Repressed (Deadly Secrets) (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Ethan McClane needed a freakin’ cigarette.

No, needing and wanting were two very different things. He
wanted
a cigarette. What he needed was a sharp smack upside the head for agreeing to this stupid idea in the first place.

He popped a cherry Life Saver into his mouth, one that did little to kill his nicotine craving, and glanced toward the aged bricks of Hidden Falls High School. From the safety of his BMW, it didn’t appear that a whole lot had changed, but then he hadn’t expected much. The yard was still wide and barren but for a couple of oak trees that were bigger than he remembered. A few kids lingered outside, chatting in the late-afternoon sun. Shouts resounded from the adjacent field where the football team practiced.

The familiar scene seemed calm and peaceful, but Ethan’s stomach tightened with a crap ton of nerves. Almost twenty years later and the thought of being in this placid town in northwest Oregon still made him sick as a dog.

Get a grip. Remember why you’re here. It’s not personal this time.

He tugged off his sunglasses and tossed them on the console. As soon as Judge Wilson had called him about this case he should have figured a way out of it. He ran his own private practice now. He didn’t work for the state anymore. Didn’t have to evaluate or treat juvenile delinquents if he didn’t want to. But he’d owed the craggy old judge for being lenient on one of his kids. And if he thought about it hard enough, he had to admit that he’d thought taking this case pro bono might be good for him. That it might force him to face his own demons so he could put the past behind him once and for all.

Of course, that was before he was actually here.

Man, he needed a smoke. And a freakin’ lobotomy.

He pushed the BMW’s door open, grabbed his bag from the passenger seat, and climbed out of the car. He’d only met Thomas Adler once. Just after the kid had been picked up for B&E in Portland. Thomas’s rap sheet was long—theft, assault, vandalism—but instead of tossing Thomas in detention for his last run-in, Judge Wilson had decided that what Thomas really needed was a change of scenery and counseling. Now, Thomas was living with his estranged grandmother in the small town of Hidden Falls, and Wilson had asked Ethan to help the kid acclimate to his new surroundings.

Ethan wasn’t naïve. He knew from his years working with the state that some kids were beyond help. He just hoped Thomas wasn’t one of them.

The crisp, early-November breeze blew newly fallen leaves to rustle across his path while rich scents of ripe apples from the adjacent orchard and freshly turned earth greeted his senses. As he approached the building, he forced a smile at a teenage girl eyeing him cautiously from her spot on the stoop. She shifted out of his way, leaned close to the boy decked out in goth black sitting at her side, and whispered something Ethan couldn’t hear.

Friendly.

Frowning, he pulled the heavy door open. Old wood, industrial cleaners, and ink scents greeted him as he stepped into the building. A long display cabinet filled with trophies graced the left side of the lobby. He scanned the display, reading names on plaques. When his gaze landed on a picture of the state championship basketball team, he tensed.

“Can I help you?”

Ethan glanced toward the office door to his right where a gray-haired woman stood eyeing him as if he were about to steal something. A pathetic smile toyed with the edge of his lips. One even he knew looked forced. “Yeah. Ethan McClane. I have an appointment with Principal Burke.”

The secretary pushed her red-rimmed reading glasses back up her nose. “Ah yes. You’re the psychologist.” Disdain dripped from her words as she turned, gesturing for him to follow. “Have a seat here and wait. Mr. Burke is in a meeting.”

Extra friendly
. There had to be something in the water.

Muttering “Thanks,” Ethan followed the secretary into the cramped outer office. A high counter occupied the middle of the space. To his right, three chairs were pushed up against the wall.

Since the secretary sat and went back to work on her computer, not the least bit interested in chatting, he dropped his bag on the chair and studied a bulletin board with news and announcements about upcoming activities at the school. The door behind him opened before he finished reading about the winter musical.

“I don’t know how you expect me to do my job with the measly budget you’ve allocated for expendable supplies,” a female voice complained.

“This isn’t the private sector,” a man answered. “And I don’t have time to argue with you right now. I’ve got another appointment.”

