Gifted Touch (17 page)

The stairwell door swung open, and Jeff appeared.

He looked at her. She looked at him. And it was like suddenly their bodies were magnetized. Rae wasn’t 184

sure who took the first step, but an instant later they were in each other’s arms. An instant after that, they were kissing, a sweet, soft kiss that made her feel warm all over, as if she were wrapped in a big fluffy towel straight out of the dryer.

Somehow, Rae wasn’t sure exactly how because she definitely wasn’t in control of her own body, they managed to lower themselves to the hard cement floor. They sat down on the top step without breaking the kiss.

Jeff flicked his tongue across her lips, and she eagerly parted them, allowing the kiss to deepen. She loved the taste of him. The feel. Warm and wet.

“Yummy, Jeff,” she murmured into his mouth. He laughed, which made Rae start laughing, too. They struggled not to break the kiss, their mouths slipping and sliding across each other’s but always keeping some kind of lip-to-lip contact.

Jeff slid one hand down her arm, then wrapped her hand in his. Closer, Rae thought, too delirious to form sentences anymore. Want closer.

She maneuvered her fingertips until they were resting on top of Jeff’s. And a tidal wave of his thoughts rushed over her, overwhelming her.

/knew she’d be easy/loser girls are grateful for it/probably would have gone down on day one/nice little setup/no demands/oh God/yes/

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She jerked away, ripping her lips off Jeff’s.

“What’s the problem?” he demanded.

Rae sprang to her feet, swallowing hard. “Let me ask you something,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm, firm. Normal.

Jeff stood up and gave her a lazy smile. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly worried about how I really feel about you. You’ve got to know we feel the same way.

We just clicked from the second—”

Rae shook her head. “That’s not what I was going to ask.” Fury pumped through her veins, but she kept her voice even. “My question is—what kind of a guy would only want to fool around with a girl he thought was a loser?”

“What?” Jeff gave a rapid couple of blinks.

“I mean, I don’t have a degree in psychology or anything, but don’t you think a guy who thinks only a loser girl would want him—wouldn’t you think that guy would have to be pretty much of a loser himself?”

“Um, I guess so,” Jeff muttered.

“I guess so, too.” Rae walked out of the stairwell without another word and headed down the hall toward the bathroom. She felt like taking a shower, a long, long shower, but she’d have to settle for washing her hands.

She ripped open the bathroom door, ignoring the thoughts and static, and rushed over to the sinks. Lea 186

stood by the nearest one, drying her hands with one of the thick paper towels.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Lea said when she saw Rae. She tossed the paper towel in the big metal garbage can, gave a little wave, and headed for the door. “See you later,” she called.

“Okay,” Rae answered, glad Lea hadn’t decided to stay for a little nicey-nicey chat. She couldn’t deal with that right now. She turned on the cold water at the closest sink.

/glad Rae didn’t show at lunch/

Rae recognized the flavor of that thought immediately. It was Lea all the way. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. And Rae realized the little frisson of fear she was feeling was Lea’s fear.

Lea’s fear of Rae.

Rae stared at herself in the mirror, taking in her big eyes and pale face. I’m never going to be the same, she realized. I’m never going to be able to walk around feeling like people are basically decent. I’m always going to know what’s going on underneath. I’m always going to see the fear and the hate and the . . . the slime.

At that thought she felt something die inside her.

The little bit of Rachel she had left, the Rachel who drew unicorns and almost believed in them.

It’s better to know the truth, Rae told herself.

About Lea. About Jeff. About everybody.

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Including whoever it was out there in the world who wanted her dead. Rae’d been trying not to think about that. Like if she just pretended it wasn’t happening, it would go away.

That’s not going to happen. Another piece of truth you have to face. So brush the sand out of your hair, ostrich girl, and decide what you’re going to do. Are you going to stand around and wait for whoever it is to come after you again? Or are you going to be the one who makes the decisions?

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Chapter 11

Rae stood at the bus stop near the police station, peering down the street. She saw a bus coming toward her, shimmering in the heat. “You better be on that bus, Jesse,” she muttered. She checked her watch. He was already five minutes late.

Rae couldn’t believe it. It felt more like five hours.

The bus groaned to a stop in front of her. Jesse was the first one out, pushing his way in front of a couple of blue-haireds, who did not look at all pleased with this example of a young southern gentleman.

“Let’s go, already,” Jesse urged, as if he’d been the one waiting for her.

They did a speed walk—minus the geeky arms—

to the police station. “First thing we have to do is find out where the evidence room is,” Rae said. She 189

followed Jesse through the door, grateful she didn’t have to touch it herself. The cocktail of thoughts she’d get off that door would probably not be at all pleasant.

“I’ll handle it,” Jesse said. Without bothering to explain how, he started right for the main desk. Rae hung back. She didn’t think the guy at the desk, the one with the bad comb-over, would remember her, but it seemed stupid to risk it. A few seconds later Jesse was back. “Second floor, a little ways down from the elevator on the right,” he said.

“What? You just went up and said, ‘Hi, what floor is the evidence stored on’?” Rae asked as they headed to the elevator.

“No,” Jesse answered, sounding disgusted. “I told him my cousin is working the evidence room today and he told me to stop by so he could give me the ten bucks he owes for our grandmother’s birthday present.”

“Not bad,” Rae told him. She let him push the elevator up button and then the button for the second floor. There were some things she just had no real desire to know. Maybe I’ll have to be like some of the old ladies who still wear white gloves, Rae thought.

“My turn,” she said as the elevator doors opened.

