Page 19

Dead…

That single word ricocheted through my mind while Dawson pulled the car over and rambled on. “Dean’s on his way there now to confirm that it’s Bellucci and oversee the processing of the scene. Apparently, there was a lot of evidence in the room with him—damning evidence—but Dean wants to assess it himself. He said there was also a burner found in the room, so he plans to get that back to the Bureau and go through its contents ASAP.”

The hope and relief I felt at the thought of this months’ long tribulation ending were still eclipsed by my utter disbelief. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I dared to ask.

“I’m saying that it looks like the AD might be dead.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up inside of me while tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “So all this could be over?”

“I can’t confirm that yet, but yes, it looks like that’s a very strong possibility.”

I choked on an inelegant laugh/sob combo as I tried to hold it together, if for no other reason than to save Tabby’s makeup job from ruin. “This is unreal. I can’t believe it.”

Dawson reached across the console and wiped a tear that had fallen free. “Believe it.” He pulled away and smiled at me in a way that made my heart hurt. There was a sadness to it I couldn’t quite understand at first; then I realized that this would mean that the man who’d ordered the death of his mentor and father figure was dead himself. It wasn’t just me who had emotions to unpack at this news. Dawson had them too. “We should go,” he said, easing back into the roadway. “Don’t want you to be late for your big moment.”

“It’s going to pale in comparison to this news,” I argued.

“True,” he said, casting a sideward glance my way, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t shine tonight.”

* * *

We parked the car as close to the festivities as possible, then made our way to the outskirts of the festival. The sweet smell of funnel cakes and carny fries permeated the air as we strode along the old cobblestone streets that dated back to town’s origins. People smiled at the queen as we navigated the parting crowd, and little girls oohed and ahhed as we passed.

“I’m used to people giving me a wide berth for other reasons,” I told Dawson, leaning in close enough for only him to hear. “A girl could get used to this.”

“Try not to let it go to your head, or I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

“No way. I couldn’t possibly let my constituents down,” I said as I headed toward the lineup point for the parade. “They’ll miss all the smiling and waving…and you look so nice in your suit. Very dapper. People need to see it.”

“Dapper, huh? Don’t you mean incredibly sexy eye candy for the masses?”

Yes . Yes, I did...

“Nope, I meant dapper. Now, be a good little escort and help me navigate this street, because I can’t see a damn thing and I don’t want to break an ankle.” With amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, he stepped up beside me, linked his arm with mine, and guided me across the uneven street like a true Victorian gentleman.

Mr. Darcy would have been proud.

“Are you ready for this?”

“‘Resigned’ might be a better word choice. I’m much more relaxed about it now, for obvious reasons, but I’m not really into this kind of attention.”

“ Nooooo ,” he replied, feigning disbelief.

“I know, right? Total shocker, but it’s true. I’m not one for the spotlight.”

“Unfortunate that it seems to love you, then.”

I swallowed hard at his words and tried not to show that they’d affected me. Where were all those damn coping mechanisms when I needed them?

As I pulled myself together, we rounded the corner by the bank to find the line of floats and vehicles. The Fighting Badger marching band was warming up in the distance, an unorganized cacophony drowning out the din of the festival as we made our way to my chariot for the evening: a 1958 Ford Mustang convertible in cherry red with white wings. And at the helm of that vintage beauty sat its owner, who’d been all too happy to volunteer his ride when he learned I’d be its prized occupant for the event: Kru Tyson, my Muay Thai guru since childhood.

One look at me in all that deep teal satin and taffeta and he all but jumped out from behind the wheel.

“Holy shit,” he said as he eyed me up and down, headed toward us. “Mark told me you’d look the part, but I thought he was full of it.” There was a strange sense of pride bubbling over in his stare that made me smile. “You look gorgeous, kid. Really. Who knew these hicks would get it right and choose you to win?”

“Not me, that’s for damn sure,” I replied, a hint of embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

“This your hot date for the night?” he asked, his expression quickly turning to the one I most recognized—the pro fighter who will not suffer your shit with a smile—as he looked at Dawson.

“Not exactly. More like my personal escort,” I explained as blood rushed into my cheeks for a whole new reason. “This is Agent Dawson of the FBI. He’s here to make sure everything goes smoothly tonight.”

Tyson’s brow furrowed. “Wait…haven’t I seen you in the gym before?”

“You have,” Dawson said, extending his hand, “but under false pretenses. I was doing some undercover work at the time.”

“Oh yeah, right. The missing girls.” Tyson shook Dawson’s hand, and I couldn’t help but notice how hard he gripped it. “I’ve known Kylene a long time. She’s a great kid. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her on your watch.”

“Guess that makes two of us, then,” the fed replied without flinching.

“Glad we understand each other.” Tyson released his hand before turning to me. “My ride gonna be good enough for you tonight, your majesty ?”

“It’s beautiful. I can’t think of a more perfect car.”

