Hush Hush hh-1 Read online

  I stared at her with a look I hoped spoke appalled shock. "Have you?"

  Vee grinned.

  I tried to imagine what Patch would do if presented with this information. As little as I knew about him, I sensed his aversion to Vee as if it were concrete enough to touch.

  "He's not good enough for you," I said.

  She moaned. "Careful, you'll only make me want him more."

  Inside the library we took a table on the main level, near adult fiction. I opened my laptop and typed: The Sacrifice, two and a half stars. Two and a half was probably on the low side. But I had a lot on my mind and wasn't feeling particularly equitable.

  Vee opened a bag of dried apple chips. "Want some?"

  "I'm good, thanks."

  She peered into the bag. "If you're not going to eat them, I'll have to. And I really don't want to."

  Vee was on the color-wheel fruit diet. Three red fruits a day, two blue, a handful of green…

  She held up an apple chip, examining it front to back.

  "What color?" I asked.

  "Make-me-gag-Granny-Smith-green. I think."

  Just then Marcie Millar, the only sophomore to make varsity cheerleading in the history of Coldwater High, took a seat on the edge of our table. Her strawberry blond hair was combed into low pigtails, and like always, her skin was concealed under half a bottle of foundation. I was fairly certain I'd guessed the right amount, since there wasn't a trace of her freckles in sight. I hadn't seen any of Marcie's freckles since seventh grade, the same year she discovered Mary Kay. There was three-quarters of an inch between the hem of her skirt and the start of her underwear… if she was even wearing any.

  "Hi, Supersize," Marcie said to Vee.

  "Hi, Freakshow," Vee said back.

  "My mom is looking for models this weekend. The pay is nine dollars an hour. I thought you'd be interested."

  Marcie's mom manages the local JCPenney, and on weekends she has Marcie and the rest of the cheerleaders model bikinis in the store's street-facing display windows.

  "She's having a really hard time finding plus-size lingerie models," said Marcie.

  "You've got food stuck in your teeth," Vee told Marcie. "In the crack between your two front teeth. Looks like chocolate Ex-Lax

  Marcie licked her teeth and slid off the table. As she sashayed off, Vee stuck her finger in her mouth and made gagging gestures at Marcie's back.

  "She's lucky we're at the library," Vee told me. "She's luck) we didn't cross paths in a dark alley. Last chance-any chips?"

  "Pass."

  Vee wandered off to discard the chips. A few minutes later she returned with a romance novel. She took the seat next to me and, displaying the novel's cover, said, "Someday this is going to be us. Ravished by half-dressed cowboys. I wonder what it's like to kiss a pair of sunbaked, mud-crusted lips?"

  "Dirty," I murmured, typing away.

  "Speaking of dirty." There was an unexpected rise in her voice. "There's our guy."

  I stopped typing long enough to peer over my laptop, and my heart skipped a beat. Patch stood across the room in the checkout line. As if he sensed me watching, he turned. Our eyes locked for one, two, three counts. I broke away first, but not before receiving a slow grin.

  My heartbeat turned erratic, and I told myself to pull it together. I was not going down this path. Not with Patch. Not unless I was out of my mind.

  "Let's go," I told Vee. Shutting my laptop, I zipped it inside its carrying case. I pushed my books inside my backpack, dropping a few on the floor as I did.

  Vee said, "I'm trying to read the title he's holding… hang on… How to Be a Stalker."

  "He is not checking out a book with that title." But I wasn't sure.

  "It's either that or How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying"

  "Shh!" I hissed.

  "Calm down, he can't hear. He's talking to the librarian. He's checking out."

  Confirming this with a quick glance over, I realized that if we left now, we'd probably meet him at the exit doors. And then I would be expected to say something to him. I ordered myself back into my chair and searched diligently through my pockets for nothing whatsoever while he finished checking out.

  "Do you think it's creepy he's here at the same time we are?" Vee asked.

  "Do you?"

  "I think he's following you."

  "I think it's a coincidence." This wasn't entirely true. If I had to make a list of the top ten places I would expect to find Patch on any given night, the public library wouldn't make it. The library wouldn't make the top hundred places. So what was he doing here?

