Fight Dirty (12 page)

CHAPTER 22

M
icah must have passed out. Long enough for one of the Red Shirts to stretch his fingers and slide them into the space between the door hinges and the frame. Black splotches danced in his vision, and he thought he might pass out again. It was impossible to breathe, not with another Red Shirt sitting on his shoulders, pinning him facedown on the floor.

“You want to be an artist, right?” Nelson, the Red Shirt leader, said from where he stood in the doorway, ready to close the door on Mica
h’s
fingers. “Might need to rethink that.”

The Red Shirts were Deidr
e’s
personal bully squad. Named for the coveted red polos they wore to mark them from the No Names, who wore featureless khaki tops and bottoms, they were handpicked for their unquestioning obedience to Deidre, ReNe
w’s
student leader.

Only problem? Deidre wasn’t here right now to keep Nelson and his goons in check. Not that Micah could be certain that she would. In the past month, ever since Bree left—ever since Bree betrayed her, to use Deidr
e’s
words—Deidre had been growing more and more unpredictable. Her inability to control her own moods rippled through to the Red Shirts and down to the other ReNew students, creating a tension not unlike the subliminal rumblings of a volcano.

The Red Shirt on top of Micah shifted his weight enough so Micah could take a few shallow breaths, clear the spots from his eyes. The
y’d
caught him outside the commons room, dragged him inside an unused classroom. He wasn’t the one they were looking for, but Micah wasn’t about to tell them that. The new kid, Tommy, he was only twelve. The Red Shirts would break him like a twig if they lost control.

And without Deidre, there was no one to keep them in control.

Nelson shifted suddenly, relaxing his hold on the door. He stepped inside the room, eyes lowered, as Deidre appeared.

Despite the fact that it was chilly—Reverend Benjamin was too cheap to pay to heat the place properly—Deidre always wore filmy dresses that swirled around her ankles like wildflowers in a field. Toda
y’s
was pale grey with tiny flowers that matched the blue in her eyes. She walked as if she was dancing, head held high, spine straight, but not as if she was stiff, rather, she kind o
f . . .
glided.

“Wha
t’s
going on here?” she asked Nelson.

He shifted weight, back forth, back forth, then looked up. “Someone stole bread from our table at lunch. This one,” he nudged Micah with his foot, “is about to confess.”

Deidre crouched down so she could meet Mica
h’s
gaze. “Is this true, Micah?” she asked in a voice dark with disappointment. “You stole?”

What made Deidre so frightening wasn’t that she was the Red Shirts’ leader or even that sh
e’d
been living the ReNew program since she herself was a troubled twelve-year-old, as she put it, striding down the devi
l’s
path.

No, she was dangerous because she was a true believer. In her mind, the ReNew way was the only way sinners like Micah could be saved.

For Deidre, a studen
t’s
time at ReNew was a turning point in the war between Good and Evil. Something she took very, very seriously. Which was why sh
e’d
seen Bre
e’s
leaving early as a personal betrayal. Unforgivable.

Before Micah could answer, Nelson stepped forward. “We need to make an example of him. Especially since h
e’s
a short-timer. The others need to know that it doesn’t matter how long you have before leaving, you must obey the rules.”

“More than rules. You must learn to obey God. You should offer your talent to Him.” Deidre caressed Mica
h’s
free hand. “He gave it to you. And He can take it away. Hard to create anything with your fingers crushed, Micah Chase.”

She stretched her other hand back and closed the door. Not a hard slam that would have left evidence behind like a few broken fingers. Instead a slow leveraging that created pain without permanent damage.

“Confess, Micah,” she whispered. “Confess and this all stops.”

Micah tightened his lips and shook his head, unable to manage any sound without screaming in pain.

The guy sitting on top of Micah twisted his fingers in Mica
h’s
hair and yanked. Hard. Pain shrieked across his scalp, joining with the screaming from his arms and legs, but it was nothing to the choking sensation as the Red Shirt pulled Mica
h’s
head back so far that he couldn’t breathe.

This is how people die
, Micah thought. The overhead light stabbed his eyes, but he didn’t have the spare energy to close them. Every ounce of strength went into sucking molecules of air into his straining lungs.

His heart was a thundering herd of wild horses, out of control and careening to a cliff. Micah liked horses, but he liked breathing even more. The weird thought and the sudden images of wild horses stampeding, out of control, distracted him from the pain. Made him want to laugh. Of course, he couldn’t, not with his air cut off, but even that realization felt hysterical.

Bright light, feeling of mirth, all he needed was the out-of-body part of the near-death experience, shed all this pain, leave it behin
d . . .
where were those brain endorphins with their magic oblivion when you needed them?

He must have passed out again. A sharp pain slapped across his cheek. He blinked his eyes open. He was on his back now, one arm and both legs bent beneath his weight; damn it hurt, but at least he could breathe. He hauled in deep, hungry breaths, not sure how long the reprieve would last.

Deidre cradled his head in her lap, caressing his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. “The road to salvation, Micah,” she crooned. “You can only walk it after you repent. Confess. Let me save you, Micah. Let me bring you into the light. This is your last chance.”

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. Maybe his brain finally released a few stray endorphins, because as he looked into Deidr
e’s
twisted expression with her angelic smile and devi
l’s
eyes, as he heard the laughter of the other Red Shirts behind her and saw the rest of the No Names gathered in the hallway, staring down at him, their expressions a mix of fear and hope, all he could think was,
my parents are shelling out good money for this freak show?