“What year?” Dawson asked as he looked over the pristine Mustang.

“‘58.”

“How fast does she go?”

“Faster than anyone should be driving.”

“Good.”

Tyson shot me a wary look. “Your friend here expecting trouble or something?”

“Dawson always expects trouble when I’m around,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Guess he’s smarter than he looks, then.” Tyson ribbed me lightly with his elbow, then focused his attention on the agent before him. “But just in case someone does start something, know that I did two tours in the Marines back in the day. You don’t gotta worry about me or Delilah,” he said, gesturing to the car. “We’re good.”

“See, Dawson? They’re good. I’m good. We’re all good. Now all you have to do is sit in the car with me and try not to look angry about it the whole time—or make fun of me. I’ll push you off the back if you say one thing about the waving.”

“No waving comments,” he said, smiling in a way that told me I’d just unwittingly invited an onslaught of them. “Got it.”

“You’re fucked now, kid. You handed him that on a platter,” Tyson said as he opened the car door for us.

“I’m already regretting that life choice.” I took the hand he offered and stepped into the back of the open vehicle, then kicked off my shoes so I could climb up onto the back seat and perch on top of it. Dawson made his way around to the passenger’s side and slid in next to me.

A gust of wind blasted down the side street, and I shivered reflexively. The tiny satin jacket I’d been given to wear wasn’t going to be enough.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his wool coat and wrapping it around my shoulders. “You’re going to freeze to death—”

“Which would be pretty ironic given the news we just received,” I said as I nestled into the warmth his body had imprinted on the lining.

He smiled and shook his head as he unbuttoned his suit coat.

Tyson folded himself into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “Looks like it’s about time to kick this thing off,” he said as he fired up the engine. Delilah purred like the cougar she was as she inched down the street filled with passers-by, headed for Main Street and the big parade. “Make sure you don’t slide too far back. I don’t need anybody fallin’ out.” He clicked on the radio to a station that wasn’t likely to play offensive music as we slowly made our way into the lineup on Hayman Drive.

“Is this everything you thought it would be?” Dawson asked, leaning in close enough to be heard over the reverie.

“And so much colder. But the real question is, how does it feel to be sitting with the ‘jewel of Jasperville’ during this public display? I mean, does it get better than that? I think not.”

“I just want to do our loop and get out of here.”

“Now that’s the spirit I’m looking for in a wingman,” I exclaimed as the percussion section of the band started their marching cadence. “I should have had Garrett come with me. At least he’d have been fun.”

“But not as dapper,” Dawson countered as the Mustang rounded the corner to enter the parade route. “Or armed.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s got a fancy suit and a rifle or two kicking around he could have hidden underneath,” I replied with a wink. “Maybe even a pistol.”

Dawson ignored my comment and looked down the road at the crowds filling both sides. “I think it’s time for that waving to start, Danners.” I lifted my arm and did my best attempt at the famed pageant wave as the mantra ‘elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist’ played over in my mind. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “ smile ,” and I tried to ignore the shiver that ran through me.

The wind. It must have been the icy wind.

“ You smile,” I bit back at him once I found my voice.

To my surprise, he actually did.

The Mustang crawled along the route, headed toward the grandstand in the distance, where Mayor Applewood was emceeing. As we went, I tried to absorb the warmth of the crowd. Little girls with mini sashes and plastic tiaras waved frantically and cheered as we rolled past. Boys pointed, then air-punched combinations in acknowledgement. And parents just smiled and clapped as though they actually approved of me being a role model for the community. In a nutshell, it felt like an alternate universe.

“Here she comes!” Mayor Applewood’s amplified voice crackled through the speakers as we neared the main stage. “Our Winter Festival Queen, Kylene Danners!”

Applause erupted through the downtown streets of Jasperville, and I looked over at Dawson to see if he was as amused by it all as I was. When I did, I found him looking down at his phone to dismiss an incoming call.

“Who was it?” I asked, working hard to keep my smile in place as I did.

“Dean. He probably has an update for me. It can wait until—”

His phone began vibrating again as Dean Franklin’s name filled the screen. Dawson hit the speaker and put the phone up close between us.

“This is Daw—”

“Where is Kylene?” Franklin blurted out, cutting him off.

“Sitting next to me in the middle of a parade. Why?”

“Get her out of there. Now .”

“What’s going on—”

“I got into the burner,” he said as Tyson rolled to a stop right in front of the grandstand. The roar of the crowd made it nearly impossible to hear. “The last text on it contained details for a hit on Kylene tonight.” Dawson’s wide eyes turned to mine, and all I saw in them was unadulterated fear. “Get her out of there, Dawson.”

Then the pop of what I thought were fireworks split the night; but the cries of “ GUN !” that followed wrenched me back to reality.

Dawson tackled me around the waist and dragged me to the floor of the car with him on top, sheltering me with his body as he yelled at Tyson to drive. Tyson hit the gas, and the car lurched forward at alarming speed. He yanked the wheel and dipped down what I could only assume was a nearby alley, then sped away.

