Son of the Enemy (11 page)

John leaned forward and crossed his forearms on the table. “Listen to me carefully.” He waited until Ty was making eye contact before he continued. “I’m assuming there are no drugs on you now, okay? Just like there won’t be when you come out of that restroom over there.” He nodded toward it. “Do you understand?”

Ty’s blue eyes were wide and moist. He nodded slowly.

“I’m also assuming there are no traces of drugs in your room or anywhere else in the house or on your property. No stems, no seeds, no roaches, clips, papers, mirrors. Nothing. Are you following me?”

“I think so,” Ty said hoarsely.

“So there would be no reason why you would have to tell anyone, including me, that you’re in possession, so no one would ever be in a position to give you advice that might be considered unethical, or even illegal.” He sat back. “That worry will be gone from your mind, and your father will probably let you live.”

Ty gave him a shaky smile. “And the cops won’t have any reason to arrest me.”

“Right. And I won’t have any reason to kick your bony little ass around the block.”

Ty stared at him. “You’d really kick my ass?”

John leaned forward until his nose was only inches from Ty’s. “You want to find out?”

Ty slid from the booth and stood. “No way.” He backed toward the restroom. “No thanks.” There was fear in his expression, but John could see right through it to the relief in the boy’s eyes.

Somebody gave a shit.

Ty entered the house through the kitchen and literally tiptoed up the back steps to his room. The first thing he had to do was get rid of every bit of dope he had in there, if he could remember where he’d stashed it all. He pushed the door open and was greeted by a strong lemony smell—some kind of cleaner. The carpet had been newly vacuumed, his bed was made, his clothes picked up. It didn’t look like his room at all. What the hell was going on? Nobody ever touched his room unless he said it was okay. It was his sanctuary, and up until now it hadn’t been breached. He’s gone one night, and they come in and sanitize the place?

Then he noticed a bunch of his posters were gone. The giant marijuana leaf, even some of the bands, but they’d left the old Bart Simpson and
Lord of the Rings
posters. What the hell? He shucked off the ratty jacket and went to his dresser. He had some pot stashed in his bottom drawer so he opened that one first.

“Holy Christ.” Someone had folded all his clothes. He stuck his hand in and felt around, then checked every other drawer until it was clear his stash was missing. He felt numb.

It was the same story in his closet. His bong was missing, and the tennis-ball can where he’d hidden a baggie stuffed with some fine Jamaican.
Holy shit.
He backed out of his closet and sat on the bed. It was almost as though they figured he was dead and went through his stuff, throwing everything out and straightening it up so some other kid—the perfect one his parents would have preferred—could move in.

He lay back against the pillows, careful not to put his dirty sneakers on the clean comforter. He felt strangely hollowed out. By now Frankie from the guardhouse would have let his father know he was home. All the way over on John’s motorcycle, he had planned out what he would say. He’d start by apologizing for not calling, explain that he was just freaked out about Christian and needed time to get his head together, deny that he had done up any of the coke, because that’s what his dad would want to hear, accept the punishment his dad would no doubt mete out, which would be no sweat because his dad wouldn’t follow through anyway, and then promise to be better. But first he would get his ass up to his room and get rid of everything before the police showed up with a search warrant.

It never occurred to him that his father would have someone else take care of it for him. And make it look like some fucking preppie lived in the room.

He didn’t bother to sit up when he heard footsteps approach his door, didn’t answer when his father knocked and called his name. The door opened, and there was his old man, dressed for success in a dark pinstriped suit, white shirt and red power tie. Smiling, for Christ’s sake. Maybe he’d had a double Bloody Mary for breakfast.

“Why didn’t you answer?” his dad asked. “Are you okay?”

Ty shrugged, wishing he could have stayed on the back of John Emerson’s bike and just kept going so he didn’t have to feel so…irrelevant. So unnecessary. Extraneous.
Worthless
.

“Well, come on downstairs,” his dad said. “The sheriff’s department is on their way to take your statement.”

That got him sitting up. “Now? But how did they—?”