Footsteps sounded, then a man appeared in the open office doorway, frustration lines clearly evident on his face. He was average height, late forties, with dark hair slightly gray at the temples and a full beard, and he looked toward Ethan as if
he
were the one who wanted to run screaming from the building, not the other way around. “You must be Dr. McClane. David Burke. Come on in.”

Gladly
. Ethan grabbed his bag.

“When will you have time to argue with me?” the woman asked from inside. “I’d like to put it on your calendar so you can prepare your canned rebuttal.”

The principal sighed. “How about tomorrow? I’ll even come in early so you have plenty of time to rant. Does that work for you?”

The woman didn’t immediately answer, and as Ethan moved into the office, her gaze snapped his way.

She was younger than he’d expected from the sound of her voice—late twenties maybe. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back and clipped at the base of her neck. Her cheeks were high, her nose straight, and she wore very little makeup that did nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes. But even with the scowl and obvious exhaustion, she was a looker. And those eyes . . . they were mesmerizing. Like warm, melted chocolate sprinkled with honey. Eyes that screamed
look at me
, even though she’d obviously tried to downplay her appearance by wearing the ugliest gray pantsuit Ethan had ever seen.

Ethan smiled—really smiled—and for the first time since agreeing to this case, thought coming here might not have been such a bad decision. Not if this was the view he could look forward to each day.

The woman’s gaze narrowed, and curiosity sparked in those spellbinding eyes. But instead of asking the questions Ethan knew were circling in her mind, she refocused on Principal Burke. “If you suddenly forget a meeting or conveniently fall ill, David, I’ll show up on your front porch.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Burke muttered as the woman walked out of the office. She didn’t spare Ethan another glance, just swept by him as if he weren’t even there. But as she passed, the sweet scents of lavender and vanilla drifted Ethan’s way, sending a quick shot of heat straight to his belly.

Muffled voices echoed from the outer office, followed by the main door slamming shut. As the sound dissipated, Burke reached for a file from the corner of his desk and sighed. “Sorry about that. Annoyed teachers are often worse than disgruntled postal employees.”

“That bad, huh?” Since the principal didn’t sit, Ethan set his bag on one of two chairs across from the desk and tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“You don’t know the half of it. Woman’s not happy unless she’s got my balls in a vise on a regular basis.”

Ethan chuckled. Oddly, with her, that sounded painful and pleasant all at the same time. “Lucky you.”

Burke handed him the folder. “I hate to cut and run, but I’ve got a meeting at the district office in fifteen minutes. We’re all set for tomorrow. So long as you’re not a disruption, we’ll do whatever we can to cooperate.”

“I know how to blend.” Ethan flipped open the folder and scanned the top paper. “These are Thomas’s behavior evaluations from the staff?”

“Yeah, only one missing is Sam Parker’s.”

“And he is . . . ?”

“Chemistry teacher.” Burke shrugged on his suit jacket and lifted his chin toward the door. “You already met her.”

“Ah.” One side of Ethan’s lips curled. “Disgruntled staff member. Yeah. I think I remember.” As if he could forget the girl with the glittering eyes.

“She was heading back to her room. You can probably catch her if you need her evaluation before tomorrow.”

Ethan didn’t. Not really. He had enough here to get started. But the thought of seeing those eyes again was a nice distraction from reliving all the shitty things that had happened to him in this town. He tucked the folder under his arm and shook the principal’s hand. “Thanks.”

Burke fixed his jacket collar and stepped toward the door. “Annette will get you a copy of Adler’s class schedule and a map so you don’t get lost. If anything comes up, let me know. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ethan said good-bye to the principal, gathered a campus map and visitor pass from Annette, the salt-and-pepper-haired secretary who continued to eye him as if he had a second head, and strolled down the long hallway with its scuffed walls and dinged lockers. Posters advertised the upcoming dance. A banner hung from the ceiling, reminding students to dress up for spirit week. At the end of the corridor, a janitor wearing headphones pushed a broom across the floor. The man looked up as Ethan approached, narrowed his eyes, then quickly turned away.

Another friendly resident. This place just got more and more welcoming.