  The question was particularly disturbing after what had happened last night. I hadn't mentioned it to Vee because I was hoping it would shrink and shrivel in my memory until it ceased to have happened. Period.

  "Patch!" Vee stage-whispered. "Are you stalking Nora?"

  I clamped my hand over her mouth. "Stop it. I mean it." I put on a severe face.

  "I bet he is following you," said Vee, prying my hand away. "I bet he has a history of it too. I bet he has restraining orders. We should sneak into the front office. It would all be in his student file."

  "We are not sneaking into the front office."

  "I could create a diversion. I'm good at diversions. No one would see you go in. We could be like spies."

  "We are not spies."

  "Do you know his last name?" Vee asked.

  "No."

  "Do you know anything about him?"

  "No. And I'd like to keep it that way."

  "Oh, come on. You love a good mystery, and it doesn't get better than this."

  "The best mysteries involve a dead body. We don't have a dead body."

  Vee squealed. "Not yet!"

  Shaking two iron pills from the bottle in my backpack, I swallowed them together.

  Vee bounced the Neon into her driveway just after nine thirty. She killed the engine and dangled the keys in front of me.

  "You're not going to drive me home?" I asked. A waste of breath, since I knew her answer.

  "There's fog."

  "Patchy fog."

  Vee grinned. "Oh, boy. He is so on your mind. Not that I blame you. Personally, I'm hoping I dream about him tonight."

  Ugh.

  "And the fog always gets worse near your house," Vee continued. "It freaks me out after dark."

  I grabbed the keys. "Thanks a lot."

  "Don't blame me. Tell your mom to move closer. Tell her there's this new club called civilization and you guys should join."

  "I suppose you expect me to pick you up before school tomorrow?"

  "Seven thirty would be nice. Breakfast is on me."

  "It better be good."

  "Be nice to my baby." She patted the Neon's dash. "But not too nice. Can't have her thinking there's better out there."

  On the drive home I allowed my thoughts a brief trip to Patch. Vee was right-something about him was incredibly alluring. And incredibly creepy. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced something about him was… off. The fact that he liked to antagonize me wasn't exactly a news flash, but there was a difference between getting under my skin in class and possibly going as far as following me to the library to accomplish it. Not many people would go to that much trouble… unless they had a very good reason.

  Halfway home a pattering rain flushed out the wispy clouds of fog hovering above the road. Dividing my attention between the road and the controls on the steering wheel, I tried to locate the windshield wipers.

  The streetlights flickered overhead, and I wondered if a heavier storm was blowing in. This close to the ocean the weather changed constantly, and a rainstorm could quickly escalate into a flash flood. I fed the Neon more gas.

  The outside lights flickered again. A cold feeling prickled up the back of my neck, and the hairs on my arms tingled. My sixth sense graduated to high alert. I asked myself if I thought I was being followed. There were no headlights in the rearview mirror. No cars ahead, either. I was all alone. It wasn't a very comforting thought. I pushed the car to forty-five.

  I found the wipers, but even at top speed they couldn't keep up with the hammering rain. The stoplight ahead turned yellow. I rolled to a stop, checked to see that traffic was clear, then pulled into the intersection.

  I heard the impact before I registered the dark silhouette skidding across the hood of the car.

  I screamed and stomped on the brake. The silhouette thumped into the windshield with a splintering crack.

  On impulse, I jerked the steering wheel a hard right. The back end of the Neon fishtailed, sending me spinning across the intersection. The silhouette rolled and disappeared over the edge of the hood.

  I was holding my breath, squeezing the steering wheel between white-knuckled hands. I lifted my feet off the pedals. The car bucked and stalled out.

  He was crouched a few feet away, watching me. He didn't look at all… injured.

  He was dressed in total black and blended with the night, making it hard to tell what he looked like. At first I couldn't distinguish any facial features, and then I realized he was wearing a ski mask.

  He rose to his feet, closing the distance between us. He flattened his palms to the driver's-side window. Our eyes connected through the holes in the mask. A lethal smile seemed to rise in his.

