrived at his office this afternoon. She’d given him a key to her house last night so that he could get a crew out there this morning. “And no footprints in the ground under it.”
It was exactly what he’d expected. Actually it was almost satisfying, although he didn’t think Lindsey Sloan was going to see it that way.
“So what you’re saying is you have nothing.”
“There’s also no sign of forced entry, and this time they checked every inch of the place. So…”
“So? I don’t understand.”
“They were careful to leave no evidence.”
“You think I’m right.” She sounded surprised.
“I think you might be. And I owe you an apology for getting you involved.”
“If you were right, I was already involved.”
“Because they’re your students?”
“As hard as it is for me to believe. And even accepting that…” She stopped, shaking her head.
“It’s harder to believe that they’d invade your home and threaten your life.”
And what had occurred was nothing less, Jace thought. This had not been the action of some unthinking kid. It had been a well-planned attack, vicious and cold-blooded.
Although snake bites were rarely fatal when treatment was available, they were extremely painful and carried a danger of infection and tissue loss. If Lindsey’s students were as smart as they were represented to be, they would know that. Or they would have taken the trouble to find it out.
They hadn’t meant to kill her. If they had, they would have chosen some other method. So she was probably also right about the symbolism.
“It’s hard to explain the connection that exists between you and students you’ve taught for a couple of years,” she said. “You’ve mentored them. Disciplined them. Encouraged them. Loved them.”
“Loved them?” It sounded maudlin and emotional, and he hadn’t pegged her as either. Unless…
She laughed. “Not all of them. But certainly some.”
“That ever go beyond the classroom?”
“I’m sorry?”
She sounded at a loss about what he meant, but everybody had seen those stories on the news. Maybe there was something more to this than the fact that he’d tried to make her an ally.
Looking for a Get Out of Jail Free card, Nolan?
Maybe he was. Although he was usually able to put mistakes out of his head as being part of the process, he’d been feeling guilty since last night. This morning, he amended.
He didn’t relish the thought that there might have been something going on between her and a student, but it was an avenue he needed to explore. Not only because of what she’d just said, but because the attack had taken place at her home rather than at school or somewhere else. That made it personal.
“I’m talking about your relationship with your students. Has that ever gotten a little more than professional with any one of them?” He watched the realization of what he meant form in her eyes. Just before they grew cold.
“When I said that I loved them, lieutenant, I mean like a parent. I’ve never had an affair with a student, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Her indignation struck him as genuine. After more than fifteen years in this business, his radar was well-honed for cheats and liars. He didn’t believe Lindsey Sloan was either.
Just some innocent who got caught in your drive to explore every angle of those fires.
“It’s my job to ask the hard questions,” he said. “Consider that one asked and answered. And I guess I owe you another apology.”
“Right now I’m more concerned with where we go from here.”
“For one thing we’ll add your address to the list of regular patrols the deputies are making. Ever think about installing a security system?”
“I’ve never had to think about it. Not here.”
He let her words rest between them without a response.
After a moment, she turned her head, looking at the door to his office. “I guess all that’s changed now, hasn’t it?”
“It changed with the first fire. Randolph isn’t immune to the kinds of things that happen in other places. Those burned churches were proof of that.”
“Do you still think they’ll do something else?” she asked, meeting his eyes again.
“To you? I’m going to do everything in my power to see they don’t. If this was a reaction to your being seen with me, then they may well be satisfied with their warning. You might indicate somehow that you got the message.”
“Indicate that to the kids?”
“You’re the one who said people talk. Let it be known that you’re not going to talk to the police anymore.”
“You think that will convince them to leave me alone?”
“That and a patrol of your neighborhood.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“How will you know when that is?”
“When I know who they are.”

Jace had set up the patrol he’d promised, but despite that, he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. When Lindsey’s place was being searched, he had made sure there were no more unlocked windows and that the dead bolts were strong. All of which meant less than nothing if someone was determined to get in.
Which was why he was sitting in his car on the street behind her house. He was convinced that whoever had put the snake in Lindsey’s hamper had gotten in through that study window at the back. The front of the place was too exposed. You’d have to be an idiot to attempt a break-in there. And no matter what else he thought about the people involved in this, they were far from idiots.