She took a deep breath, then stepped out, Jesse right behind her. Without hesitation she strode down the hall. She saw something that looked kind of like a bank teller window. It had a short counter running in 190

front of it, with a sign-in sheet and pen lying there.

“Hi,” Rae said to the guy behind the window.

“Someone told us there was a soda machine up here.” The guy shook his head. “First floor,” he answered.

Rae smiled at him, looking him straight in the eye.

“Thanks,” she said as she pulled out a stick of gum and managed to accidentally-on-purpose drop it on the guy’s desk. “I got it,” she said, before he could move. She leaned through the window and ran her fingers over as much of his desk as she could with her left hand—

/Alan fighting at school/friggin’ paperwork/talk to Alan/stop at cash machine/kid can’t even handle sixth grade/buy bread/call Alan’s teacher/

—as she reached for the gum with her right.

“Come on,” she told Jesse as she started back to the elevator.

“Did you get anything?” he whispered when they were out of sight.

“Enough, I think,” Rae answered. She couldn’t believe how casually Jesse asked her that question, like he knew dozens of people who could pick thoughts off fingerprints. Or like it was something minor she’d revealed about herself—like that auburn wasn’t her natural hair color.

He’d had questions, of course, when she’d told 191

him the truth, figuring he needed to know if they were going to come up with the best-possible plan. And he’d made her touch about a hundred of his fingerprints as proof. But then he’d been kind of like,

“Okay, cool,” as if she were one of the X-Men or something.

“So now what?” Jesse asked.

Rae thought for a minute, glad that the hallway was still empty. “Can you sound any older on the phone?”

“Definitely,” Jesse answered, deepening his voice.

And he actually did sound reasonably grown-up.

“Okay, here’s what you do. Go downstairs and call up to the evidence room. Ask for Walter Child.

That’s the guy’s name. I saw it on his desk. Anyway, tell him you’re calling from the school and that his son Alan got in a fight. Tell him you need him to come over right away to pick Alan up and take him home because he’s not going to be allowed to leave without a parent,” Rae said. “That should get him out of the room for a few minutes—even if he just goes to find someone to cover for him. I’ll sneak in and—”

“I know the plan, remember?” Jesse interrupted.

“Sorry,” Rae said. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“I’ll come back up as fast as I can,” Jesse promised.

“No,” Rae told him. “We can’t both get caught.

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You have to be my backup. If something happens to me, I’ll need you free to deal with it.”

“All right,” Jesse said, a little reluctantly. “I’m takin’ the stairs. The elevators are too slow.” He turned and rushed out the door leading to the stair-case. Rae positioned herself near a drinking fountain that was out of the sight line of the evidence guy.

Now she just had to wait and see if Mr. Walter Child would take the bait. It didn’t take long. About three minutes after Jesse hit the stairs, Rae heard a door open down the hall. She spun toward the drinking fountain and leaned over it, letting her long hair curtain her face. When footsteps neared her, she allowed herself one quick peek. Yep. There goes Walty, she thought.

As soon as he was through the door to the stairs, she bolted down to the evidence room. She figured there was a buzzer that would open the door next to the window, but she didn’t see it. So she looked both ways down the hall to make sure it was still empty, then scrambled through the window. She landed on all fours on the desk, then half jumped, half fell to the ground.

Rae crouched in front of Walter’s computer and managed to find the database that detailed each case.

She typed in Anthony’s name, ignoring the thought fragments she picked up, and seconds later she had 193

the number of the bin where the evidence for his case was held. Thank God it was a fast modem, she thought. Staying low, she hurried across the little office and through the back door. Rows of long metal shelves filled the large storage area.

“Pretty much like using the library,” Rae muttered as she spotted the cards at the end of each row that indicated the bin numbers. She trotted down the row that had Anthony’s number, found the bin, which was just your basic box, and opened it. A bunch of junk that looked like it could make a bomb was inside.

“Bingo,” she said, slipping into geekspeak in her nervousness.

Rae ran her fingers across the handle of the pliers—

/get me a motorcycle/why want to kill Rae/hope it doesn’t explode in my face/

the tissue paper—

/got to buy a diamond belly ring/gonna be loaded/Fascinelli would have gotten busted for something eventually, anyway/

and the wooden stick—

/maybe take off for Mexico/that new girl, Rae/but I’m not really the murderer/

Rae heard the door that led from the office swing open. “It’s me. Jesse,” a voice called, low and anxious.

“I told you not to come in here,” she answered.

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“The guy . . . He’s coming back. . . . I think he called his wife to check,” Jesse said, breathless. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

Rae didn’t need to be told twice. She slammed the top back on the box and ran. Jesse fell into step behind her. “You get enough?” he demanded.

“Hope so,” she answered.

“So our guy is into motorcycles. Knows Rae’s new in group. Probably has a girlfriend with a pierced navel. And likes Mexico.” Anthony glanced at Jesse, who was in his usual chair at their usual table in the visitors’ room.

We’re regulars already, Rae thought.

“Sound like anyone we know?” Anthony asked Jesse.

“David Wyngard,” Jesse answered. “All he ever talks about is motorcycles.”

“And Cynda,” Anthony added. “She has piercings everywhere.”

“Wait. Cynda, which one is she?” Rae asked.

“She’s in our group, too. You know. Dyed black hair. Wears those army camouflage pants a lot,” Jesse answered.

Rae knew exactly who he was talking about.

“That’s who told me to go into the bathroom the day the bomb went off,” she exclaimed. “She said I had to 195

fix my lipstick or something. God, she wanted to make sure I was in place at exactly the right time.”