High School Reunion (2 page)

Her brows lowered and her mouth dropped open for a split-second, but before he could wonder what she found surprising, she composed her face and looked him straight in the eye.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m FBI.” She slowly pulled her jacket aside to reveal the distinctive badge pinned to her waistband.

“FBI?” Unwelcome memories assaulted his brain. The excitement of making it to Quantico. The sense of purpose that the FBI had chosen him. But then his older brother had died, his father had suffered a stroke and he’d had to give up his dream and return to Dusty Springs.

Cade forced his attention back to the woman. “What’s going on?”

“Misty’s hurt. I need to call 9-1-1. I left my cell phone in the car.”

“I’m 9-1-1. Do we need the EMTs?”

“Yes. She’s got a blow to the head.”

Cade didn’t stop to ask any more questions. He sprinted up the steps and through the front door.

“The living room,” the woman called out.

He rounded the doorway and saw Misty crumpled on the floor. He crouched beside her. There was blood matted in her hair.

“Misty, you all right?” Damn, that was a lot of blood.

Misty stirred and moaned. Relief loosened his tight neck and shoulders. “Lie still. I’m calling an ambulance.”

He punched a preset number. “Get the EMTs over here,” he barked. “The Wallers’ house. Misty’s hurt. And no sirens. Don’t wake all the neighbors.”

The FBI agent’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor, but Cade kept his attention on Misty. “You’re doing fine, Misty. Hang in there another couple of minutes.” He patted her hand, then spoke to the agent. “I don’t think the injury is serious. She may have a concussion.”

“The weapon’s right under your feet.”

“So you found her like this?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t see anyone leaving the area? Didn’t pass a vehicle?”

“No.”

“How’d you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Cade swiveled and eyed her. He hadn’t taken the time to examine the door. “Unlocked?”

She nodded, looking past him at Misty. “Yes. Definitely. And no sign of forced entry. It doesn’t make sense. She has an obsession about locking her doors.”

He heard a truck pull up outside. Within s
econds, heavy footsteps on the wooden porch announced the arrival of the EMTs.

“Here we go, Misty. They’re going to take good care of you.” He rose from his haunches and moved out of the way so the EMTs could check her out.

He met the FBI agent’s gaze and found her watching him with a pensive expression.

She blinked, and then held out her hand. “I’m Laurel Gillespie. You don’t remember me. I was a year behind you in school.”

“Gillespie?” he repeated absently.

Laurel saw the blank look in Cade’s eye and her heart sank. She knew he wouldn’t remember her, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He stepped aside as the EMTs lifted Misty onto a gurney. He was close—too close. She could smell his aftershave. It was fresh and subtle. Sexy.

Dear heavens, she was really standing next to Cade Dupree, her high-school crush. She’d thought that by now, ten years after she’d graduated from high school, she’d have forgotten his confident stance, his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped silhouette.

Now that the threat of danger and her worry about Misty were over, she was practically shaking with reaction. Partly from finding Misty collapsed and bleeding, but partly from seeing Cade.

She turned her head. His handsome, familiar face was only a few inches from hers, his thick lashes lowered as he watched Misty. He hadn’t changed except that his face had more character and his body had filled out with lean, hard muscles.

Her pulse fluttered as his gaze met hers and roamed over her face. How could she still remember that voic
e, those long powerful legs, that lanky frame? And his sky-blue eyes. She’d swooned over those eyes in high school.

He sent her a taste of his killer smile. “So—Laurel Gillespie,” he drawled, “FBI agent.”

Despite the unwelcome return of her adolescent jitters, Laurel bristled at his patronizing tone. She’d thought she was prepared for Cade Dupree. She wasn’t.

He straightened, and rested his hand on the butt of his gun. He was chief of police—the job his dad had held for as long as she could remember. And he was taking charge of the crime scene.

Laurel took a deep breath. She wasn’t about to wait for him to order her out of the house.

“I’ll take charge of the front. Keep people out.” She turned on her heel without waiting for an answer.

Great.
She’d put herself exactly where she didn’t want to be. In full view of the entire town of Dusty Springs.

