Push and Shove: The Ghost Bird Series: #6 (The Academy) (43 page)

The corner of Mr. Blackbourne’s mouth tightened. “We had other issues that have been drawing our attention. We’ve not had the ability to dedicate team time to following others without a clear reason to do so.”

I focused squarely on the road in front of us. I assumed he meant I had been the cause as to why they weren’t able to do as much as they probably needed. “Sorry.”

“I wish you would stop saying that.”

My shoulders hunched and heat flooded my face. “I just meant ...”

“You’re a choice,” Mr. Blackbourne said, “if that’s what you’re worried about. We made the choice to help you, help Nathan, help anyone else in need among us rather than send someone on a task that may not have panned out at all. You don’t need to be sorry for being who you are with us because we were willing.”

I wanted to be happy about this, but I still felt awkward that a lot of the time it was my mistakes they were fixing. “I wish I could be the one helping rather than needing it.”

He was quiet for so long that I slid a glance at him to check his mood, and caught a fading millimeter smile.

“We all feel the same way, Miss Sorenson,” he said quietly, still focused on the road. “We all try not to cause problems. You’ve gained plenty of ours, as well. You want to help us.”

“I do.”

“And I expect you to tell me if that ever changes,” he said. “Any time you need to, I want you to come to me and tell me how you feel.”

Mr. Blackbourne took an exit into downtown Charleston. For a brief moment, I thought about Victor and wondered if we were heading to his house.

Mr. Blackbourne wound the car through downtown streets, where the homes were brightly painted with white trim and palm trees had been planted along the sidewalks. Many homes had been converted into businesses: art galleries, boutique fashion shops, salons, travel agencies.

Mr. Blackbourne pulled onto a street where a large red brick building took up one side of the road. The parking lot was tiny, and I didn’t understand why such a big building that looked like it could fit lots of people inside had such a tiny place to park. “Where are we?” I asked.

“You mean the boys haven’t taken you to the library yet?”

My eyes widened and I turned again to the red building. It was massive. It could have been a school. I’d never been to a library outside of school. I knew city libraries were bigger but were they this big? “This? Are you sure?”

The corner of his mouth lifted a millimeter. “Remind me to tell the boys to let you see some of the more sophisticated areas of Charleston, not just the night clubs.”

My cheeks radiated with heat. He’d told me before he hadn’t heard much of what happened over the weekend, but how much did he know, really?

Mr. Blackbourne pulled into a parking garage across the street. He parked on the lower level. He hopped out and opened the door for me before I had a chance to snap my seatbelt off. He even offered his hand. I took it, standing and he closed the door behind me. He walked around the car and paused, waiting for me to follow him. He was still wearing the tan slacks and the maroon shirt, but had shed the sport coat. When I stepped up beside him to follow, my arm brushed along his. My instinct told me to tuck my arm closer to my body. Mr. Blackbourne wouldn’t want me to walk so close.

When I tried, Mr. Blackbourne inched closer to close the gap I’d made. When I relaxed, his elbow was touching mine. We walked together and it was like we were holding hands without our hands touching.

When he didn’t say anything or reposition himself, I tried to tell myself this was okay.

It was more than okay to me. I liked it immensely. The touch, however, left me helpless as far as what to say and even how to look at him. I wanted to admire how he looked in the new clothes, but I stared at the ground instead.

The smile, however, I couldn’t hide. I only hoped he wasn’t paying attention to me.

And then I realized how unrealistic a wish that was. This was Mr. Blackbourne, after all. He noticed everything.

When we reached the entrance to the library, Mr. Blackbourne walked ahead and held open the door for me.

Inside, I was caught up by the expanse of the building. Mr. Blackbourne continued forward, so I didn’t get a chance to linger and appreciate the artwork hanging along the walls and only got a glimpse of the front desk. He found a staircase, and climbed it quickly.

Upstairs, among the various shelves of books, were several wooden tables. Each table had an antique style lamp on top, all currently turned off. I liked the style. Patrons talked in hushed tones, except for one talking into a cell phone despite the signs sitting around asking people not to use them.

