She smiled up at him provocatively. "Tell you what, I've had a year of ballet when I was a kid, along with a little Jazz. I'll give you private dance lessons, if you teach me how to wrestle."
Bron smiled self-consciously. "Are all the girls in this town so forward?"
She grinned mischievously. "Do the math: we have 274 students. Of those, only 87 are guys. Of them, 12 are gay. That leaves 75 guys. Only nine of them are really cute. Eight of the nine have girlfriends. That leaves only one. You."
At his last school, Bron hadn't been popular. Part of it had to be the clothes. Back in Alpine, his hand-me-downs advertised his poverty. Here, the uniforms made everyone look the same. The only thing beyond that was his haircut and style. It definitely made him stand out.
He knew that he wasn't bad looking, but everyone here treated him... special.
Suddenly he almost felt as if there was something more, as if he was suddenly leading a charmed life. Things were really turning around for him.
"I'll have to think about the wrestling lessons," he said. "I have a feeling that you're more dangerous than you look."
Down on the floor, Mr. Petrowski called, "Pair up! Pair up!"
The girl smiled miserably. "Will you dance with me? I don't want to get stuck with another girl as my partner."
"Sure," Bron said. He got up, pulled her to her feet, laid one hand on her shoulder and another on her hip. "My name is Bron, by the way."
"River," she said. "River Hendricks."
One of the teacher's aides came over and suggested, "Move in a little closer." It was the tall young man who had been speaking with Whitney. He pushed Bron gently, so that the two were pressed together intimately.
"There you go," he said to both. He added, "Sorry to hear about that neighbor girl of yours, Bron."
Bron shrugged, but River asked, "What girl? What happened?"
"Bron's neighbor was attacked and raped last night," the boy said. "Bron's the main suspect!"
How does he even know about that? Bron wondered.
River suddenly froze in Bron's grip. She gasped and stepped back involuntarily. Suddenly everyone was staring at Bron.
Bron looked up at the aide and saw that the young man had mocking eyes, a scornful grin. He'd spoken loudly enough so that everyone in the room had heard.
"I never touched her," Bron said. He realized that he'd spoken too loudly, that he sounded scared and defensive.
The young man glared at him angrily, then nodded. "Maybe not," he admitted as if he could be wrong, but his next words twisted into Bron's gut like a dagger. "Even you have to know, you weren't good enough for a fine woman like that. On the other hand, that probably made her that much more of a temptation."
Bron felt something odd, a tingling in his hands, as if an electric current were washing through them. The tips of his fingers went hard, and he knew that if he dared look, he'd see little rings of callus protruding around the tip of each finger.
What kind of freak am I? he wondered. He clenched his fists in order to hide what was happening, and considered punching the teacher's aide, but knew that a fight would just draw more attention. Besides, he wasn't sure that he could win. This guy was a good three inches taller than him, and all muscle.
He whirled, face burning, and began to stalk from the room.
"Wait!" River called. She rushed up to his back.
The aide laughed and called out, "You two make a good couple. Did River tell you that her dad's in prison? Did she tell you that he's a burglar who goes into empty houses and rips the copper wires out of the walls? What a low-life! You two are perfect for each other."
The room was noisy, with people chattering as they selected dancing partners. Bron looked to Mr. Petrowski to see if he had heard this outburst, but the teacher was talking to a group of students on the far side of the room. Bron decided that the teacher had pretended not to hear. He'd be no help.
River had grabbed his hand, and now she whirled as if to hurl insults at the teacher's aide. Bron hit the door and kept walking out into the hall. To his surprise, River followed.
He turned on her. "Who is that creep?"
River's jaw was set, angry, and her eyes flashed with indignation. "His name is Justin Walton. He was Whitney's boyfriend last year, until she dumped him."
It all fell into place, except, "Walton? Like Sheriff Walton?"
"Yes," she said. "His dad's a sheriff. Justin's family has lived here since the 1850s. They act like they own the place."
Bron stormed through the halls. He didn't know where to go, what to do. The corridors were nearly empty, and he didn't want to be caught out of class, so he decided to go to the men's room.
On the way he passed two girls near the theater. One casually asked the other, "Hey, did you hear about the kid that got killed in Saint George on Friday?"
Bron froze. His heart began to hammer.
"You mean that car that rolled?" the other girl said. "Freaky, huh?"
"Yeah," the other said. "My neighbor has a white Honda, and the police are stopping all ofthem."
Bron felt his stomach churn, and a wave of nausea rushed over him. He went into the restroom, wondering which of the teens had been killed. Could it have been Riley? He would have to tell Olivia—but first, he had to be sick.
Chapter 13
The Hunt Widens
"For well over a thousand years we have hunted our enemies. The search cannot end until the last one is brought down."
At the end of a hot day, Riley O'Hare drove his rental, a white Chevy van, into the parking lot at Tuacahn.
The view was stunning: red rock cliffs rising above the school and theater complex, vivid green lawns, a picturesque stream running through the complex to cascade into a large pool.
Something inside him thrilled. He'd checked dozens of hotels over the weekend, and struck out on that front, but he was a hunter by nature, and he felt energized by this virgin territory.
School was still in progress. That would make it hard to interview students. A sign out front said that this was the first day of class. Even if the prey was here, Riley suspected he might be a new student, and so other classmates might not recognize him.
So Riley opted for the most direct approach to the task. He strolled up to the school, opened the glass door, plastered with posters for upcoming plays, and viewed the foyer. Trophies adorned the wall. Most schools would have celebrated their sporting achievements, but these were for dance, theater, music, and art.
Beyond the foyer, he found offices. A secretary sat at a desk, a middle-aged woman with a plump figure. A sign gave her name: Allison Holmes.
Riley glanced around. Allison was alone. He could have taken her head in his hands, read her memories, but the site was too exposed. The glass walls left an open view to the hall. The principal's office loomed at his left. The principal glanced up from his desk curiously.
Riley said, "I'm looking for a student here, Bron Jones."
The secretary looked up from some paperwork, smiled, went to her keyboard and typed in the name.
"What would you like with him?" she asked.
"Mom asked me to stop by and give him a message," Riley said. It seemed like a casual enough lie, likely to produce good results.
The secretary's brow scrunched as if she detected the deception. She peered at the screen for a long moment, and said, "How is that first name spelled?"
"Bron—B.R.O.N."
Riley looked forward to seeing Bron again. It was more than just the thrill of the hunt. He'd liked Bron as a kid. Soon, he hoped to welcome him as a brother, and a colleague.