He reached for the thermos he’d brought, pouring the last of the coffee into the plastic top. It was almost two. If these kids had parents who enforced curfews as he suspected, they wouldn’t be out at this time of night. He should go back to his apartment. Get some sleep like a human being for a change. Lack of rest wasn’t going to help him solve this case.
The kids had delivered their message. They were probably home in their beds, in that near-comatose state only teenage boys seemed able to achieve. And if he were smart—
He didn’t finish the thought. The same vague restlessness that had driven him to undertake this vigil wouldn’t let him abandon it. Call it cop’s intuition. Call it whatever the hell you wanted, something he needed to know about was going on.
He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. The change of position didn’t relieve the ache in his spine. That was better at some times than others, but obviously this wasn’t going to be one of them.
As he brought his cup up to his mouth, his gaze lifted to scan the back of Lindsey’s house. Before the rim made contact with his lips, he straightened, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a faint light that moved waveringly behind Lindsey’s curtained windows.
He watched for perhaps five more seconds, verifying his initial impression, before he opened his door. He threw the coffee on the street and then pitched the plastic cup back onto the passenger’s seat.
By the time he was standing, he’d drawn his weapon. He eased his door closed, not bothering to fully shut or lock it. And then, staying low and taking advantage of the abundant cover the heavily planted yards provided, he skirted between the houses of Lindsey’s neighbors and slipped into her backyard.
The wavering light he’d seen from his car had disappeared. Maybe Lindsey had been watching television in the dark again. Maybe she was having trouble sleeping, too. If so, she probably wouldn’t mind a little company.
Providing she didn’t already have some.

After hours spent tossing and turning, Lindsey had finally decided she’d be better off up doing something productive. She certainly had enough that needed doing.
She couldn’t bring herself to go into the office to work. Although she knew the window was now locked, there was something about sitting in that room that kept her mind off whatever she was trying to concentrate on.
She picked her tote up off the hall table where she’d put it in preparation for the morning. Its familiar weight didn’t ease the feeling that something in her world was very wrong.
She sat down on the couch, digging through the canvas bag for her American Lit anthology. Maybe trying to come up with enough essay questions for Monday’s tests and their makeups would carry her through to dawn. If it didn’t…
She took a breath, lifting her eyes from the book to fight an unexpected burn of tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry since she’d found the snake. She’d had a feeling that once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
As she blinked away the unwanted moisture, a shadow moved between the light from the streetlamp and her front windows. A chill began in the middle of her chest and then dropped like a rock into her stomach. Hardly daring to breathe, she laid the anthology down carefully on the coffee table and eased up off the couch, intending to call the police.
As she started toward the foyer, she realized that her cell was closer since, like her bag, she’d laid her purse on the hall table in preparation for tomorrow. She tiptoed across the room, bare feet making no sound. She slipped her phone out and flipped open the case. Her finger hovered for a few seconds over the nine before she lowered the cell.
She was calling the cops because she’d seen a shadow?
Something that could have been nothing more than a play of light? Or a tree moving in the wind? A bird or bat flying directly in front of the streetlamp?
All she needed right now was to be sending up false alarms for help. That would make the police less likely to respond quickly in case of a real emergency.
Phone in hand, she tiptoed over to the front door and put her eye against the peephole. A human shape was silhouetted against the glow from the street.
She reached out and located the switch for the porch fixture. If she turned it on, she knew whoever was out there would run—a result she wasn’t exactly opposed to. If she could get a glimpse of him before he did, all the better. Even size and build would give her something to work with. Decision made, she pushed the switch, flooding the porch with light.
Her recognition was instantaneous; her relief so great that she didn’t even stop to wonder what Jace was doing outside her door in the middle of the night. Fingers trembling from the flood of adrenaline, she undid the chain and then the other locks, throwing open the door.
“You okay?”
She nodded automatically, although she didn’t understand the question. Or why his gun was in his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought I saw a flashlight moving around inside.”
“A flashlight?”
“Something dim. Maybe in the back hall.”
Where her office, the bedroom and the bath were located. The hall she’d walked down not five minutes ago. “When?”
Jace shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe…four or five minutes ago.”
“I was back there—”
Jace didn’t give her time to finish. He brushed by her, gun still drawn, and headed toward the back of the house. Not sure what she was supposed to do, Lindsey followed.
