Secrets And Lies. Shirlee McCoy

down the past month or so, but she still walked every day and coached the girl’s track team.

      By the time she reached her classroom, she was slightly out of breath, her heart racing as if she’d done the hundred-yard dash. The door was closed, no light spilling out from beneath it. Had she closed it? Had she turned off the light?

      She couldn’t remember doing either, and she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, a shiver of warning working its way up her spine. There’d been moments since she’d left Las Vegas when the old fears had haunted her, when she’d found herself checking and rechecking the locks on the windows and doors of the little house she lived in. She’d found out a lot of things about Mitch after he’d died, things that had made her question herself and her ability to judge people, that had made her wonder if her entire marriage had been based on lies. According to the police, she’d been married to a criminal—a guy who’d laundered money through the casino where he’d worked, an arsonist who’d collected money after helping others commit insurance fraud. If he were alive, Mitch would be in jail.

      He wasn’t, and sometimes Ariel thought that the people he owed, the ones who the police said always played for keeps, might come after her to get what they were owed.

      She shivered, backing away from the door. She couldn’t imagine Mia’s brother walking into her classroom, closing the door and turning off the light, and she really didn’t think she’d done either of those things herself. She’d heard a door slam. Someone was in the school. Anyone who had any business being there would make themselves known, not wander around stealthily turning off lights.

      She’d left her purse in the room, her wallet, her phone, but she could get those later. There was nothing wrong with being careful, after all. Nothing at all wrong with waiting for someone else to walk her into the room.

      Heading up the corridor, she thought she heard the soft swish of a door opening behind her and turned, then saw her door swinging open, a man stepping out. Thin. Tall. Face masked by a stocking or a ski mask? He had something in his hand and raised it. A gun! She darted around the corner as a bullet slammed into the wall near her head. Plaster and cement flew into her hair, pinging off her cheek.

      She didn’t stop. She could hear his feet slapping against the tile, knew he’d be around the corner in heartbeat.

      Run! her mind shrieked, her body clumsy with eight months of pregnancy, her legs churning in slow-motion, time speeding forward, the footsteps growing closer.

      She ducked into the resource room, slamming the door closed, her hands trembling as she turned the lock. She stepped to the side just as a bullet flew through the door and smashed into a shelf of books that lined the far wall.

      She had to get out!

      The window was the only escape, and she ran to it, clawing at the lock mechanism. It didn’t budge.

      Behind her, something slammed into the door. Once. Twice. The door shook, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it flew open and the gunman appeared, weapon drawn and ready.

      Please, God, please! she prayed frantically as she searched the room for another way out. There wasn’t one, but an old computer monitor sat abandoned on the floor, wires tossed on top of it. She lifted it and slammed it into the window. A tiny hairline crack appeared. She slammed it again, and the glass cracked more. Behind her, the assault on the door continued, the wood starting to splinter and give.

      Please, she prayed again as she lifted the monitor and threw it with all her strength.

      * * *

      Glass shattering.

      Rookie K-9 officer Tristan McKeller heard it as he hooked his K-9 partner to a lead. The yellow lab cocked his head to the side, growling softly.

      “What is it, boy?” Tristan asked, scanning the school parking lot. Only one other vehicle was parked there—a shiny black minivan that he knew belonged to Ariel Martin. He was late to their meeting. That seemed to be the story of his life this summer. Work was crazy, and his sister was crazier, and finding time to meet with Mia’s summer school teacher? Nearly impossible. He’d already canceled two previous meetings. He couldn’t cancel this one. Not if Mia had any hope of getting through summer school and moving on to the next grade. That’s what Ariel had said when he’d pulled her aside at church last Sunday.

      She can do it, Tristan. She’s smart enough. We just have to find the right motivation. We’ll talk about it at the meeting. You are going to be there, right?

      Of course, he’d assured her that he would.

      What he hadn’t done was assure her that he’d be on time. A good thing, since it looked like he was going to be more than a few minutes late. Jesse was still growling, alerted to something that must have to do with the shattering glass. Kids fooling around and busting school windows? A ball tossed the wrong way, taking out a streetlight?

      He hoped it was something that innocuous, but he wasn’t counting on it. Things had been happening in Desert Valley, a string of crimes that seemed to have surprised everyone in the small town. Drug runners. A dirty cop. Murder.

      “Find!” he commanded, and Jesse took off, pulling against the leash in his haste to get to the corner of the building and around it. Trained in arson detection, the dog had an unerring nose for almost anything. Right now, he was on a scent, and Tristan trusted him enough to let him have his head.

      Glass glittered on the pavement twenty feet away, and Jesse beelined for it, barking raucously, his tail stiff and high.

      “Front!” Tristan said, and the dog returned to him, sitting impatiently, his dark eyes focused on the window.

      “Stay!” Tristan commanded, and Jesse dropped down with a grunted protest. He wanted to keep going, but Tristan couldn’t risk him cutting his paws on the shards of glass.

      A woman appeared in the window. Dark hair. Pale skin. Freckles. Very pregnant belly that wasn’t cooperating as she struggled to crawl through the opening. Ariel Martin. The newest teacher at Desert Valley High School. Smart. Enthusiastic. Patient. He’d heard that from more than one parent. He’d even heard it from Mia. The few times Tristan had spoken to Ariel, he’d been impressed by her interest in his sister, and he’d felt confident that she could help Mia regain her academic grounding. If Mia would let her.

      “You okay?” he asked, running to Ariel’s side.

      She shook her head, dark gray eyes wide with shock, a smear of blood on her right hand. She’d cut herself. It looked deep, but she didn’t seem to notice. “He’s got a gun. He tried to shoot me.”

      The words were calm, crisp and clear, and they chilled Tristan to the bone. Two women had already been murdered in Desert Valley. Was Ariel Martin slated to be the third?

      “Who?” He grabbed her arms, hauling her through the opening.

      She landed on her feet, her body trembling. “I don’t know. He was wearing something over his face.”

      “But you did see a gun?” he asked, wanting clarification before he called in a gunman on the loose.

      “Saw it. Heard the bullet slam into the wall. Saw one go through the door. He was trying to get into the resource room where I was hiding, but I think he heard your dog barking and left.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t hesitate, the words flowing out easily. Truth did that to people. This was no overly imaginative person freaked-out about something that might have been seen. This was a woman who’d been terrified by a very real, very imminent threat.

      Her safety was first, but Tristan wanted to go after the guy now, before he had a chance to run. If this was connected to the other murders, this might be the break they’d been looking for. Ariel had seen the guy. Not his face. But his height, width, maybe his skin tone.

      He called dispatch and asked for backup as he led Ariel to his SUV. The sooner they hunted the perp down and took him into custody, the safer everyone in the vicinity would be.

      He couldn’t leave the victim, though.