Page 58 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

I comb my hair out of my face and take a breath, trying to squelch this anger stewing deep inside me. With him. With Jacey, who had one damn job.

But I fail. “You’re going to be in trouble either way.”

Mr. Davis’s eyes darken as he crosses his arms. Unease wraps around my spine. I have to get back to the trail, to the open, to the others. Mr. Davis won’t be able to do anything to me if they’re watching. I scramble to the next tree, kicking aside the twigs and brambles. Still no glimmer of silver.

He’s closer now. His aggravation hangs in the air like a thundercloud. It seeps into my skin. “Savannah, what are you talking about?” He shakes his head but doesn’t hurry me along. He takes another slow step closer.

I can’t handle this innocent teacher routine. My mouth flies open of its own accord. “You were the last person to see Piper that day.”

Mr. Davis’s brow furrows. He’s close enough now that I see his chest rise and fall in a slow, deliberate breath.

“You’ve been keeping it a secret.”

He frowns, his boot crunching unnervingly on the forest floor as he steps closer.

“Because you did something to her,” I add, shuffling backward.

One more long exhale. “Did something to her?”

“Piper was investigating the doping scandal. She found the random drug tests. The ones you didn’t send. Was that why you tried to silence her for good?” I back up some more, and the clouds move with me, shrouding us in darkness.

Mr. Davis brushes aside some leaves with his boot, but his gaze remains on me. “Savannah, just let me help you find your necklace.”

He’s being too nice. I spin around, my gaze zipping around in one last desperate search.

Silver glints from within a tangle of vines, and my heart soars. I bend over to retrieve it, relieved to find the charm still clinging to the end of the chain. I clasp it in my fist just as Mr. Davis’s heavy hand falls onto my shoulder.

Panic reels through my chest. His fingers press down, digging into my skin, and I scream with everything in me. Wrenching myself away, I make a mad dash for the trail.

Mr. Davis’s footsteps pound after me, underbrush snapping beneath his boots. “Savannah!” he calls, deep voice slicing through the vegetation. I don’t stop. He tried to kill Piper. If he catches me, he’ll do whatever it takes to silence me. Clinging to my necklace so hard my knuckles ache, I run faster than I’ve ever chased a soccer ball.

I push aside brambles and dodge thick tree trunks, paying no mind to the talons of the branches as they claw at my flesh and hook my clothing.

Mr. Davis is close enough that I can hear his labored breathing behind me, over the birds, over the cacophony of our footsteps. He’s not giving up, even though I’m about to reach the trail. Everyone will see him pursuing me, hunting me down like prey.

I near the edge of the woods, where the sunlight finally stipples through the pines. My foot catches on a rock, and I stumble, crashing through the trees.

But I’m free.

I pick myself up, Mr. Davis still close on my heels as I survey the trail. I open my mouth to scream for the others. But my heart catches in my throat, pushing the scream back down.

This isn’t the trail.

I’ve simply breached one line in an endless page of trees. I must have gotten turned around while I was looking for my necklace. I curse under my breath. Ahead and behind and on either side of me, there’s nothing but dark forest.

I battle the urge to hyperventilate. I have to press on; I just don’t know which way to go. Even with a compass, I’d be lost out here.

“Grant!” I scream. But my breathing is so shallow, I barely make a sound. I’m not in soccer-season shape. “Somebody, help!”

Mr. Davis’s steps are close now. I have to try and outrun him. I’ll worry about being lost later.

I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans and stash the necklace in my pocket. Then I sprint downhill, still listening to the sound of Mr. Davis barreling through the trees. Branches snag on the jacket flapping at my waist as I run, the recorder still bobbling in my zipped pocket. I step on a rock hidden in the foliage, and my ankle wobbles the way it did when I sprained it in that game against Lincoln High. But I recover, ducking beneath a branch and continuing at a dead run.

My lungs burn, and my legs become rubber. Just when I’m certain my heartbeat is the only thing I’ll hear for the rest of my life, another sound surfaces.

Water.

The river must flow down through this part of the mountain. If I cross it, maybe Mr. Davis will give up and head back to the others.

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