Instinct (13 page)

Simon chuckles
and shakes his head. “You’re inquisitive aren’t you? Well none of this is
confidential, just unsubstantiated stuff I wasn’t allowed to print. There were
peri-mortem bruises on the girl’s arms, like someone had gripped her too
tight.”
            This news disturbs me on a number of levels. My eyes drift to my
arm, where the bruises Jake gave me seem to come alive in response to what I
have just heard. “Someone gave her bruises before she went over,” I mumble,
lost in thought. Simon nods, his eyes brightening with shared interest.

“That’s right.
And there was evidence of self-inflicted wounds on the inside of her upper left
arm.”

I drew in a
sharp breath. “She was a cutter?”

“Looks like.
Coroner said the oldest mark was only a few weeks. She started pretty
recently.” Simon frowns and I have a feeling he’s wondering precisely why he’s
being so forthcoming with me. I now know better than to wonder myself.

“Then doesn’t
that support the suicide theory?” I ask, not willing to give in to the
uncomfortable prick of guilt in my chest. After my encounter with Jake earlier,
finding out if Miranda was murdered is a matter of survival.

With a shake of
his head, Simon takes a swig of coffee. “Not necessarily. If she was cutting
because someone was abusing her, then he may have helped her off the bridge
too.” He waves his hands dismissively and drains the last of his coffee. “But
all this is immaterial now. Half the reason they wouldn’t let me print this
stuff was because the cops ruled it a suicide and closed the case.”

“What was the
other half?” I ask pointedly.

He gives me a
disapproving look. “You’re too curious for your own good, you know. This is a
bit deep for a high school reporter.”

I roll my eyes
and lean forward, my voice unwavering. “I’m not your average high school
reporter. I can read between the lines, and you left quite a bit out of your
stories. Who didn’t want those details printed?”

Simon throws
up his hands, as though giving up. “Fine. It’s your funeral. The police were
looking pretty hard at the ex-boyfriend. Apparently there were some rumors
floating that he may have gotten physical with her. Boy certainly seemed pretty
unstable when I saw him.” He stares off in the distance, remembering.

“And?” I
prompt, deeply invested in the answer.

“And do you
know who his father is? Mayor Geoffrey Wise. The evidence was circumstantial
anyway, and you don’t print speculation about the mayor’s son in a small town,
girl.”

I examine my
reflection with a sense of bewilderment.  I’ve watched enough TV and movies to
know that I’m not hideous, but I’ve never had an opportunity or reason to
qualify how attractive I am. An antique store is rarely a place where teenagers
go to shop, so exposure to people my age has been incredibly limited. Without regular
comparison to my peers, or being out anywhere that guys might hit on me, I have
no idea where I fit in.  Mom has always told me that I’m beautiful, but I’m her
kid and she has to say that.

I’m not
skinny, but I’m tall and mom says I have an hourglass figure and should be
proud of it.  My hair is long, just below my shoulders, and wavy; a curious
shade, not quite blond, but not quite red either. When I was very little, my
dad said it was like spun gold.  My face is heart-shaped accentuated by a
widow’s peak on my forehead, and my eyes are a clear, dark grey. My skin has an
olive tint thanks to Dad’s Spanish roots and my own addiction to sunshine, and
my complexion is generally clear, excluding the occasional raging pimple that
plagues everyone. But I do have a spray of freckles across my nose and cheeks
that no amount of makeup ever seems to cover up. I can thank my mom’s Celtic
heritage for that I suppose.

What I don’t
see in my reflection is the reason for Jake’s frenzied attraction to me. It’s
obvious after what happened today that he’s more than casually interested, but
I can’t understand it, or comprehend why it’s made him so angry. What frightens
me more is the flash of exhilaration I felt when his lips first crashed into
mine. Developing a crush on Jake is a really, really bad idea.

With a sudden
wave of dizziness I realize Jake has given me my first kiss. At the thought,
tears stream down my face and a choked sob escapes me. I feel like my chest is
caving in, as though Jake actually beat me senseless. In all my imaginings, all
those lonely afternoons at the store, watching happy couples window shopping,
seeing thoughtful men coming in to buy their fiancés antique jewelry, dreaming
of the day my own moment would come, being assaulted and ending up with a bloody
lip wasn’t part of the fantasy.

