By the Pale Moonlight (Book One of the Moonlight Series) (23 page)

I laughed despite myself. "It's no big deal.
I bet there are plenty of guys who would love to take you out. You
just have to give someone a chance."

At that, she cracked her fingers and peered
at me. "Really?"

"Of course! Geez, girl. It's just a
dance."

She dropped her hands in her lap. "That's
easy for you to say. I bet you've never sat home on a Saturday
night."

I gave her a stern look. "Please. I've spent
plenty of time at home—alone," I added when she rolled her eyes.
"If we have to go to this dance," I sighed. "And clearly we have
to—we might as well make the best of it. That means I want you in a
dress, with a date, having a good time."

She still looked doubtful.

I plunged the key into the ignition and slid
my sunglasses in place. "Trust me. I'll take care of
everything."

We rode in silence. My thoughts shifted gears
to other matters.

"You have no idea how lucky you are." Melanie
said, breaking the silence. Sadness pulled the corners of her mouth
down, and her hazel eyes dropped to the foot well. "This is all so
easy for you. Dances—boys, clothes. I envy you."

"It's easy, Mel—I'll help you."

She nodded, glancing out the window at the
buildings rushing by. "I miss her so much. Miss talking to
her."

I didn't know what to say. I suddenly felt
very selfish for my distracted thoughts. Mere words couldn't erase
or take back all that she had lost, and the last thing I wanted was
to add to her pain.

"It must be so hard," I said finally, knowing
my response wasn't even close to being adequate.

She nodded, dark hair falling across her face
to hide her expression. "Sometimes I wish I could take back that
night—change what happened."

"I know..." I reached across the seat and
squeezed her hand. "We'll find the person who did this. I
promise."

She swallowed and nodded, a determined glint
hardening her eyes. "Speaking of which, we better get to the
library."

A couple of hours later, Melanie and I
emerged from the library, exhausted from yet another fruitless
search.

"Maybe we'll find something in these books,"
Melanie said, always one to look on the positive side. She pushed a
lock of hair behind her ear and shifted her load of books to the
opposite hip.

"Maybe." I didn't want to admit to the
sinking feeling that settled over me. Left with few options, we'd
resorted to checking out works geared toward understanding dog
behavior. I doubted they would be much help.

She caught my eye and frowned at my slumped
shoulders. "Come on, Mac. We'll find something."

"Yeah." I flashed her a smile I didn't feel,
relieved to see Ty's car parked ahead of us.

My thoughts were ten paces ahead of me, and I
stopped myself several times before I blurted out my plans to
Melanie. I knew she wouldn't approve. My reasons would never
justify the methods I was about to take. And the last thing I
wanted was hers—or even worse, Ty's—disapproval.

Melanie looked up in surprise when I turned
on to her street. "I thought we were going back to your place?" she
said, raising an eyebrow when I slid Ty's car to a stop in front of
her house.

"I know that was the plan," I said, unable to
look at her directly. Instead, I made a big deal of gazing at a
passing car outside of my window. "But I have to run a couple of
errands first."

"Oh," she said, her brows knitting together.
She considered me for a couple of long beats, and at last I was
forced to look at her. I'm not sure whether or not she gleaned
anything from what I hoped was a blank expression, but a moment
later she was exiting the car. She slammed the door closed and
leaned in to look at me. "I'll come around later. Eight sound
good?"

I nodded, putting the car into drive. "See
you then."

o0o

When I returned to school, the parking lot
was nearly empty. I could still hear activity in the building, but
most of the students had gone by then. Hopefully the same was true
of the teachers. I knew Ty would be home by now, having hitched a
ride with one of his buddies. Even so, I inched my way through the
building as quietly as possible.

The office was deserted and locked for the
evening. I knew the janitorial staff would make a pass at some
point in the early evening, but hopefully I would be in and out
long before they arrived. The building still had the feel of recent
activity, and as I slipped my mother's key into the records office
door, I found myself nervously peeking over my shoulder. All I
needed was a straggler—be it teacher or student—to catch me in this
compromising position.