Mr. Blackbourne seemed oblivious to the books and the patrons. He scanned the area, focusing on the windows.

“What are we doing here?” I asked quietly. “I thought we were following—”

“Just a moment,” he said in a tone that hushed me immediately. He marched over to one of the windows, glancing through it at a building across the street. He moved away, disappearing between rows of bookshelves.

I was nearly jogging to keep up. He continued to focus on the building through the windows, looking out each one as if looking for the right angle.

He didn’t stop until he reached the far wall. We were in the back of a reference book section, isolated by bookshelves. One lone table sat in the corner, the light on. There was a window just above it, nearly directly across from another window on the building across the street.

Mr. Blackbourne took a tiny box with suction cups on one side out of his pocket and checked over his shoulder before he planted it against the window. He pressed a button, changed the position of the box and pressed the button again.

He made several adjustments before he finally left the box. The box remained pressed against the glass, held on by the suction cups. He pulled another ear bud from his pocket and presented it to me.

I took it from his hand, rolling it between my fingers. “What are we doing?”

“You are going to stay here,” he said. Then, without another word, he turned away and wandered off. In a few minutes, he appeared again, rolling a cushioned seat in front of him. He pulled hard-surfaced wooden chairs away from the long table in the corner and pushed the more comfortable looking armchair into place. “Will you have a seat?”

I blushed, taking up position in the chair. I put the ear bud into place.

Instantly, I heard voices. The loudest was a man talking with a woman. She was listing people who called and he would interrupt her.

“Who is this?” I whispered, worried the man and woman could hear me.

“That box is pointed to Mr. Crowley’s office,” he said.

I gazed across the street, where I was in view of the other building’s windows. “What do I do?”

Mr. Blackbourne glanced over his shoulder again, doing a sweep with his eyes. When he finished, he leaned over, nearly pressing his lips to my ear and whispered. “You’re going to listen. This doesn’t have that long of a range, but if you sit quietly, you’ll be able to hear any conversation as long as he’s not whispering.”

“What am I listening for?”

“Anything interesting,” he said. He stood up, and pressed his palm against my shoulder, squeezing as he delivered his next order: “Don’t move until one of us comes to get you.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re leaving me?”

The corner of his mouth twisted up a millimeter. “I believe you’ll be fine. You’re alone in the most abandoned corner of the library, listening. There’s plenty of people wandering around. If you become uncomfortable, if anyone else tries to approach, talk to a librarian. Ask about books. Let one keep you occupied if needed. Someone should be along shortly.” He reached out, pulled a book off the shelf at random. He presented it to me on the table. “Pretend you’re researching if anyone walks by, but don’t get too distracted reading that you’re not paying attention.” He started to turn again but stopped short. “Miss Sorenson?”

“Mr. Blackbourne?”

He spoke without turning around. “That’s a particularly lovely dress you’re wearing. You should wear dresses more often.”

I was floating where I sat. My heart reverberated in my chest like a violin string had been plucked.

Before I could think of a reply, he stepped away, disappearing into the bookshelves.

––––––––

I
was ready to leave the library in less than an hour. Mr. Crowley was boring. He had a very monotone way of speaking. I felt sympathetic toward Mr. Hendricks, who had to spend all of lunch and golf listening to him.

Mr. Crowley talked even if no one else was in the room. He spoke to himself as he worked. He talked to his computer. Most of the time he was telling it to hurry up, but there were instances where he thanked it and then proceeded to tell the computer how it could run more efficiently. The most popular suggestion was to threaten to call IT on it and again demand for them to fix it.

It seemed everyone else in the office he worked in knew his tendency for talking, because the one woman who I understood to be his secretary often excused herself because she thought she heard a phone ringing or she was in a hurry to deliver a paper to someone—anyone—else. She asked only succinct questions to get the answer she needed. It even sounded like she sometimes walked out in the middle of whatever he was rattling on about. He dismissed this, called her a bubble brain and went back to talking to his computer. Sometimes he even told the computer what he’d been telling the secretary about so he could finish up whatever he was saying.