There is a
bitter tang on my tongue as I realize how Jake has stolen this from me, has
poisoned a desire I have cherished for so long, one of the hopes I wanted to
fulfill when I came to school. It’s gone now, and I can’t get it back.

A clinking
noise at my window startles me from my depression and I turn, frowning. When it
comes again, it sounds like pebbles being tossed at the glass, but that can’t
be it. I can’t imagine anything more stereotypical, so it can’t be possible.

The tapping
comes again, so I hastily wipe my face and trip over to the window, my heart
pounding uncomfortably. For a moment I can’t see anything outside. Twilight has
come and gone and our miniscule yard is blanketed in shadows. As my eyes adjust
to the darkness I can make out a man-like shape and panic clutches at my chest.
A small glow flickers into life and the man’s features are thrown into relief,
revealing Cole, holding a lighter, smiling as he looks up at me.

My heart skips
a beat, but it’s not from fear this time. An answering smile creases my face
and when he waves for me to come down, I have to force myself not to run down
the stairs.

Mom is still
sitting in the living room, curled up on our circa 1980’s green sofa, a thick
flannel blanket tucked around her feet. She glances up at me as I enter the
room with a sleepy smile. I look around the cozy room, smaller than at our old
house, but more comfortable somehow. When we moved, we had to downgrade our
style of living a bit to cover the moving costs and the new store. Our old
house had three bedrooms; but now we are down to two, and a bathroom we have to
share. The rooms are a bit more cramped in this house, a pre-fab built sometime
in the eighties, and it has a lot less character than our old historic home,
but we’ve adjusted surprisingly well. I think part of it is the thrill of
starting over, of finding this town where we have no ties, no previous
obligations.

It’s also the
fact we are on our own. When we left Virginia, Mom drew up an agreement
releasing my father from any further financial obligations. He’d been paying
alimony and child support since he left when I was eight, but she let it slip
that she wanted to cut all ties when we moved, including him. I respect her for
it, and have tried not to make any unreasonable demands when it comes to money,
hoping to make the transition easier.

I hate the
idea of being indebted to my father as much as she does.

“I miss having
a man in my life,” she says, giving me a finger wave. I blink, surprised to
hear that she’s thinking of dating again. She only had one boyfriend since Dad
left, a year-long affair with a perennially immature artist who ended up
cheating on her. She’s been gun-shy since.

“Been watching
romantic comedies again?” I tease. She widens her eyes and then blushes,
realizing what I have heard.

“Caught me. I
just met a really nice man in the shop this afternoon. He was looking for a vintage
cigarette case. Very cute.”

I grin at her.
“Go for it. You’re still totally hot,” I say, ducking out of the way as she
swats at me. “Speaking of cute guys, there’s one waiting for me outside. Mind
if we go for a walk?”

“Bring him to
the door to meet me first,” she stipulates and I groan. “I just want to see
what Harpers Ferry has to offer!” She puts up her hands as though warding off
an attack. I almost argue, but this playful exchange makes me hesitate. It’s the
friendliest we’ve been with each other lately and I don’t want to ruin it.

“Fine. Hang
on.” I stomp to the door, making sure she notes that I’m doing this under
protest. Cole is sitting on the porch steps and jumps to his feet, grinning
wickedly.            

“Hey,” I say,
grinning.

“I’m drawn to
you,” he says, and my heart slams against my chest in one great thrust. He
watches me curiously, and I can see him wondering what he’s revealed about
himself. I clear my throat and forge ahead.      

“So, my mom
wants to meet you. Do you mind?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious, wondering if
he’ll read something into my request.

“Not at all.
Mothers love me,” he promises, his smile widening.

 I blow out a
breath in relief and wave him in, noticing with appreciation the tight cut of
his jeans and his confident stride. It’s impossible not to compare him to Jake,
and I find myself wishing that my first kiss had been with Cole. It’s funny how
his overtly bad boy image is so misleading, how Jake, the golden boy, is really
the dangerous one.

“Mrs.
MacKenna, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Cole Durant. I know your daughter from
school,” he lies smoothly, giving me a subtle wink. A smile twitches my lips as
the faint hum of the falsehood dances under my skin. I have no intention of
correcting him, since I doubt my mom would be thrilled about me meeting him on
his motorcycle.