She felt like a threshold guardian as a parade of curious neighbors tried to get inside. She had no trouble flashing her badge to turn away the owner of the hardware store and his wife, or a young mother with a toddler in her arms, or a couple of teenage boys, all of whom gasped in awe when she informed them that the house was a crime scene. But she dreaded running into any of her former classmates.

Her memories of high school were of not fitting in, of the nightmare of braces and glasses, unruly red hair and painful shyness.

Within a few minutes, a familiar man in his early fifties, wearing a badge and a gun, walked up to her. Behind him, a younger man in a misbuttoned police uniform shirt carried a roll of yellow crime-scene tape.

“Evening, Laurel. That is, Special Agent Gillespie. I didn’t know you were an FBI agent.”

“Officer Evans, hi.”

“Cade—Chief Dupree—called us to tape off the scene. He said you might need some help.” He punched a thumb backward through the air. “This is Officer Shelton Phillips.”

She nodded at Phillips and smiled at Officer Evans. “Thanks,” she said gratefully.

Just like Cade’s dad, Fred Evans had been a police officer since she could remember. His daughter Debra had belonged to the snootiest clique in school.

Officer Phillips quickly cordoned off the front of the house and then headed around back.

Laurel turned toward the dwindling crowd just as a tall woman with skinny legs and a haughty air walked up. Kathy Hodges.

Speaking of snooty.
Kathy and Debra and a couple of other girls had named themselves the Cool Girls. The rest of the class called them the
CeeGees.
They’d made it their mission to target certain classmates, usually the shyest ones, to humiliate and embarrass.

Laurel’s confidence drained away as scenes from the most embarrassing night of her life swept through her head with the clarity of a high-definition movie.

Afterward, she’d kicked herself for not seeing through the cruel prank. But on the night of the Homecoming Dance her sophomore year, she’d really believed that senior football captain James Dupree, who was the Homecoming King, wanted
her
to dance the traditional first dance with him. Although she was smitten with James’s younger brother Cade, there was no way she would pass up the biggest honor in a sophomore girl’s year.

Remembered excitement and apprehension swirled through her as she relived that awful
moment. Standing on the dance floor in a brand new gown, clutching the note from James in her hand.

Please do me the honor of dancing the first dance with me.

Her heart fluttering as James’s cocky gaze swept the room, stopping to wink at her.

Then he held out his hand and smiled. And Laurel had started climbing the stairs to the stage.

Still smiling at her, James named another girl. Everyone’s laughter still rang in her ears. By the next morning, it was all over school and Laurel was humiliated.

Now here she was, facing Kathy for the first time since she’d graduated and moved away with her parents. Despite her success, she suddenly felt like the plain, shy girl she’d been ten years ago.

Kathy’s blond hair was sleek and newly colored, her makeup was perfect, but her eyes were bloodshot, and not even expensive makeup could hide all the tiny veins visible around her nose. A lit cigarette smoldered in her perfectly manicured hand. She looked thin and pinched and miserable.

Laurel stood straighter as Kathy walked purposefully up the steps.

“Pardon me,” Kathy said, waving the hand that held the cigarette. Even with the cigarette smoke, Laurel could smell whiskey on her breath.

“Sorry, Kathy. This is a crime scene. No one’s allowed inside.”

Kathy’s perfectly shaped brows drew down as she eyed Laurel. “Nonsense. Misty’s my friend.”

Doubt it,
Laurel thought.

Kathy made a shooing gesture toward Laurel. “Check with Cade—Police Chief Dupree. Now excuse me.”

Laurel’s initial flutter of apprehen
sion at facing Kathy evaporated in a flash of anger. She held her badge in front of Kathy’s face.

“Sorry, Kathy. FBI. Please step back.”

“Who the hell
are
you?” Kathy nervously flicked ash off her cigarette.

“Special Agent Laurel Gillespie.” She met Kathy’s hard green gaze and was rewarded by a look of frank shock.

Just as Fred Evans walked up, Kathy recovered.

“You have
got
to be kidding.” She tried to sidestep Laurel.

“Hold it, Kathy,” Officer Evans said, taking her arm.

Kathy looked down at his hand. “You don’t want to do that, Fred.”

Laurel frowned. Were Kathy’s words slurred? She’d smelled the booze on her breath. But was she really drunk at just after eight in the evening?