  He gave another pound, the glass vibrating between us.

  I started the car. I tried to synchronize shoving it into first gear, pushing on the gas pedal, and releasing the clutch. The engine revved, but the car bucked again and died.

  I turned the engine over once more, but was distracted by an off-key metallic groan. I watched with horror as the door began to bow. He was tearing-it-off.

  I rammed the car into first. My shoes slipped over the
pedals. The engine roared, the RPM needle on the dash spiking into the red zone.

  His fist came through the window in an explosion of glass. His hand fumbled over my shoulder, clamping around my arm. I gave a hoarse cry, stomped the gas pedal, and released the clutch. The Neon screeched into motion. He hung on, gripping my arm, running beside the car several feet before dropping away.

  I sped forward with the force of adrenaline. I checked the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't chasing me, then shoved the mirror to face away. I had to press my lips together to keep from sobbing.

  Chapter 4

  Flying down hawthorne, I drove past my house, circled back, cut over to Beech, and headed back toward the center of Coldwater. I speed-dialed Vee. "Something happened-I-he- it-out of nowhere-the Neon-" "You're breaking up. What?"

  I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. I was trembling down to my toes. "He came out of nowhere."

  "Who?"

  «He-» I tried to net my thoughts and funnel them into words. "He jumped in front of the car!"

  "Oh, man. Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man. You hit a deer! Are you okay? What about Bambi?" She half wailed, half groaned. "The Neon?"

  I opened my mouth, but Vee cut me off.

  "Forget it. I've got insurance. Just tell me there aren't deer parts all over my baby… No deer parts, right?"

  Whatever answer I was about to give faded into the background. My mind was two steps ahead. A deer. Maybe I could pass the whole thing off as hitting a deer. I wanted to confide in Vee, but I didn't want to sound crazy, either. How was I going to explain watching the guy I hit rise to his feet and begin tearing off the car door? I stretched my collar down past my shoulder. No red marks where he'd gripped me that I could see…

  I came to myself with a start. Was I actually considering denying it had happened? I knew what I'd seen. It was not my imagination.

  "Holy freak show," Vee said. "You're not answering. The deer is lodged in my headlights, isn't he? You're driving around with him stuck to the front of the car like a snowplow."

  "Can I sleep at your place?" I wanted to get off the streets. Out of the dark. With a sudden intake of air, I realized to get to Vee's, I'd have to drive back through the intersection where I'd hit him.

  "I'm down in my room," said Vee. "Let yourself in. See you in a few."

  With my hands tight on the steering wheel, I pushed the Neon through the rain, praying the light at Hawthorne would be green in my favor. It was, and I floored it through the intersection, keeping my eyes straight ahead, but at the same time, stealing glimpses into the shadows along the side of the road. There was no sign of the guy in the ski mask.

  Ten minutes later I parked the Neon in Vee's driveway. The damage to the door was extensive, and I had to put my foot to it and kick my way out. Then I jogged to the front door, bolted myself inside, and hurried down the basement stairs.

  Vee was sitting cross-legged on her bed, notebook propped between her knees, earbuds plugged in, iPod turned up all the way. "Do I want to see the damage tonight, or should I wait until I've had at least seven hours of sleep?" she called over the music.

  "Maybe option number two."

  Vee snapped the notebook shut and tugged out the earbuds. "Let's set it over with."

  When we got outside, I stared at the Neon for a long moment. It wasn't a warm night, but the weather wasn't the cause of the goose bumps rippling over my arms. No smashed driver's-side window. No bend in the door.

  "Something's not right," I said. But Vee wasn't listening. She was busy inspecting every square inch of the Neon.

  I stepped forward and poked the driver's-side window. Solid glass. I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, the window was still intact.

  I walked around the back of the car. I'd completed almost a full circle when I came up short.

  A fine crack bisected the windshield.

  Vee saw it at the same time. "Are you sure it wasn't a squirrel?"

  My mind flashed back to the lethal eyes behind the ski mask. They were so black I couldn't distinguish the pupils from the irises. Black like… Patch's.