“I’m so glad
Derry is making friends already. Between you, Nicole, and Jake, she really
seems to be fitting in.”

I nearly choke
at her statement, and Cole’s smile loses some of its zest. “How did you know
about Jake, Mom?” I finally spit out. She glances at me, confused by the shock
in my voice.

“Oh, I guess I
didn’t mention. The man who came in the shop today is his father, Geoffrey
Wise. He told me Jake mentioned you.  He said you two are in journalism
together.”

Cole cuts a
glance my way, and I could swear there is an accusing look in his eyes. I
swallow my initial response and force a smile. “Yeah, that’s right. We are. We
haven’t really talked much though,” I mumble, noticing the keenness in Cole’s
expression as he surveys my face, his eyes locking on my split lip.

“Well, it’s
still nice. Ok you two, have fun. Be back by ten,” she says, waving us off.
Cole shakes her hand and says something complimentary that makes her laugh
before he puts a hand to my back and propels me out the door. He waits until we
are at the edge of the yard before he swings around and takes my chin gently in
his hand. Even though I know he is only doing it to get a closer look at my
lip, my skin tingles under his fingertips.

“What did he
do?” Cole demands fiercely, eyes narrowed in anger. An insidious finger of
dread strokes the back of my neck and I shiver. Cole closes his eyes and
immediately the feeling dissipates. He opens his eyes and gives me a sheepish
look. “Sorry. Lost control for a second there. Are you okay?”

I mean to tell
him I’m fine, not to worry, but the contrast between his momentary loss of
control and Jake’s strikes me hard and I gasp, tears welling up and preventing
me from answering.

Cole’s
expression is stricken and he raises his other hand to tenderly trace my
cheekbone soothingly, his eyes deep pools of remorse.

“Oh, Derry,
I’m sorry.  Please don’t cry,” he whispers forlornly. I shake my head and try
to get control of myself, mortified I’m having this reaction. I draw in a
steadying breath and attempt a smile.

“It’s not you,
Cole. I swear. It’s just been a long day.”

Relief softens
his expression and he strokes my cheek with his thumb, moving slightly closer,
the warm, spicy scent of oranges and cloves clinging to his skin. “I know Jake
did something. How did you get a split lip?” he asks more calmly. I hesitate,
wondering if I can get out of telling him, but the resolve in his gaze tells me
I have no choice.

“We had…an
argument. He was trying to apologize for yesterday, and I asked him what it was
about me that made him so angry and I kept pushing. He just…flipped out and
shoved me into the wall and kissed me; it was rough, and he didn’t let go at
first.”

Cole’s
expression is terrifying, and he drops his hands, clenching his fists so tight
I can see the veins in his arms; he glares past me, eyes dark, no longer
reflecting the light from the porch.

“He said he
was sorry, and I know he was. I just…I guess I underestimated his strength. I
shouldn’t have pushed him.”

            Cole’s attention
snaps back to me and some of the anger fades. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.
He has issues with control, and yeah, it can be difficult. But he should never
have even touched you, much less drawn blood. I’ll kill him,” he growls, the fury
swelling again.

Tentatively I
reach out and touch his arm. “It’s over, Cole. I told him to leave me alone,
and I think he will. Don’t worry about it.”

A rueful smile
twists his lips and his shoulders relax. “I didn’t mean that. But we are going
to have a little brother-to-brother chat. I’ll make it clear you’re off limits.
I’m staking my claim.” There is a glint in his eyes that makes my pulse pick
up.

Blood rushes
to my cheeks and I bite my lip in confusion, wincing as I pull at the sensitive
skin. “I don’t…um…what?”  I stammer, totally lost for words. I’ve watched
people flirt for years thinking I was picking up technique, but now, faced with
Cole’s dark beauty and the brush of his skin against mine, my mind has gone
empty and I’m left a blithering idiot.

“Well, at
least it wasn’t your first kiss, right?” he asks playfully, but I can hear the
buried interest. My face falls and I look away. “It was?” His pitch rises with
surprise, but I fix my gaze on a tree behind him, staring at it like it holds
all the answers.