No one appeared, however, and I slipped into
the room and closed the door firmly behind me. There were no
windows in the records office, which was little more than a broom
closet stuffed with filing cabinets. I clicked on the small
flashlight I brought, pausing just a moment to listen for any
sounds outside of the door. Once I was sure no one was about to
burst in and demand to know what I was doing, I swept the thin beam
of light across the rows of cabinets until I landed on the drawer
marked M.

o0o

The sun hung low in the sky when I pulled
into the small gas station where Caleb worked—and lived. I drew my
jacket tight around me as I stepped out of the car.

The jingle of a bell announced my arrival
when I entered the station. The small building appeared even
dirtier in the dim light of day streaking through the windows. I
couldn't believe Caleb lived there. Someone shouted they'd be right
with me, and I debated whether or not I should sit. Given I'd never
done anything like this, I wasn't really sure what the proper
etiquette would be. In the end, I stood, fidgeting in nervous
anticipation.

A man with grease-stained hands stepped
through a door I presumed led to the garage. He pulled a
handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped it across his
forehead.

"Can I help you?" he asked, an easy smile
reaching warm blue eyes.

Joe Kramer. I'd read all about him.

"I'm looking for Caleb," I said, barely able
to push the words through dry lips. "Is he here?"

The older man studied me for a moment, his
eyes traveling over me with interest. I probably wasn't the typical
visitor—if Caleb even got visitors. From what I could tell, he was
a complete loner, preferring to brave things alone rather than make
friends.

"This way," Joe said with a jerk of his
chin.

I followed him through the door. It indeed
led to the garage. There were several cars lined up in a row—some
elevated, some on the ground, their hoods raised. It wasn't your
typical gas station with attendants coming out of the woodwork. As
far as I could tell, Caleb was alone. I could just make out his
dark head under the chassis of a Buick. He wore blue coveralls and
his hands were smudged with grime. In the middle of loosening
something or other under the vehicle, the grate of his socket
wrench paused when he saw me standing there.

"Someone to see you," Joe said. A tiny bell
sounded, and Joe ducked back inside the store leaving me alone with
Caleb. I swallowed hard. It was now or never.

Caleb came out from under the car, wiping his
hands with a rag. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need your help," I said.

At that, Caleb's eyebrow quirked.

I swallowed, and dug out a folded piece of
paper from my pocket, smoothing it out on the bumper of the F-150
parked closest to me. Caleb studied me for a long moment before
stepping forward to take a look. He barely glanced at the page
before he was moving away to pick up the wrench he had dropped
earlier.

"Can you get one?"

He moved beneath the sedan and began
tightening a bolt with even twists of his wrist.

"Can you?" I said again, snatching the paper
up and holding it at eye level so he could see it. It was a picture
of a capture gun with all of the specific specs I needed. Including
the tranquilizer I would use to drug Ty—should the need arise.
Caleb glanced down at the paper again and back up to his work. I
stood there feeling like an idiot as he finished up whatever the
hell he had been doing. Only when he put down his wrench and wiped
his hands off with a dirty rag did I thrust it in his face
again.

"Can you at least answer me?"

He brushed past me. "This isn't a department
store, Princess."

I swore under my breath and rounded on him.
"I realize that. But I know you have connections."

His shoulders stiffened but he didn't turn to
face me again. Instead, he busied himself at the work bench in
front him. "You don't know shit about me, Princess."

"Stop calling me that!"

I nearly gave in then and left. But that
wasn't an option. Not now. I had gone too far already.

What Caleb didn't know was that in my back
pocket I held what amounted to his life story over the past several
years. It hadn't been an easy one. Parents who were alcoholics,
addicts, and eventually, people who couldn't hack being parents at
all. They abandoned him at the age of 14. Left to his own devices,
Caleb struggled to survive on his own, eventually turning to a way
of life he was all too familiar with. It was only when Joe stepped
in that he began cleaning up his act.