“One word to Harrison and you—” Kathy pointed her cigarette at Fred, “will be facing assault charges.” That came out as
ashault sharges.

“Right.” His brown eyes twinkled as he glanced at Laurel. “Your husband’s a real estate attorney. Come on, let’s take you home. All the excitement’s over. I’ll tell Harrison to get you into bed.” He gestured to Officer Phillips.

“Oh, please, Fred. Harrison hasn’t gotten me into bed in two years.”

“Shelton, walk Mrs. Adler home and make sure Harrison’s there. I’ll stay here in case the chief needs anything else.”

Phillips led Kathy away.

Laurel didn’t have any more trouble, although several more people she’d known in high school showed up. Obviously, word still spread as fast as it always had in Dusty Springs.

Within a couple of minutes, the EMTs rolle
d Misty out on a gurney. Fred and Phillips and a couple of guys they’d recruited kept the rubberneckers at bay as the EMTs loaded Misty into the ambulance.

Static erupted from Fred’s radio. He listened, said something, and then walked up the steps.

“I’ve got everything under control out here, Agent Gillespie,” Fred said. “Chief Dupree wants you inside.”

“Thanks. But please call me Laurel. It’s good to see you. So you’re working with Cade now.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Yep. Worked for his dad and now for him. Kind of a tradition in Dusty Springs I guess.”

“How is Debra?”

His chuckle faded. “She’s fine. Cade’s waiting for you.”

Laurel thanked him again and went inside. The living room’s overhead light was on. It spotlighted the scrapbooks and photo albums that were torn and tossed all over the floor amidst dozens of loose photos and piles of books.

Somebody had been looking for something, and Laurel was afraid she knew what it was. The question was, had they found it?

Cade’s head turned a few degrees. “I guess you’re here for the reunion. You were in Misty’s class, right? How’d you happen to turn up just in time?”

He faced the back of the couch, looking down at the spot where Misty had lain. Laurel had her first fully lighted view of him.

Her mouth went dry and her throat fluttered, just like in high school. Most of the girls in Dusty Springs would have given their eyeteeth for a smile from his brother James, but it was Cade who’d always been able to stop her heart.

He filled up the room, just like he always had. He’d never been as big or tall as James. And while James’s sparkling personality and talent in sports made h
im the envy of every guy and the heartthrob of every girl in town, Laurel had always preferred Cade’s quiet good looks and shy smile.

She blinked, and the image of the boy turned into the reality of the man.

He stood, legs hip-width apart. Worn, perfectly fitting jeans emphasized his buttocks and muscled thighs. His fists were propped on his hips, which pulled the cotton of his Ole Miss T-shirt tight across his back. Under his baseball cap, his brown hair was dark with sweat.

He was surveying the crime scene, which was what she should be doing.

She forced her gaze away from him and looked at the floor where Misty had lain. Her brain queued up a stop-action movie of the crime, based on Misty’s position, the blood spatter and the condition of the house.

She put herself into the head of the attacker.
I sneak up behind Misty and hit her while she’s sitting on the couch.

No.
If Misty had been sitting, she’d have slumped over
onto
the couch, not fallen on the floor in front of it.

Cade turned his head and pinned her with his electric-blue gaze. “My question wasn’t rhetorical.”

She forced herself not to look away. “I didn’t think it was. What do you think about her position on the floor?”

“I asked you first.”

“Fair enough.” She stepped closer. “Yes, I’m here for the reunion. I flew in to Memphis this afternoon and drove straight here.”

“Flew in from where?”

“D.C. I work at FBI Headquarters. I’m a criminologist with the Division of Unsolved Mysteries.”

His gaze sharpened, but all he did was nod.

“Misty invited me to stay with her. I tried to call her several times, on her cell and her home pho
ne, but she never answered, which was odd since she’d made me promise to call. I pulled into her driveway at 8:03 p.m. Rang her bell, knocked on the door, then drew my weapon and turned the knob. It was unlocked.”

Cade turned around and crossed his arms. “You said that. Do you know how unlikely that is? Misty’s—”

“Borderline agoraphobic. I know.” She nodded. “Not to mention a tad obsessive-compulsive. Even in grade school she couldn’t stand to be inside a house alone with the doors unlocked.”