The Better to Bite (Howl #1)(29)

One week for hosting a blowout party? The woman’s punishment skills were weak. “If I’d had the party,” I told him honestly, “my dad wouldn’t have let me out of the house for at least a month.”

He laughed. “The sheriff’s tough, huh?”

“You have no idea.” I was trying to warn the guy. He didn’t seem to pick up on the warning.

His smile still lingered on his face. “When I’m off prison duty, how about we try a real date?”

That sounded promising. “I could be up for that.”

He caught my hand in his. “After all, we’ve already had a near-death experience. What’s a movie after that?”

He made me want to laugh. Standing there with him then, the wreck, the wolf—even Granny Helen’s crazy stories—all just seemed like a bad dream.

But then I looked up once more, and I caught sight of my dad, standing near the back entrance of the cafeteria. He had his hands on his hips, and his dark gaze swept the area. When he saw me and Brent, his eyes narrowed.

That was his Trouble look. I snatched my hand back from Brent. No girl likes to be caught with a cute guy when—

“Anna.”

There was a tight, strained quality in my dad’s voice.

I frowned at him. He’d sure closed in fast.

“We need to talk.”

Brent spun around. “Sheriff Lambert? What are you—”

I realized the principal, Mr. Knoxley, hovered behind my dad. The principal’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and sweat beaded his very large brow.

“Anna, come with us, now.”

And I realized my dad was there for one reason—and one reason only—business.

When I thought about the kind of business that would send my dad after me in the middle of a school day, a tight knot formed in my stomach and for an instant, I slipped into the past.

***

The girl had been missing three days when my dad came to pull me out of class. I was in the middle of my biology exam, and praying hard for a miracle, when he came in.

The teacher stood, but my dad waved him away. My dad’s badge was on his hip, and I guess Mr. Bryer knew better than to get in a cop’s way.

“Family emergency,” my dad said.

My heart stopped at that, but then I caught the almost imperceptible negative shake of his head.

Normally, someone from the office would have come to get me out of class. Not my dad. But…

I soon realized this wasn’t a normal situation.

The bright sunlight hit me when I left the school building. My dad’s unmarked car waited at the corner. He opened my door, and I slid inside.

He hurried around and climbed into the vehicle.

“Dad, what’s happening?” Not a family emergency. So it wasn’t mom. She’d moved out four months ago, and I hadn’t heard from her. I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing and, yeah, a part of me still hoped that she’d show up on our doorstep.

My dad’s hands tightened around the wheel. “I need you to help me, baby.”

The knot in my gut squeezed real hard. So hard I think I lost my breath. “Dad?” I knew what he meant. He’d been working a case—one that chased him home at night. Girls were going missing, girls close to my age. They’d disappear from bus stops, movie theaters, malls—six of them so far. Just…vanishing. Disappearing for three days. Then on day three, the cops would find a broken body.

I’d seen a picture of one of those bodies. I never wanted to see anything like that again.

“Another girl vanished from her bus stop this morning,” he told me and finally glanced my way. “The Feds in charge of the case don’t have any leads. The girl’s mother came to me, hysterical. She just wants her daughter back home.”

I knew what he was going to ask. I’d even offered to help him before, but he’d told me the work was too dangerous.

He swallowed and, slowly, his right hand left the steering wheel. He pulled a small color photograph out of his pocket and handed it to me. A smiling blonde girl, my age, stared back at me. “This is Caitlin Crenshaw," he told me, voice rasping, "and she’s lost.”

***

The principal’s office door clicked shut behind me, and I jerked back to the present. Mr. Knoxley shuffled around the room and stood behind his desk.

My dad had taken a position blocking the closed door. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just sat in one of Knoxley’s stiff “bad student” chairs.

“Ms. Lambert,” the principal began, “let me first tell you how sorry I am to hear about your recent accident.”

“Thanks.” I was rather sorry to have been in the accident, but I managed to hold that comment back. I hoped dad appreciated my restraint.

Mr. Knoxley's head cocked to the left. “You were on your way to a party at Brent Peters’ that night, correct?”

Wasn’t that obvious?

“We have recently learned,” Mr. Knoxley continued in his slightly nasal voice, “that another one of our students, a freshman named Sissy Hamilton, attended that party.”

Uh, okay. “I don’t know her.”

He made what sounded like a faint hum, then revealed, “Sissy never came home.”

I swallowed and glanced back at my dad. His jaw was clenched tight, but as I watched, he took a deep breath and said, “Sissy’s mother and father were in Atlanta for the weekend. They didn’t even realize Sissy was missing, not until they returned late last night.”