Wraith (19 page)

Six feet in front of me was a car. And in the car
was Rod. His windshield was tinted so dark I could barely see him, but his
emotional aura was as heated, as violent, and as vile as any I’d ever felt.

I strode up to his window and rapped on it.

After a second that lasted an hour, the window in
front of me buzzed and began to lower. I stood at a comfortable distance; close
enough to talk, yet far enough away to make an easy retreat.

"Kali," Zane
pleaded, "This isn’t going to help anything. Just go back inside—"

"Hi, Rod," I
said calmly, doing my best to tune out Zane’s insistent voice. "My name is
Kali. I’m just visiting from Wyoming. It’s nice to meet you."

The dark pair of eyes that
met mine were red rimmed. The lids were swollen. His brow was creased into a
scowl.

"What do you
want?"

His voice, which was
higher pitched than I expected, coming from such a large guy, quavered a
little. But its tone was less than friendly.

"I want to clear up a
misunderstanding," I explained, my voice dropping to a soothing tone.
"And I want to do something to help Sofia."

The dark eyes fixed on
mine like laser beams. I felt the heat of his anger spike sharply, then recede.

"Why would you?"
he growled.

"Because," I
continued smoothly, "I agree that Sofia needs to be protected from whoever
hurt her. But you’ve got the wrong guy, Rod. I know you do."

His eyes left mine. His
fingers clutched the steering wheel in a death grip; his upper body tensed.
"You don’t know anything," he said menacingly. "You’re just
trying to get your lover boy off the hook."

Zane was saying something
else now. Screaming it, actually. But I blocked him out. I knew exactly what I
was doing. Despite Rod’s outward bravado, he was clearly unsettled … and
uncertain. I could feel it.

"I met Matt for the
first time yesterday," I stated matter of factly, "at about four
o’clock in the afternoon. His dad and my dad set it up so he could give me a
tour of the island. I was with him until late—at our condo on the North Shore.
He wasn’t anywhere near Honolulu."

I took in a breath. Matt
hadn’t left my house all that late, and I had no idea where or at what hour
Sofia had been assaulted. But it was worth a shot.

Rod showed no visible
reaction.

"I know Sofia asked
Matt to the dance, but I think she only did that as a cover," I rolled on.
"There’s nothing going on between them and there never has been. If there
were, Matt’s friends would have known about it, and they’re all completely
clueless. I asked them."

A little more fudging,
perhaps. But I was getting to Rod. He was no less angry… in fact, he seemed to
be getting even angrier. But his focus was shifting, his emotions were roiling
in general.

"You got a lot of
nerve throwing yourself into the middle of this!" he snarled, training his
eyes on mine again. "And what’s in it for you, huh? You just met this
asshole yesterday and now you’re desperately in love with him?" 

My shoulders slumped. Guys
were
so
freakin’ predictable. Feeling sheepish? Strike out harder.
Doesn’t matter who—just make a show; pick a fight.

Not this chick. Not taking
the bait.

"Somebody hurt
Sofia," I retorted calmly. "It wasn’t Matt, so there must be somebody
else. Somebody who’s still out there."

I said the last words
slowly, gauging his response at every syllable. He tore his eyes away; stared
straight ahead. Breaths came heavy and ragged in his chest. Then he released one
set of whitened knuckles from the steering wheel and ran a hand through his
inky black hair.

"I just want to beat
the crap out of somebody," he muttered. His expression was dark; his tone,
laced with venom. But inside, I could tell that his anger was slowly, painfully
defusing. It was taking a mortal hit, overcome by guilt… and shame.
"Doesn’t really matter who."

"Well, it
should!"
I blurted. "What good is it doing Sofia for you to chase some random guy
around the North Shore?"

"Maybe none," he
snapped. "But it will make me feel better."

He didn’t mean it. I knew
he didn’t. There was something else here, something eating him.

"Well," I said
softly, "It’s not about you, is it? It’s about Sofia."

Rod’s features hardened,
but the emotions I felt from him didn’t match. The dominant one right now was
hurt.

"Sofia doesn’t give a
damn about me," he mumbled.

I allowed myself a smile.
The emotions in this very passionate—and potentially dangerous—soul might be
complex, multilayered, and churning around in his gut like froth at the
Pipeline, but at bottom, he was not evil. He really loved that girl.

"Rod," I said
gently, "I think you’re wrong about that. Do you have any other idea who
could have done this to her? Some older guy maybe?"

His swollen eyes slid
toward mine. "She’s been hanging with some people she’s got no business
with. I’ve tried to tell her that, but she won’t listen to me. Her whole
family’s tried to tell her."

"Dangerous people?
Like what… criminals?"

He snorted.
"Whatever. Gang stuff. But I didn’t know there was a guy." He paused
a moment, lost in thought. "There’s got to be a guy."

"I think you’re
right," I agreed.

"She’s had these
bruises," he went on, more to himself than to me. "I saw them, and I
kept asking her about it, but she just kept blowing it off. A couple weeks ago
her whole cheek was purple, and when I asked her about that, she got mad—told
me it was none of my business. Then she started in hassling me about how cute
she thought Matt was, and how she was going to ask him to that stupid dance."
He snorted again. "She knew that would get to me. Him in particular."

His rage had all but
subsided. Regret, irritation, sorrow… then suddenly, a flare of ire again.

"And the day before
he’s supposed to take
her
to the dance, he’s out screwing around with
you!"
Rod flung at me, his lips curled into a snarl. I was taken aback, but only for
a second, until I remembered the scene at Saint Anthony’s. Rod might not have
known about the assault then, but he was already suspicious that Sofia was
being mistreated. Seeing the guy she claimed to like out with another girl,
publicly dissing Sofia without a care, had been too much for him.

The boy had it bad.