  "Look at me, I'm crying tears of joy," Vee said, sprawling herself across the Neon's hood in a hug. "A teeny-tiny crack. That's it!"

  I manufactured a smile, but my stomach soured. Five minutes ago, the window was smashed out and the door was bowed. Looking at the car now, it seemed impossible. No, it seemed crazy. But I saw his fist punch through the glass, and I felt his fingernails bite into my shoulder.

  Hadn't I?

  The harder I tried to recall the crash, the more I couldn't. Little blips of missing information cut across my memory. The details were fading. Was he tall? Short? Thin? Bulky? Had he said anything?

  I couldn't remember. That was the most frightening part.

  Vee and I left her house at seven fifteen the following morning and drove to Enzo's Bistro to grab a breakfast of steamed milk. With my hands wrapped around my china cup, I tried to warm away the deep chill inside me. I'd showered, pulled on a camisole and cardigan borrowed from Vee's closet, and swept on some makeup, but I hardly remembered doing it.

  "Don't look now," Vee said, "but Mr. Green Sweater keeps looking this way, estimating your long legs through your jeans… Oh! He just saluted me. I am not kidding. A little two-finger military salute. How adorable."

  I wasn't listening. Last night's accident had replayed itself in my head all night, chasing away any chance of sleep. My thoughts were in tangles, my eyes were dry and heavy, and I couldn't concentrate.

  "Mr. Green Sweater looks normal, but his wingman looks hardcore bad boy," said Vee. "Emits a certain don't-mess-with-me signal. Tell me he doesn't look like Dracula's spawn. Tell me I'm imagining things."

  Lifting my eyes just high enough to get a look at him without appearing that I was, I took in his fine-boned, handsome face. Blond hair hung at his shoulders. Eyes the color of chrome. Unshaven. Impeccably dressed in a tailored jacket over his green sweater and dark designer jeans. I said, "You're imagining things."

  "Did you miss the deep-set eyes? The widow's peak? The tall, lanky build? He might even be tall enough for me."

  Vee is closing in on six feet tall, but she has a thing for heels.

  High heels. She also has a thing about not dating shorter guys.

  "Okay, what's wrong?" Vee asked. "You've gone all incommunicado. This isn't about the crack in my windshield, is it? So what if you hit an animal? It could happen to anyone. Granted, the chances would be a lot slimmer if your mom relocated out of the wilderness."

  I was going to tell Vee the truth about what happened. Soon. I just needed a little time to sort out the details. The problem was, I didn't see how I could. The only details left were spotty, at best. It was as if an eraser had scrubbed my memory blank. Thinking back, I remembered the heavy rain cascading down the Neon's windows, causing everything outside to blur. Had I in fact hit a deer?

  "Mmm, check it out," said Vee. "Mr. Green Sweater is getting out of his seat. Now that's a body that hits the gym regularly. He is definitely making his way toward us, his eyes pursuing the real estate, your real estate, that is."

  A half beat later we were greeted with a low, pleasant "Hello."

  Vee and I looked up at the same time. Mr. Green Sweater stood just back from our table, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. He was blue-eyed, with stylishly shaggy blond hair swept across his forehead.

  "Hello yourself," Vee said. "I'm Vee. This is Nora Grey."

  I frowned at Vee. I did not appreciate her tagging on my last name, feeling that it violated an unspoken contract between girls, let alone best friends, upon meeting unknown boys. I gave a halfhearted wave and brought my cup to my lips, immediately scalding my tongue.

  He dragged a chair over from the next table and sat backward on it, his arms resting where his back should have been. Holding a hand out to me, he said, "I'm Elliot Saunders." Feeling way too formal, I shook it. "And this is Jules," he added, jerking his chin toward his friend, whom Vee had grossly underestimated by calling "tall."

  Jules lowered all of himself into a seat beside Vee, dwarfing the chair.

  She said to him, "I think you might be the tallest guy I've ever seen. Seriously, how tall are you?"

  "Six foot ten," Jules muttered, slumping in his seat and crossing his arms.

  Elliot cleared his throat. "Can I get you ladies something to eat?"

  "I'm fine," I said, raising my cup. "I already ordered."