From where I was sitting, there was no way to tell the time. I didn’t have my phone. I had no way to talk to the guys and I didn’t think I should get up and wander around because I was afraid to leave behind the box and didn’t want to disobey Mr. Blackbourne when he’d told me not to move. The book Mr. Blackbourne had planted in front of me was a medical journal from 1973. I studied the diagrams mostly, as most of the text was very blocky and difficult to read, but I suffered through it during Mr. Crowley’s rare silences.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to curl up in the chair and pass out for a few hours. My body was tired and achy. It wasn’t enough that I was still and quiet. Earlier, even though I’d been tired, I was active and excited so I’d managed to stay awake. Now I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I wasn’t prone to nodding off while sitting up, but I experienced it for the first time now.

If this was what being grounded with Mr. Blackbourne meant, I would eat and sleep forever just to
not
do this.

The best I could do was to get comfortable. I kicked off the wedge sandals. Since no one else was around, I allowed myself to sit cross-legged in the chair. I was showing off my underwear to the wall, but I figured it wouldn’t mind.

What I thought was about two hours later, Mr. Crowley started calling for his secretary. She didn’t respond. He grumbled, talking to himself in a low tone that I couldn’t hear.

I gazed out the window, looking across the street. The windows were covered in blinds and the sun caused a glare, so it was impossible to look in on the office.

The lure of the sun outside and noise from the street drew my attention. I got up on my knees, leaning over the edge of the window and looked out onto the street. Cars passed. People walked by. I felt that distance between us. I was supposed to be in school. If I needed to go to the library, I should be where everyone normal was, using computers or reading more modern books. Playing spy wasn’t as exciting as I’d imagined from books and movies.

But the view outside was more interesting than the medical journal or the wall of the library so I spent some time watching the street while listening out for whatever it was I was supposed to be listening for.

Time dragged on. My knees started to ache from kneeling in the chair, but I liked watching the palm trees, different from what I was used to. The bright clear sunshine in late October was particularly enchanting to me, who was used to brown and drab fall from Illinois. How long would it stay so blue and vibrant in the south?

After some time, I realized Mr. Crowley had gotten quiet. I waited, wondering if he went to go find his secretary. Or perhaps a bathroom.

It was ten minutes before I caught sight of him. He was at the corner across the street. I studied him hard, unsure if it was the same person, but it was. Same clothes, same hook nose. I held my breath, worried he noticed me, knew I was listening, and was coming over to find me.

Instead, he crossed the road to the corner of the library, but then turned away, crossing again at the intersection to get to the far corner. He disappeared out of view after that.

Was he leaving for the day? It didn’t seem likely. He would have taken his car, and there was parking behind his building, the lot Mr. Blackbourne had parked at. I was sure he would have parked there. Why was he walking?

I sat back. Mr. Blackbourne had told me not to leave, but he didn’t expect Mr. Crowley to walk off. I left the earbud inside my ear, but left the device. If one of them came to look for me, they would have probably suspected I was nearby if I didn’t bother to bring the black box. Hopefully no one came and took it.

I moved quickly, knowing I had little time. I put my shoes back on and walked quickly. I found my way to the stairs, passed the front desk and dashed out the front door.

I rushed down the street. The sandals made it hard to walk faster. The skirt of the dress also limited my leg stride.

Still, when I got to the corner where I last saw Mr. Crowley, I stopped, gazing in the direction he had gone. There were several different buildings here. One was a wedding dress boutique. There were a couple of art galleries, and a building blocked off for renovating.

I wasn’t sure how far I was willing to wander off. I didn’t know my way downtown and I was probably pushing it by pursuing him, anyway.

I was about to turn around when I caught sight of a Starbucks sign on the other side of the street, tucked behind one of the galleries. Out of everything else down this road, that made the most sense to me.