"I know more than you think," I said, a
slight tremor in my words.

At that, he did turn to look at me, his eyes
dark.

"What the hell is this?" he said, stepping
toward me, his hand clenching the tool in his hand so tightly I
could see the white around his knuckles.

"It's a business deal, pure and simple," I
said, my voice growing more confident as the words spilled out.
"You give me what I want, and I go away."

The corner of Caleb's mouth quirked up at
that, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Is that right?"

I didn't answer and made myself return his
forthright gaze.

He stepped forward and took the sheet of
paper I held out to him. He studied it for a long moment.

I ripped the sheet out of his hand. "Can you,
yes or no?"

He folded his arms across his chest and
leaned against the pick-up truck. His dark eyes traveled over me,
as though searching for something on my person that could explain
my sudden appearance in his shop. I could barely explain it myself.
Blackmail wasn't exactly something I'd ever listed on my to-do
list. I wondered who was more shocked by my behavior—Caleb or
me.

"I'm clean. Have been for a long time," Caleb
said.

I nodded, trying but not quite able to look
him in the eye. "If you help me, no one will ever think
differently."

At that, he did laugh. A short bark of
laughter that had no humor in the sound. "So if I refuse, you talk.
And it's you they'll believe. That's your big plan."

I wasn't sure if he was impressed or amused
by my actions. I realized then that he could very easily refuse me,
call my bluff, and I'd be left back at square one. I couldn't
follow through on my threat, and I think we both knew it. Given
that, I was surprised when he pushed away from the truck and took
the paper back.

"It'll take a few days. Cash on delivery." He
tucked the page into the pocket of his overalls and turned back to
his work.

At his words, I felt like a puppet whose
strings had been snipped. "How will I know—"

"I'll find you—
Princess
."

Caleb raised the hood of the F-150 and ducked
his head under to take a look at its inner workings. He didn't
speak again, and after a moment to collect myself, I forced myself
to walk away. It took every last bit of concerted effort on my
part, and when I made it to the Cutlass, I collapsed in the
driver's seat. With shaking hands, I fired up the engine and drove
away.

I couldn't get the encounter with Caleb out
of my mind during the next few days. There was nothing I could do
but wait. Knowing that didn't make it any easier.

I kept expecting to receive word from
him—worried how he would go about contacting me. Would he
phone—would he text—would he simply show up on my doorstep, gun in
hand? The unknown was killing me.

Left with no other option, I tried to throw
myself into dance preparations to take my mind off of things. It
was easier to get caught up in the spectacle than I
anticipated.

My mother was overcome at the prospect of
buying a dress for the dance. At her insistence, we spent all
weekend and the early part of the next week combing the local
stores. Not just any old thing would be good enough for the
occasion, and I tried on countless garments in her quest to find
the perfect one. On Wednesday, we finally settled on a simple gown
in the palest of blues. The neckline was softly pleated and held up
with thin, rhinestone straps. Exposing most of my back, the dress
hugged the gentle curve of my hips and cascaded to the ground in
soft waves. It was beautiful.

I ran my hands over the silky fabric and
gazed at myself in the mirror. I'd never felt so utterly feminine
before.

"It's beautiful," Melanie said, a little
breathless. I smiled at her through the mirror, a little giddy.

"Ty's going to love it," my mom whispered,
her eyes misting as she took in my reflection. "You're going to
knock his socks off. Now...shoes!"

I laughed at her exuberance.

"Melanie, come with me!" Mom led the girl out
of the dressing area to go in search of the right pair.

Unable to tear myself away from the mirror
just yet, I stood studying myself. The dress really was perfect. I
couldn't wait for Ty to see me in it. Despite everything, I found
myself looking forward to Homecoming. In some ways, it had been a
welcome relief to step away from all of the research and worry and
just be a girl for a while. Perhaps that was the reason Ty had
insisted we go through with this. Looking at things from that
perspective, I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hug the
boy.