Secrets And Lies. Shirlee McCoy

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      She walked into the room, smiling at the little sign one of the teachers had hung on the refrigerator door—a smiley face with Smiles Don’t Happen Here scrawled across it.

      Not true, of course.

      Desert Valley High was a nice place to work—good teachers, good principal, good kids, supportive parents. A dream come true, really.

      If a person still had dreams.

      Ariel’s had all died when Mitch had thrown the cash at her and screamed that he wanted her and the baby gone from his life.

      “Cut it out,” she muttered, sliding the prompt into the copy machine and closing the lid. The last thing she needed to do was dwell on the past. She had an entire future to plan out and live. She also had a baby who would need her to be strong, focused and positive.

      Somewhere in the school a door slammed shut, the sound faint but audible. Tristan McKeller. It had to be. The rest of the staff had gone home for the night. Ariel had been alone in the building since the head custodian, Jethro Right, had told her to lock the main doors when she left.

      That was one of the nice things about being in a school this size. She had a key to the main door and could come and go as she pleased.

      She left the machine and hurried into the corridor.

      At least, she tried to hurry. The baby was gaining weight rapidly at this point, the heaviness of the pregnancy slowing Ariel down more than she’d imagined it would. She’d always been an athlete—cross-country, volleyball, soccer. She’d had to slow down the past month or so, but she still walked every day and coached the girl’s track team.

      By the time she reached her classroom, she was slightly out of breath, her heart racing as if she’d done the hundred-yard dash. The door was closed, no light spilling out from beneath it. Had she closed it? Had she turned off the light?

      She couldn’t remember doing either, and she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, a shiver of warning working its way up her spine. There’d been moments since she’d left Las Vegas when the old fears had haunted her, when she’d found herself checking and rechecking the locks on the windows and doors of the little house she lived in. She’d found out a lot of things about Mitch after he’d died, things that had made her question herself and her ability to judge people, that had made her wonder if her entire marriage had been based on lies. According to the police, she’d been married to a criminal—a guy who’d laundered money through the casino where he’d worked, an arsonist who’d collected money after helping others commit insurance fraud. If he were alive, Mitch would be in jail.

      He wasn’t, and sometimes Ariel thought that the people he owed, the ones who the police said always played for keeps, might come after her to get what they were owed.

      She shivered, backing away from the door. She couldn’t imagine Mia’s brother walking into her classroom, closing the door and turning off the light, and she really didn’t think she’d done either of those things herself. She’d heard a door slam. Someone was in the school. Anyone who had any business being there would make themselves known, not wander around stealthily turning off lights.

      She’d left her purse in the room, her wallet, her phone, but she could get those later. There was nothing wrong with being careful, after all. Nothing at all wrong with waiting for someone else to walk her into the room.

      Heading up the corridor, she thought she heard the soft swish of a door opening behind her and turned, then saw her door swinging open, a man stepping out. Thin. Tall. Face masked by a stocking or a ski mask? He had something in his hand and raised it. A gun! She darted around the corner as a bullet slammed into the wall near her head. Plaster and cement flew into her hair, pinging off her cheek.

      She didn’t stop. She could hear his feet slapping against the tile, knew he’d be around the corner in heartbeat.

      Run! her mind shrieked, her body clumsy with eight months of pregnancy, her legs churning in slow-motion, time speeding forward, the footsteps growing closer.

      She ducked into the resource room, slamming the door closed, her hands trembling as she turned the lock. She stepped to the side just as a bullet flew through the door and smashed into a shelf of books that lined the far wall.

      She had to get out!

      The window was the only escape, and she ran to it, clawing at the lock mechanism. It didn’t budge.

      Behind her, something slammed into the door. Once. Twice. The door shook, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it flew open and the gunman appeared, weapon drawn and ready.

      Please, God, please! she prayed frantically as she searched the room for another way out. There wasn’t one, but an old computer monitor sat abandoned on the floor, wires tossed on top of it. She lifted it and slammed it into the window. A tiny hairline crack appeared. She slammed it again, and the glass cracked more. Behind her, the assault on the door continued, the wood starting to splinter and give.

      Please, she prayed again as she lifted the monitor and threw it with all her strength.

      * * *

      Glass shattering.

      Rookie K-9 officer Tristan McKeller heard it as he hooked his K-9 partner to a lead. The yellow lab cocked his head to the side, growling softly.

      “What is it, boy?” Tristan asked, scanning the school parking lot. Only one other vehicle was parked there—a shiny black minivan that he knew belonged to Ariel Martin. He was late to their meeting. That seemed to be the story of his life this summer. Work was crazy, and his sister was crazier, and finding time to meet with Mia’s summer school teacher? Nearly impossible. He’d already canceled two previous meetings. He couldn’t cancel this one. Not if Mia had any hope of getting through summer school and moving on to the next grade. That’s what Ariel had said when he’d pulled her aside at church last Sunday.

      She can do it, Tristan. She’s smart enough. We just have to find the right motivation. We’ll talk about it at the meeting. You are going to be there, right?

      Of course, he’d assured her that he would.

      What he hadn’t done was assure her that he’d be on time. A good thing, since it looked like he was going to be more than a few minutes late. Jesse was still growling, alerted to something that must have to do with the shattering glass. Kids fooling around and busting school windows? A ball tossed the wrong way, taking out a streetlight?

      He hoped it was something that innocuous, but he wasn’t counting on it. Things had been happening in Desert Valley, a string of crimes that seemed to have surprised everyone in the small town. Drug runners. A dirty cop. Murder.

      “Find!” he commanded, and Jesse took off, pulling against the leash in his haste to get to the corner of the building and around it. Trained in arson detection, the dog had an unerring nose for almost anything. Right now, he was on a scent, and Tristan trusted him enough to let him have his head.

      Glass glittered on the pavement twenty feet away, and Jesse beelined for it, barking raucously, his tail stiff and high.

      “Front!” Tristan said, and the dog returned to him, sitting impatiently, his dark eyes focused on the window.

      “Stay!” Tristan commanded, and Jesse dropped down with a grunted СКАЧАТЬ