He was also not the
brightest bulb in the factory. And I was getting a little irritated myself.
"Sofia doesn’t give a damn about Matt!" I fired at him. "She
never did! Can’t you see that?"

"No!" He said
sulkily.

I resisted rolling my
eyes, but just barely.

"Whoever beat Sofia
up is clearly dangerous, that’s why she’s been keeping her relationship with
him
a secret—from you, from her family, from everybody. At first, she was probably
just afraid her family wouldn’t approve, but then when things got violent, she
got scared. Maybe he’s threatened her family if she tells. Did you think of
that?"

Rod considered a moment,
then shook his head. "She would tell me."

"She would not!"
I argued. "She wouldn’t want you anywhere near the guy!"

He scoffed. "So why
is she running around with Matt, then?"

I resisted a strong urge
to smack him.

"Because she wants to
throw you off track, you moron! She’s
not
running around with Matt; they
barely know each other—she only asked him to the dance to keep you and
everybody else from figuring out what was really going on!"

The wheels in his brain
seemed to turn at last… slowly.

"So," he said
flatly, meeting my gaze. "She never did like Matt."

I exhaled with a huff.
"If she did, do you really think she’d lead you to believe that he was the
one slapping her around? Knowing perfectly well that you’d go beat the crap out
of him?"

His tightened lips
suddenly twisted into—unbelievably—a grin.

I felt a stab of
disloyalty in purporting that Rod would, in fact, get the best of Matt in a
fair fight. But Matt would have to forgive me. Rod’s anger was all but
quenched—I needed only to pump him up a little, get his focus on helping Sofia
and off the macho vendetta.

"Whoever this guy is,
he’s seriously dangerous, Rod. And Sofia’s going to  need professional help to
get out of it. You’ve got to get her to call a hotline—for domestic violence.
They know how to deal with this stuff."

Rod scowled again.
"If she’d only tell me who—"

"Well, she’s not
going to," I interrupted. "And I don’t blame her. Because your hot
head would only make things worse. She’s got to want to help herself, Rod.
She’s got to make the decision to get away from this guy. You can help her
by—"

"She obviously
doesn’t want my help!" he snapped. "Don’t you get that? She doesn’t
care about me at all!"

Now I really,
really
wanted to smack him.

"Will you please stop
and think
about it!" I practically yelled. "She’s kept her
mouth shut, she went to all the effort to lay a false trail with Matt, all to
keep you from finding out who this guy is! Why would she do that? Because, you
idiot, she’s scared to death that if you went after him, this maniac would beat
the crap out of
you
!"

My voice seemed to bounce
off the concrete block wall behind me, echoing in an otherwise surprisingly
quiet moment. I threw a worried glance over my shoulder, wondering if Matt
could hear. Zane, whose presence I had forgotten, caught my eye and promptly
disappeared. He returned two seconds later, shaking his head. "Matt didn’t
hear," he said quietly. "He's inside."

I turned my attention back
to Rod. He sat hunched over the wheel now, shoulders slumped. He looked exhausted.
His emotional storm of rage had broken at last, replaced with a gurgling
mixture of relief, regret, and—much to my delight—a brewing warmth I could only
attribute to love.

He said nothing further.

I took a step away.
"Get online and search on domestic violence," I suggested. "Get
a hotline number and give it to her. Call it yourself and see what they say.
It’s the best thing you can do for her. Really."

He did not look at me
again. My words were met with a barely perceptible, grudging nod.

He rolled up the window. I
watched him drive away.

Unfortunately, so did
Matt.

"Kali!" he
called out, nearly colliding with me as I turned the corner of the building.
"Where were you? Was that Rod’s Mustang?"

I took Matt’s hand in mine
and led him back towards his own car. "Yes, it was," I said simply.
"We had a nice conversation. Everything’s fine." Feeling a sudden,
almost giddy surge of relief, I swung our hands merrily in the air. "Do
you need to get home," I asked with a smile, "or do you want to take
a walk on the beach?"

I told Matt everything.
Well, everything except the parts that would totally freak him out—like my
ability to sense Rod’s emotions, and of course, anything about Zane. It wasn’t
all that difficult to let him believe, without my specifically saying so, that
I had spied Rod lurking at the school myself, or that I was just particularly
good at reading people. The last part was true anyway, or at least I always
thought it was. Now I had to wonder how much of my perceptiveness was based on cues
anyone could see or hear, and how much was really… something else.

We checked in with my
parents, who were still awake and cuddled up on the couch watching a rerun of
Hawaii
5-0
, then left our shoes on the deck and headed out toward the sand.

It was a relatively
windless night. The stars had returned to the sky, and the waves were as low as
I had seen them. Zane would be disappointed. I wondered where the surfer had
gotten to; I hadn’t seen him since we reached the condo. He hadn’t said a word
since the gas station.

Matt took my hand.
"Kali, girl," he said cheerfully, "I don’t even know what to say
to you. You fly onto this rock and within two days you’ve got everybody at
Frederick High half in love with you. You showed all my friends how to Dance
with a capital D, you helped some girl you’ve never even met get some real
help—hopefully—and you kept me from busting up my knuckles on Rod’s ugly face.
Not a bad showing at all."

I smiled back. Matt didn’t
know about Rod’s knife. I couldn’t explain how I knew about it, but mainly I’d
left it out because Matt was ticked enough already that I had confronted Rod
alone in the parking lot. He got over it quickly, but I wasn’t inclined to take
chances on an even longer lecture—or add fuel to the fire of the guys’ ongoing
rivalry. Matt was under the impression that if he and Rod had clashed tonight,
Rod would have gotten the worst of it.

I was content to let him
think that.

"Well, what can I
say?" I said lightly. "Frederick High knows how to show a girl an
exciting time."