Page 22

Special Agent Jack Stone

We met with Nikki for breakfast at Bea’s Diner this morning.

Jet hadn’t begun his shift just yet, and for that reason alone, I enjoyed every bite of those soft, fluffy pancakes.

Since Fallon and I were heading out to my old stomping grounds, Nikki offered to take Buddy to the forensics lab with her. Fallon quickly agreed, seeing that a dog on a high school campus would cause a mob scene. I have a feeling she’s right.

As we pull into Aspen Heights High, the memories flood back with every turn of the wheel. This place was a backdrop for my better youthful years, or year to be exact, seeing that I just spent one here. But what a magical year it was.

I shake my head at the place before we jump out of the truck. The scent of the pines surrounds us like a welcome embrace. And the scent of the football field, the faint scent of books, it all takes me back in an instant.

It’s almost three-thirty and classes have already been dismissed for the day.

“There’s no place like home,” Fallon says as she comes around to my side. “This place is immaculate.” She shields the sun from her eyes with her hand as she inspects the grounds.

Aspen Heights High sits like a testament to traditional and modern educational architecture, which blend seamlessly together. The main building is a grand structure, comprised mostly of red brick, and it stands proudly at the heart of the campus. Several newer buildings surround it with expansive glass facades that reflect the sky and scream the fact they’re firmly planted in the twenty-first century.

“It’s nice,” I say before pointing to the newer construction. “Those weren’t around when I was here. But I hear they house state-of-the-art facilities.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

We head out of the parking lot and onto the grounds.

The campus is sprawling with meticulously maintained green lawns that stretch between buildings, offering students and staff alike spaces to gather, relax, or study under the shade of rambling oaks. We did a little more than relax back then, but I’m keeping my lips sealed regarding the many malfeasances of my youth.

Concrete pathways crisscross before us, leading to destinations all across campus, from the science labs to the art studio that overlooks the courtyard.

In the heart of campus sits the quad, where we find students lounging on benches, tossing frisbees, and huddled over textbooks.

The quad is flanked by the school’s athletic field, where the vibrant green grass contrasts sharply with the crimson track that encircles it. Both areas are buzzing with activity as the teams practice under the watchful supervision of their coaches.

Next to that, there’s an outdoor amphitheater with stone seating and a stage that has hosted more school assemblies and open-air concerts than I care to remember.

“She’s in room 212,” I say. “I checked a map of the school last night. It’s this way. I spoke to the attendance office this morning and they assured me she was here today.”

“Let’s hope we catch her before she ditches the premises,” Fallon says as I speed us to the outdoor corridor that leads to the English department.

The left side of the corridor is flanked by a wall with an outline of a mural as a handful of students meticulously paint various pieces of it. From this vantage point, I can’t quite make out the picture, outside the fact it looks to be a nature scene of some sort.

A tall brunette with a heart-shaped face steps out before us. Her curly hair dips past her shoulders, she’s dressed in a denim dress with a yellow belt, and she’s cradling an overstuffed tote bag in her arms. She turns to head in the opposite direction and I jump forward.

“Alicia?” I call out and she turns my way. The look of surprise on her face grows and it’s clear she has no idea who I am.

And she has no idea what’s about to transpire.