Reunion Mission. Virginia Vaughan

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      His mother’s hands shook, so she clenched them together, fighting to keep her composure. “Last night. He said he was going out with friends.”

      “You didn’t see him when he came home?”

      “No, I was already asleep. Luke was a very independent boy. He didn’t take a lot of oversight. If he said he was going to be home by midnight, he was. I didn’t think anything about it. I left the house early this morning for a meeting. I assumed he was still sleeping upstairs.”

      “Luke was a good kid,” Mr. Thompson said. “He had a lot of friends.”

      “Do you know if Luke was involved in any kind of drug use?”

      “What? No. I would know if my son was doing drugs. Luke was too smart to do something that dumb.”

      Matt stepped forward and produced his DEA credentials. “My name is Matt Ross. I’m with the DEA. Your son contacted me with information he had about a drug ring operating in Lakeshore. I believe that’s what got him killed.”

      “You think Luke was using drugs?” Mr. Thompson asked.

      “We believe he was doing more than taking them. We believe he was selling, as well,” Matt said.

      Matt watched his reaction and saw the typical parental denial. It seemed genuine, though. It didn’t appear that the Thompsons knew about Luke’s extracurricular activities.

      “We gave Luke everything he needed,” Mr. Thompson said. “Why would he be involved with selling drugs? He certainly didn’t need the money. I don’t want you spreading these lies about my son. He wasn’t doing drugs and he certainly wasn’t selling them, regardless of what you say. Someone killed my son. Concentrate on finding that person, not on vilifying my boy.”

      It wasn’t the first time Matt had seen parents refuse to admit the truth about their kids. Luke was dead and they would do whatever they could to preserve their memory of him. But Matt had another job—uncovering the truth. And the truth was that Luke had reached out to him, offering information about a drug ring operating out of the school. The kid had known something. If only they’d had the opportunity to talk more in depth.

      His mind skimmed over the initial details Luke had given on the phone. He’d identified the drug being sold in his school as Trixie, and he’d hinted someone inside was involved.

      Had Luke told Claire who it was? Was she too frightened to tell, after seeing what had happened to Luke? Or was she truly as innocent as she claimed to be?

      Someone believed she knew more, or else why lure her to the school? To find out what Luke had told her? Or to make certain she didn’t know more than she should? If he knew the answer to that, he might know whether the attacker had planned to question her or kill her if Matt hadn’t shown up.

      How had Claire gotten involved in this mess? The Claire he’d known had been kind and innocent. It didn’t matter that years had passed since he’d last seen her. He couldn’t imagine she’d changed. People simply didn’t change that much. But then when he’d known her, she hadn’t been counseling drug dealers, either. Had her involvement with Luke placed a target on her back?

      Matt remained quiet as Preston ended the conference with the Thompsons, assuring them again that the police would do everything in their power to bring Luke’s killer to justice. As they were leaving, Matt slipped out. He walked back to the main office, but Claire wasn’t there. He found her in one of the other classrooms using the sink in the corner to fill a coffeepot with water. She still wore his jacket, which made her look small and petite. Wisps of dark hair fell across her cheek, loosened from their clip during her struggle. They framed her beautiful face and her big blue eyes—eyes he’d spent years gazing lovingly into, and many more years dreaming of.

      She eyed him watching her. “I figure they’ll be wanting some coffee soon. I thought I would make a pot.”

      He smiled. That was so Claire. Trying to take care of everyone else when she was the one who’d experienced an awful fright. He was suddenly tongue-tied, uncertain of what to say to her in this moment when there was nothing but the past between them.

      “How have you been?” she asked, starting the awful, awkward conversation he’d known was coming.

      “I’ve been good,” he told her. “Real good.” He rubbed his face, trying without success to wipe away the overwhelming desire to take her in his arms again and assure her that everything would be fine. But as Preston Ware had pointed out, that was no longer his right to do. “So you became a teacher? What do you teach?”

      “Chemistry.”

      “You always were good at science. Better than me, that’s for sure.” He glanced around at the room they were in. He’d been holding back a slew of memories that had emerged the moment he’d stepped through the door into Lakeshore High. He’d spent four years at this school, good years. “Didn’t we have a class in this room?”

      She nodded. “Western Civ.”

      He grinned, remembering those days. “Coach Rollins. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

      “He died of a heart attack last year.”

      He forgot he wasn’t just reminiscing with some old friend. She’d been here in town. She’d kept up with all those people he’d left behind. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      “Look, Matt, there are a lot of places in this building, even in this town, where we took classes or hung out together. I know it must be awkward for you, but I face those places every day. I put those memories behind me a long time ago.”

      Ouch, right to the point. “Claire, I owe you an apology.”

      “Don’t. Please don’t apologize. We were just kids back then.”

      “The accident—”

      “Was just an accident, Matt.”

      “I shouldn’t have been drinking and driving.”

      “We were both drinking that night. We both used bad judgment.”

      “Then you at least have to let me apologize for leaving the way I did.”

      “It’s not necessary.”

      He flashed back to the night of the accident and the sight of her broken body being pulled out from the wrecked car. It was the image of her he’d carried with him for the past ten years. “You look good, Claire. Are you... Is everything okay?”

      She nodded. “It took a few surgeries and a lot of rehab, but I’m okay now.” She rubbed her hip unconsciously and he wondered if it bothered her. He’d noticed her limping earlier. “You are hurt,” he said, motioning to her hip.

      She reddened, then waved away his concern. “It’s nothing.”

      “You need to have that checked out.”

      “It’s nothing,” she insisted, and the red on her face deepened. “It’s from an old injury. It just acts up on occasion.”

      He realized her old СКАЧАТЬ