She stood at the end of the hallway and watched as he turned on lights and searched each room. In the heavy silence of the sleeping neighborhood, she could hear him opening the cabinets under the bathroom lavatory and then the closet door in her bedroom. It was not until he started down the hall toward her that she realized what he had seen from outside.
“The night light has a motion sensor. It must have come on when I got up. When I moved far enough past it, the light went out again.”
He glanced down at the small bulb attached to the wall plug, which was still burning. He took a few steps toward where she was standing. Just as she’d said, the light went out.
“Sorry. False alarm.” He shoved his gun back into the holster under his arm. “At least I didn’t wake you.”
“I was in the living room. I saw something move in front of the windows and thought…” The burn was again at the back of her eyes, and she hated it. She strengthened her voice to go on. “I thought they’d come back.”
“Yeah. So did I.”
“I looked out through the peephole and saw a shape. I thought maybe if I turned on the porch light, I’d be able to see enough to identify them.”
“Sorry.”
“For what? Looking out for me? That is what you were doing, wasn’t it? Watching my house.”
He looked almost embarrassed by her realization. Despite that, he nodded.
She knew by gauging the density of the stubble on his cheeks, something she was becoming adept at, that he hadn’t gotten up early to stand watch. He had been there all night.
“Something didn’t feel right,” he added.
Maybe Jace hadn’t been able to sleep, either. In spite of their obviously overdeveloped sense of impending danger, nothing had happened. And in another couple of hours, it would be morning.
“I can make coffee,” she offered tentatively.
Did that sound like an invitation to something else? Even if it did, she didn’t regret having made it. She wanted company. And she wasn’t opposed to that company being in the form of an armed detective.
“Or I could make it while you go back to bed,” he offered.
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t sleep. Everything keeps running through my mind like some kind of endless looping.”
“You have an internist? Somebody who could write you a prescription for sleeping pills?”
She had a family doctor. The one who had delivered her, actually. And she didn’t intend to ask him for drugs to help her cope with this. “I’ll get over it.”
“There’s no shame in taking medication to help you deal with trauma.”
“I didn’t say there was. I just…” She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.
For the first time she was conscious of how thin and short her nightshirt was. Maybe that’s why Jace had suggested she go back to bed. Maybe she was embarrassing him.
“It also wouldn’t hurt to talk to somebody about what happened. A psychologist. Someone to help you deal with the possibility of PTSD.”
It took her a second. “Post Traumatic Stress? You think I’m going to get PTSD from finding a snake in my house?” Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept since that had happened, she managed a short laugh. “This is snake country. Every time I went into the woods as a child there was the threat of running into one.”
“Which you knew and accepted. That’s not the same as having someone put a rattlesnake into your laundry hamper.”
It wasn’t. Still, she didn’t really want to hear his analysis of how poorly she was dealing with this.
“I don’t need medication. And I don’t need counseling. I do need coffee. You’re welcome to stay if you want some.”
She was acting like an idiot. She hadn’t slept in two nights, other than in snatches interrupted by nightmares. So, yeah, she was coping just fine, thank you very much.
They were still standing face-to-face in the hall, with every light in the back of the house blazing. She watched his lips thin and a muscle in that dark jaw tighten.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said. “Enjoy your coffee.”
Although Jace’s tone had been neutral, she was experienced enough at reading emotion to know she’d made him angry. Maybe even insulted him. And for what?
Because he was sitting up all night so he could make sure you were all right? Or for offering advice that made perfect sense?
“Look—” she began, but by that time Jace was already moving past her toward the front of the house.
She attempted to grab his arm, but he shook her off, continuing to stride purposefully in the direction of the door. All she could do was follow.
“Jace, I’m sorry. What I said was stupid. I really appreciate the fact that you—”
“Lock up.” The command was punctuated by the slam of the front door.
Lindsey closed her mouth, still hanging open from her unfinished apology. Then she closed her eyes, once more welling with tears.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
Frustrated with herself and more than a little annoyed with Jace for refusing to listen, she turned on her heel, furiously blinking the moisture away.
She had said she was going to make coffee, and she was, damn it. Then she’d come up with at least ten essay questions before it was time to dress for school.
She had bragged that she didn’t need help in coping with what was happening. Now seemed to be a good time to prove it.

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