“Are you hit?” Dawson asked as he patted me down, searching for blood amid the sea of fabric. The honest to God panic in his voice was impossible to deny, and it didn’t improve when I didn’t answer immediately. “ Kylene ! Are you okay?”

“Can’t. Breathe,” I managed to squeak out with his full weight on top of me. “Get...off…”

“We should be clear!” Tyson shouted over his shoulder as he weaved through town, putting distance between us and the parade—the scene of the almost-crime.

With Tyson’s go-ahead, Dawson awkwardly maneuvered into a seated position and pulled me up to join him. “Head down,” he said, holding it in his lap with one hand and drawing his gun with the other.

“Where do you want to go?” Tyson asked, but Dawson didn’t have an answer. “We can hole up at my place and call the cavalry from there.”

“Do you have guns?” the young fed asked.

I could see Tyson’s grin in the rearview mirror. “I got a fucking arsenal.”

“Good. We may need it.”

While they discussed firearms, the full weight of what was happening—what had just happened—finally hit home. Those shots were for me , and if it hadn't been for Dawson’s quick reaction and Tyson’s driving skills, I probably wouldn’t be alive. My hands began to shake as fear snaked its way up my spine, and I clamped them together to still them. “Can I sit up yet?” I asked, grateful that the wind was so loud with the top down that they wouldn’t hear the tremor in my voice.

“Not until we get there. Tyson, how much longer?”

“Almost there.”

The old car dipped as we made a sharp right, and I knew exactly where we were. Tyson’s dirt driveway still had a nasty crater in it from the last flood that had ripped through that side of town years earlier. Knowing we weren’t likely to take fire there, I pushed off Dawson’s lap and straightened my tiara.

The fed gave me a nasty side-eye for my disobedience but said nothing.

“This is us,” Tyson said as he pulled the car into his detached garage. He killed the engine, then hopped out so we could get out. “Let’s move.” With military efficiency and his head on a swivel, he cut his way through the yard and into the house.

I walked into the kitchen and sat on the stool next to the tiny island, my torn dress sprawled out around me.

“I’m calling Higgins,” Dawson announced as he pulled out his phone. “We need backup.”

“The cops are too busy chasing a ghost right now to come,” Tyson said as he rounded the corner with enough firepower to arm a small militia and held up some kind of war machine to show Dawson. “You know how to use one of these?”

The fed tossed his phone aside. “Yeah.”

My coach tossed him the weapon. “Good. Take a position next to the barn and shoot anything approaching that doesn’t identify itself.”

Dawson set the assault rifle down on the counter, then turned to me. “Kylene, I need you to lock yourself in the bathroom and get down on the floor. Stay there until one of us comes to get you.”

Terror wrapped around my neck, choking off my air. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Don’t leave me alone… please .”

“I have to,” he said gently. “To keep you safe.”

My whole body shivered as whatever adrenaline I’d been running on finally left me, and he took a step closer, brows pinched together with worry. Then I told him something I’d never admitted since the day we met. “Dawson…I’m scared.” Tears sprang loose and carved their way down my cheeks.

He took my face in his hands and leaned in until we were mere inches apart. “I know you are, but you can do this, because I’ve never in my life met anyone braver than you, Kylene Danners.” He gently stroked away the evidence of my weakness with his thumbs as I tried to believe his pretty words. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Nobody’s getting into this house, kid, no matter how hard they try,” Tyson added as he pulled on a pair of infrared goggles. “That’s a promise.” Without another word, he slipped out the front door and into the night, armed like he was going into battle—which seemed oddly appropriate.

Dawson’s phone buzzed on the counter, and he released me to answer it. “Sheriff Higgins,” he barked into the phone. “Tell me you have— what ? You’re sure? How can you know?” Silence. “Okay, copy that.” He ended the call, then looked at me. “They got the shooter.”

“Who is it?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m going to head over to the station to find out.”

“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm to stop him, “did he say if anyone was hurt?” He looked at me for a moment until realization dawned. Gramps, my friends—they’d all been by the grandstand to watch the parade.

“They’re okay. Higgins just confirmed that.” He grabbed the war machine off the counter and looked it over before turning his gaze to me and my rising panic. He placed it back down gently and stepped so close he was all that filled my field of vision. “I promise you, Kylene, they’re all right. It’s you I’m worried about right now…”

“I’m okay,” I said. But the sniffle in my voice, the shaking of my hands, and the general sense of the room closing in around me begged to differ.

Dawson placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned in closer still. “I know you’re not right now; I can see that plain as day. But we need to go down to the sheriff’s department. Can you do that?” I nodded a little too frantically in response to be convincing. “Then we should go now,” he said, his tone far softer than it had just been.

He slipped my hand in his and led me through the house while I tried to hold myself together.