“BreeAnn
a’s
medical records show a visit to your wif
e’s
ob-gyn the day after the party,” Jenna continued when Greene said nothing after her accusation. “Evidence collection? Kept safe, hidden by doctor-patient confidentiality until the day you might need it to persuade a federal judge?”

“The incident at the party happened weeks before BreeAnn
a’s
mother sent her to ReNew. What does any of this have to do with my daughte
r’s
death? Aren’t you supposed to be investigating ReNew?”

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe
you
were behind her being sent to ReNew, not your wife. Figured you could hide her away? Out of the judg
e’s
reach. I’m sure you didn’t know that most kids sent there spend an average of almost three years locked up inside. Or maybe you did. Tha
t’s
just about how long it will take for all those court cases to wind up, right?”

She pushed to her feet and leaned over his desk, forcing him to look up at her. “If tha
t’s
so, then why did you bring her home again? Were you afraid she was going to tell the ReNew counselors what happened at the party?” She paused. “After all, BreeAnna was the weak link in your plan. If she talked, it would remove your leverage over the judge.”

“How dare you! I hired you to find out why my daughter died, not to accuse me with outrageous suppositions—”

“Why did you hire us? Really? Because you and your wife are obsessed about BreeAnn
a’s
death? Finding justice for her? I don’t think so. Not when her dying was the answer to your problems, might have saved your business. Twenty-seven lawsuits, if even a fraction were settled for the plaintiffs, yo
u’d
be bankrupt. But now, thanks to BreeAnn
a’s
death, thanks to her permanent silence, your company is safe.”

“This has nothing to do with saving my company. Don’t you understand? My daughter, my lovely, beautiful baby girl, sh
e’s
gone—and I wasn’t there to save her.”

Jenna took a breath, translated the expression on his face: pure anguish. Maybe the first true emotion sh
e’d
seen from him since they met. She sank back into her chair, regrouped. “What do you mean, you weren’t there?”

“Caren and I lied to the police. Told them we were asleep and didn’t hear anything. Said I woke to get something to drink and tha
t’s
when I found BreeAnna.”

“What really happened?”

He pushed the chair out of his way and paced the area between his desk and the wall of windows. “We left her. Home. Alone.”

“But why bring her home that day just to leave—”

“Sh
e’s
fourteen. It was only ten o’clock at night. It shouldn’t have been a problem.”

Jenna stared at him. Tried to imagine being a child isolated from friends and family for two months and then brought home only to be left alone again. No wonder the Greenes were driven to find someone else to blame for BreeAnn
a’s
suicide.

“Why?” she asked. She didn’t need to know, not to do the job h
e’d
hired her for. But she had to ask.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his face with his palm as if scrubbing himself clean of any guilt. “It was Care
n’s
idea. She hadn’t seen me in a month, thought we needed to rekindle the romance or some such crap she read in a magazine. So we took a drive out to the country, built a fire, drank wine, made love under the stars. Like we were kids again.”

His voice trailed off. No need for either of them to fill in what happened next. Coming home to find their daughter hanging from the third-floor balcony.

Greene was still lying, but she wasn’t sure what about. Which meant it might be better off if she didn’t push him too hard. Not yet, anyway. Jenna stood and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called. “Where are you going?”

“To do my job. Find out why your daughter died.” She paused, arching an eyebrow at him. “At least I assume tha
t’s
still what you want.”

He didn’t meet her gaze. “I know you think me heartless, using what happened to my daughter to save my company. But I want—no, I need—to know what BreeAnna went through. Why she died. Someone drove her to her death, and I need to know who.”

“Okay, then. Guess I have work to do.”

“And since BreeAnn
a’s
death has nothing to do with my company, you have no need to reveal any proprietary information.” Using big words to intimidate her. Did he really think that would work?

She whirled around. “If yo
u’d
like to hire my company to do more than simply investigate your daughte
r’s
death, we can negotiate a contract.
I’d
be happy to discuss our rates for a comprehensive corporate review. Lord knows, your company could use a professional handling things. Security around here is a joke.”

Despite his scowl, he nodded in agreement. How could he not? Less than a day on the job and she already knew his greatest vulnerabilities. Not to mention the blackmail potential her knowledge brought with it.

Which she most definitely was not doing. This wasn’t blackmail, she told herself. It was simply an audition.

“You’ve made your point, Ms. Galloway. Le
t’s
discuss terms.”

Jenna beamed in triumph as she resumed her seat. “First,
I’d
like more coffee.”

Greene came around his desk to stand over her. He leaned back, bracing his hands against the edge of the desk. “First,
I’d
like to come to an agreement. You have something I want, and I have something you want.”

His gaze roamed her body, stopping on her breasts. She was surprised i
t’d
taken him this long. From the way his secretary looked at him, it was obvious Greene enjoyed blurring the lines between business relationships and personal ones. Jenna was well acquainted with men like him. Her father and her grandfather both had had multiple affairs, treating the women in their lives as if they were so many flavors waiting to be sampled. Sh
e’d
had coworkers and supervisors wh
o’d
also looked at her just like Greene was now.

In fact, most of the men in her lif
e . . .
until Andre. Maybe tha
t’s
why he scared her so much. Lust, hunger, gree
d . . .
she could handle. But true affection? She had no earthly idea what to do with that.

She shook herself. One troublesome man at a time.

Jenna stood, now mere inches away from Greene. His smile turned wolfish. “So tell me, Ms. Galloway, are you a natural redhead? No. Wait. Don’t tell me.”