“We’ll be in my study. And don’t look so worried. Just tell the truth and everyone will be happy.”

The truth?
Was he nuts?
He obviously knew Ty had been up to his asshole in dope.
“Uh, Dad, shouldn’t we talk about this first? I mean, to get my story straight?”

“And throw on some clean clothes,” his father said, closing the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, having showered and changed into his least baggie jeans and a rugby shirt he couldn’t remember ever wearing, Ty walked into his father’s study—and stopped dead. The freak was sitting there, sipping a glass of iced tea and smiling at him like he was some long-lost friend. Ty felt something cold run down his spine.

“Hello again,” the guy said, and Ty nearly turned and ran back up to his room. His father and another man, who Ty figured was the cop, were holding coffee mugs.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to get out of that shower,” his father said with a chuckle. The cop laughed.

“I have a boy a few years older than you, Ty,” the cop said, “and it’s a battle for the hot water every time he comes home from college.” He stood and held out his hand. “Detective Martin, Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Ty felt like he was in the twilight zone. He shook the detective’s hand without speaking.

“Mr. Kellerman here just gave his statement about what happened yesterday,” Detective Martin said. “You obviously saved your friend’s life.”

Mr. Kellerman
. Ty couldn’t look at him. “I, um…I did?”

His dad came and stood beside him. “Don’t be so modest, Ty. Mr. Kellerman saw and heard the whole thing. He heard you trying to talk Christian out of snorting the coke and then, after he collapsed, he saw you give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” He laid his arm across Ty’s shoulders. “I’m very proud of you, son.”

Ty risked a look at Kellerman, saw the twisted glee in those pearly blue eyes and the secret smile, and knew without a doubt that the guy wanted something in return for saving his ass. He was up to something bad. Something unnatural.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Ty said.

Chapter Ten

It was four thirty when Hannah lowered herself into an easy chair in her office, slipped off her shoes, put her feet up on the ottoman and sat back to sip some freshly brewed coffee. She hadn’t had a minute to herself all day. The meeting with the students first thing this morning had been hard, because they’d wanted answers she simply didn’t have. The good news was Christian had finally regained consciousness, but the hospital staff would only discuss the specifics of his condition with his immediate family, and they weren’t returning her calls.

An hour ago, Thornton had held an impromptu news conference in front of the courthouse where Judge Palmieri’s trial was being held. He talked about how confident he was the judge would be found innocent and, in response to the reporters’ questions, dismissed as ludicrous accusations that he was a drug dealer. Most surprising to Hannah, though, was that a detective from the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department had stepped up and announced that Ty Bradshaw’s involvement in the “drug incident” at the school had amounted to him trying to stop his friend from taking the drugs and then performing life-saving CPR on him before running to get help. The detective had called Ty a hero.

Hannah was reserving judgment.

She braced herself when someone knocked on the door. Why couldn’t they all just go home and leave her alone? “Come in,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Way to make a guy feel welcome,” John said from the doorway.

She smiled at him. “Be thankful I didn’t throw something at you. Want some coffee?”

“Yeah, I’ll just help myself.”

“That’s good, because you’d have to blast me out of this chair.”

Instead of going straight to the credenza, he squatted beside her. “Long day, huh?”

“You were a rock. Thanks for all your help.”

He mugged for her. “Mmm, I was hoping for a little gratitude.” She blew him a kiss. “Cute,” he said. He rose and got himself some coffee. “I overheard a couple of the kids talking about Ty. They’re not buying the hero bit.”

“Are you?”

He perched on the ottoman beside her feet, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. “Not completely, no. But whoever this witness is, the police consider him credible. And Ty did say there was a guy in the woods when it happened.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe the guy thought he heard Ty trying to talk Christian out of snorting the stuff, when he was actually telling him not to snort it
all
.”

“Save some for him, you mean. That makes more sense. Much as I hate to say it.”

John set his mug on the floor, pulled her foot onto his lap and began to massage. The first time he rubbed his thumb across her instep a surge of erotic energy shot through her body. She groaned, laid her head back and closed her eyes, giving herself over completely to the sensation.

