Page 47 of Our Little Secret

“I know. I love it too.” And she did. So why had she risked it all—her marriage and her home, even her child’s affection—for what? A summer fling with a man she barely knew, a sexy bad boy who touched a forbidden place in her heart? God, she’d been stupid.

Leah sighed, her gaze meeting Brooke’s, and beneath the hint of a smile was there just a bit of something darker than sadness? Envy? Jealousy? “Really, really lucky.” Then she made her way to the staircase by the front door.

Feeling slightly chastised, Brooke ignored the pain in her ankle and followed Leah into the guest room, where she deposited the roller bag at the foot of the old double bed she’d inherited from their mother.

“Make yourself at home,” Brooke said, and again she saw that shadow of a darker emotion cross her sister’s blue eyes.

“I will,” Leah promised. “Neal’s at work?”

Brooke was walking into the hallway but stopped short. Neal was always a difficult topic with her sister. “Yeah. He’s usually home around six.”

“Oh. Okay.” The innocence in Leah’s words belied what Brooke believed was something deeper, something a little less pure, but maybe it was her own guilt pricking at her conscience. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to worry about it now. She was going to pick up her daughter from school and be on time for once, come hell or high water.

And then she was going to find out how Gideon Ross seemed to know her every move.

CHAPTER 11

Brooke arrived just as the final bell rang and students began streaming out of Allsworth High School. Cars started, kids laughed and pushed, some in tight clusters, others alone, striding away from the grounds. Cheerleaders in uniforms hurried out in a cluster, matching ponytails swinging behind them, and football players in letterman’s jackets were also visible in a crowd of kids in hoodies, jeans, and backpacks.

Despite the fact that it was a brilliant October afternoon on a Friday with a home football game later in the evening, there was tension beneath the exuberant shouts and laughter of dispersing teens.

Students were being watched.

More teachers and aides were posted outside on the campus grounds. A police car idled across the street and there were more cars in the pickup lane than usual as anxious parents came for their kids rather than letting them walk or bike home. Despite the air of Americana and excitement for the weekend, almost everyone was on edge.

Because of the missing girls.

Brooke’s cell phone rang and she jumped, checked the number, and froze because the digits meant nothing to her. Nor were they attached to any name in her contact list.

Gideon, she thought, remembering the mad driver on the motorcycle.

He had a new number.

Her insides twisted, yet she hit the Answer button, ready to tell him to go straight to hell. “Hello?” she said, her eyes still scanning the crowd of students milling between the school and the line of vehicles.

“Brooke?” a woman’s voice inquired. Was it familiar? Maybe slightly?

“Yes.”

“Oh good. I’d lost your number, but I got this one from Andrea . . . Andrea Davis; you know, Zuri’s mom.”

“I know her. And you are?”

“Oh, silly me. You don’t recognize my voice. Of course you don’t. It’s been a few years. It’s just that I’m so on edge,” the woman said nervously as Brooke’s heart rate returned to normal. “It’s Joanna Nelson. Kinsey’s mother.”

“Oh, right. Hi, Joanna,” Brooke said, leaning back against the seat as she recalled the tall, thin woman with short brown hair, oversize glasses, and a penchant for nervously picking at her collar or watch or whatever. Marilee and Kinsey were in a few classes together in middle school and Joanna was a PTA president or something. More personally involved than Brooke.

“I just wondered if Marilee said anything to you about what happened. I mean about Allison. Kinsey is freaked out and so am I. They were great friends in sixth grade. And Elyse; I can’t imagine what she’s going through. She and Tony—that’s her ex, you know—have buried the hatchet, at least for now, until they find Allison . . . I mean if . . . I meanwhenthey do. When they do. They will. They will find her. They have to. The police are on it and there are search parties being amassed and dogs and . . . they’ll find her,” Joanna rambled on, obviously trying to convince herself.

“Yes, I hope so,” Brooke said, watching kids hurrying into waiting cars and buses, searching for Marilee.

“We all do. Of course. But Kinsey refused to go to school today and I don’t blame her. She says everything’s ‘too weird,’ and she seems to be coming down with a cold, so I let her stay home, but I haven’t heard a word. So I’m calling around, seeing if anyone’s heard anything. Dear God, I hope they find her. I can’t imagine . . .” Her voice finally trailed off.

“Neither can I and I don’t know anything. I’m just picking up Marilee now.”

“Oh! Right! Of course. What was I thinking?” she said breathlessly, then added, “If you learn anything, anything at all after you talk to Marilee or from someone else, will you call me?”

“Sure. At this number?”