He glanced at the map, continued down the corridor, and took the next right. Halfway down the hall, he spotted the chemistry teacher, standing next to a curvy blonde wearing a short skirt and ice-pick heels no woman in her right mind could possibly stand on all day.

They must have heard him because they both turned to look as soon as he rounded the corner. And the second Sam Parker’s mesmerizing eyes locked on Ethan’s, something hard and tight gathered right in the center of his gut.

Man, those eyes seriously needed to come with a warning label.

The blonde paused midsentence, and swept a heated look over Ethan. “You look lost, handsome.”

Ethan glanced from the ostentatious diamond ring on the blonde’s left hand to the staff ID badge clipped to her waist. Margaret Wilcox. English department, if he remembered correctly from the files he’d scanned earlier. “Actually, I’m not. I was looking for Ms. Parker.”

Margaret flicked Sam a look. “Well, that has definitely got to be a first.”

Ethan didn’t miss the mocking tone, or the animosity shooting like sparks between the two women. Definite story there. One he shouldn’t be interested in but nonetheless ignited his curiosity.

Sam Parker’s eyes narrowed. “Did David send you down here, Dr. McClane?”

She knew who he was. No big surprise there. He tried a smile, but her stone-faced expression proved she was resistant to male charm. Or maybe just his. “I was wondering if you had a chance to finish the behavior assessment on Thomas Adler.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Margaret Wilcox said next to him. “I didn’t think you were her type.”

“Behavior assessment. Right.” For a swift second, Sam closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s in my room.”

Margaret chuckled. “Translation? It’s not done. You might be waiting awhile, Dr. McClane. Sam never finishes anything. You get bored, you come find me.” With a last leering look, she turned and left, her heels clicking like cannon fire across the cement floor.

“Nice lady,” Ethan said when she was gone. “Friend?”

“Black widow.” Sam stared down the hall after the blonde. But before Ethan could ask what she meant, her expression cleared. She turned to look up at him. “So you’re the shrink the state sent to spy on Thomas.”

“Therapist,” he corrected, catching her contempt.

“Right.”

Ethan worked to keep his expression neutral. The woman might have pretty eyes, but she had a definite chip parked right on her shoulder, and he didn’t have the energy to spar with her right now.

“Your evaluation is on my de—”

The sharp crackle of glass shattering cut off her words. A loud thump echoed down the corridor, followed by more glass breaking. Eyes widening, Sam headed in that direction.

“Ms. Parker. Wait.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze was fixed on the door at the end of the hall. Closing her hand over the knob, she pressed her hip against the solid wood and muttered, “Dammit.” She fished a key ring from the front pocket of her baggy slacks, slipped the metal into the catch, and turned.

Behind her, Ethan glanced through the long rectangular window in the door. A shadow streaked across the dark room.

His adrenaline spiked. He reached for her slim shoulder. “Hold on.”

The door gave with a pop. She shrugged off his grip, but Ethan pushed between her and the open door before she could take a step. The shadow darted behind a lab station.

“Hey!” Sam yelled, stepping out from behind Ethan.

Shoes squeaked on the tile floor. Ethan dropped his bag and darted for the intruder. The kid or adult—Ethan couldn’t tell which—parted the closed drapes and slithered out an open window. Swiping aside the heavy fabric, Ethan closed his hand over a denim-clad ankle. In the fading light of dusk, all he could make out was jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, pulled high over the person’s face. The intruder kicked, broke free of Ethan’s arm, then dropped to the ground outside with a thud. Footsteps echoed back through the window as he raced away.

Sam moved to the right side of the windows and pulled open the drapes. Dim light spilled through the glass. “Shit.”

Ethan turned to see what she was looking at. Large, black-topped tables were overturned. Chairs lay on their sides, stools tipped upside down around lab stations. Broken glass and shredded papers littered the floor while a putrid chemical scent hovered over the entire room.

“What is that?” Ethan asked, wrinkling his nose.

The chemistry teacher darted toward the front of the room. “Gas line.”

She knelt behind a long counter. While she fiddled with the main valve, Ethan popped open windows to let in fresh air. A ventilation fan in the ceiling clicked on, the low whir cutting through the silence.

“That should do it,” she said, pushing to her feet.