“Mmmm. Nice, isn’t it?” His deep voice rolled over her like a caress. Good Lord, he was turning her on and he knew it. Well, she sure wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“Mmmm,” she echoed.

“I’m also available for full-body massages. No appointment necessary.”

The image that statement provoked had its desired effect. She swallowed. “Would I have to compete for a spot?”

His hands stopped moving for a moment. “No. You’d be my only customer.”

“Have you ever been married? Or lived with anyone?” Her voice betrayed her vulnerability and she didn’t like it. She started to pull her foot back but he held on. “That’s really none of my—”

“I’d like to make it your business.”

She opened her eyes.

“I’ve never been married or even close to it,” he said. “I’ve avoided exclusive relationships like the plague because someone always gets hurt.” He paused, and in that fraction of a second she sensed an old hurt in him.

“Were your parents divorced?” she asked quietly.

He nodded tightly and closed his eyes for an extra beat. “Before I have kids I’m going to make damn sure I’ve married the right woman.”

“How will you know?”

His eyes flashed. “I’ll know when I love a woman so much I’d be willing to sacrifice anything to be with her. Nothing and no one would stand in my way.”

“I wish my mother had married a man like that,” she said.

There were two knocks, and Edna peered around the partially opened door. “It’s okay,” Hannah called out, pulling her foot out of his hands quickly.

The woman stepped inside, eyes behind large tinted glasses trained on the two of them. Her bobbed hair was almost completely gray but her face was unlined, making it difficult to guess her age. A long gray-and-blue Georgetown sweatshirt covered flowered polyester pants. Bright red lipstick glistened from unsmiling lips.

“Hope I’m not botherin’ you, Miss Duncan.”

“Not at all, Edna. Go ahead and empty the baskets. I’ll be out of here soon and then you can vacuum, okay?”

“You just take your time.”

“How’s Mary doing?”

Edna reached down and pulled the black trash bag out of a square plastic bin and deftly tied a knot at the top. “Improving bit by bit. Doctor said it will be a few more weeks.”

“Well, you give her my love and tell her I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

“I sure will.”

John stood and approached Edna with his hand outstretched. His father had taught him as a child to treat people from all walks of life the same, and if anyone other than a cleaning lady had walked into that room he would have introduced himself. “I’m John,” he said. “We’ve never actually met.”

Edna clutched the full black bag tightly and gave him a tight nod. “Hello.”

“I understand you’re filling in for someone.” His hand was still extended.

Edna finally put out her hand, offering John only the ends of her thick, cold fingers to shake. “I’m filling in for my friend Mary,” she said, and pulled her hand back as though he’d stung her.

“Oh, is she ill?”

“Yes.”

“I think we’re done here,” Hannah said from behind him. “Let’s let Edna do her work so she can get home to her son.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Edna,” John said. Edna apparently didn’t take much pleasure in meeting him, though, if the narrowing of her eyes behind those glasses was any indication.

“Leaving so soon?” Edna asked Hannah. “I hope I’m not—”

“No, no, it’s not you. It’s been a long day is all.”

“I’d be happy to come back later to vacuum. My son’s out till all hours anyway.” There was a petulant tone to Edna’s words that John found intriguing. It was as though by leaving, Hannah was denying her a chance to play the martyr. He sighed. He knew several women with that particular hang-up.

“It’s my fault she’s leaving,” John said, smiling. “She’s finally going to let me buy her dinner.”

Damn if Edna’s gaze didn’t shoot straight over to where Hannah had moved to the other side of her desk. Hannah glanced up at him, but didn’t appear to notice Edna staring at her.

“I really can’t tonight,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

A flash of disappointment zinged through him. If no one else had been in the room, he would have pushed the invitation further, but he wasn’t about to give Edna the satisfaction of seeing him beg. The woman rubbed him wrong, just as she did Hannah.

“You do need to get some rest.” Edna was smiling now, her tone maternal. “You’ve been looking tired lately. Not sleeping?”