Page 18 of Love Me Fierce

Is this the warning sign I’ve been worried about?

It seems to take ages for the tow truck driver to hitch up the Taurus, but finally he’s ready to move. Once he’s on his way, I give the area one last scan, but the mist is now falling in a thick haze, and my assessment doesn’t change. The guy’s long gone.

As I drive up the narrow access road, the river fades from my rearview. Back at the four-way stop at Thrasher’s Corner, I can’t help but scan the wooded lot favored by teenagers for making out and partying, but I’m not surprised it’s empty on a Tuesday morning, but it brings Marin Lambert’s murder case back in vivid detail. We found her white Ford Ranger in this exact lot hours before Search & Rescue found her body up in Lost River Canyon.

I’m beginning to think Marin’s murder is the case I’ll never be able to let go of. Even though DNA evidence from the guy we putaway for stalking and kidnapping Ava Greely turned up at the lookout where we believe she was killed, it wasn’t enough to charge him. Too many critical details didn’t add up. In the end, we put Ava’s stalker away for life, but Marin’s murder—and others our task force believes are connected—have yet to be solved.

Not that I haven’t been trying like hell to track her killer down and put him away, before he strikes again. But even with the help of the feds, the case has stalled, and we’re out of leads.

The mist has turned to a steady drizzle by the time I pull up to the middle school. On my short walk to the entrance, I try to prepare myself for whatever Logan’s gotten himself into. Did he start the fight, or was he attacked? The start of school this year hasn’t exactly been easy, but Logan hasn’t reported anything to me that sheds a light on why he would have been fighting.

My older brother Linden got kicked out of high school for his entire senior year because he couldn’t quit picking fights. Dad put him to work during the day and he did a modified homeschool program at night with Mom to get his GED. It was a tense year, and not something I am keen to live through again with my own son.

After I get buzzed inside, I slip into the main office, turning down the volume knob on my radio. Back when I was a student here a million years ago, I never landed in the principal’s office. I have even less of a clue where the nurse is located.

The main secretary is not at her desk, but a woman with dark hair steps from one of the offices behind it, her smile brightening when our eyes lock.

“Hey, Everett.”

Shit. What are the odds? “Uh, hey, Shawna. How’ve you been?”

Shawna gives me a wink. “Amazing, thanks for asking.”

“Great.”

She leans over the counter to grab a stack of papers, then walks toward me, a deviant little gleam in her eye, like she’s about to offer a secret, but thankfully, Ms. Cromwell enters from the hallway. “Thank you for coming, Deputy.”

Shawna gives me a little wave on her way past.

My relief that I get to miss whatever Shawna was about to say vanishes as I follow Ms. Cromwell down a carpeted hallway to the door labeled PRINCIPAL on a gold placard. While she knocks, I scan the other doors, but none of them say NURSE. Where the hell is Logan?

“Come in,” a man booms from behind the door.

The vice principal opens it, gives me a quick intro, then spins away.

“Thank you for coming,” Principal Franklin says, standing to shake my hand. His small office is crowded with two chairs facing his desk which is piled with papers on one side and a large computer monitor on the other. Stacked on the floor next to it are three large cardboard boxes, the top one opened, revealing cases of candy bars that kids sell as a fundraiser. I’ve bought more than my share over the years from neighbors and my niece, Greta.

“Can you tell me what happened?” I ask to kick things off as I lower into a seat.

“Logan and two other boys were caught fighting,” Principal Franklin says, his expression turning serious.

My first instinct is that Logan got jumped, but Principal Franklin surprises me. “They were walking back from P.E. in the same group. Logan pushed one of the boys, and the second one pushed Logan back, and then there were fists flying. Mr. Crosby, the 6thgrade P.E. teacher, and Mrs. Scott, our 8thgrade P.E. teacher, intervened.”

“You’re sure Logan started it?” I ask.

“Several of the students corroborated, yes.”

“Any idea what it was about?”

Principal Franklin raises an eyebrow.

“Not asking for leniency. It’s just not like Logan.”

“We have a zero-tolerance policy for fighting at Finn River Middle School.” He gives me a scan, as if to make a point of noticing that yeah, I’m a cop. “We handle disputes between students differently than what may be taughtat home.”

Okay, we’re done here. I stand. “Got it. Where is he?”

Principal Franklin stands too. “With the nurse.”

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