Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(36)

Shit. I’d wasted too much time in the parking lot staring at my nails and thinking about Dash.

Infuriating, womanizing, sex-magician Dash.

“Sure.” I nodded, forcing a wider smile. “Thank you.”

Samantha waved. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Except I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

With one more longing look at the library, I turned and retreated to the front doors. On my left was a wide entrance to the bathrooms, boys on one side and girls on the other.

An idea hit and my steps slowed.

The bathroom.

Behind me, Samantha was out of her chair, pulling a tote bag from a cabinet in the office. Her back was to me.

Screw it. I ducked into the girls’ room and slipped into the second stall.

Was I really doing this? I didn’t answer that question for myself. Instead I held my breath and didn’t move other than to blink. Maybe my ambition for the story had gotten out of hand. Maybe I was delirious from lack of sleep. Maybe I was desperate not to return to my car where I’d undoubtedly think of Dash. Whatever the reason, it was a stupid idea.

But I stood there, unmoving and taking shallow breaths.

Worst case, Samantha would find me and I’d lie about an overactive bladder. Best case, she’d walk out the door and I’d be locked inside the high school alone. Okay, that wasn’t great, but I’d find a way out eventually. Maybe.

Hiding in bathrooms had worked for me at the police station. I might as well roll with it.

The sound of flip-flops echoed from the hallway outside. I remained frozen in my stall, my heart racing and palms sweating. When the light that seeped into the bathroom from the lobby went out, my shoulders fell and I blew out a breath.

I waited another five minutes before making a move. Then I tiptoed my way out of the bathroom.

“My car.” I slapped my palm to my forehead. If Samantha noticed it in the lot, she might come back. But she hadn’t so far, so maybe I was safe. I spun in a slow circle, spotting small black orbs in the upper corners of the lobby. Should I wave at the cameras? Give them a smile?

My commitment to the act was solid, so I walked to the front door, pretending to open it. Then I faked a dramatic sigh, pulling at the strands of my hair. I was kidding no one here, but it made me feel better. With a fast turn, I marched through the lobby, looking down all the hallways and mouthing a silent Hello? It felt as awkward as I assumed it looked—an actress I was not.

Pretense over, I went right for the library. The room was dark, the only light coming from the windows along the wall. It was bright enough that I wouldn’t bump into a bookshelf but not enough to do any serious exploring, so I dug my phone from my purse and flipped on the flashlight.

“Yearbooks,” I muttered, scanning shelves as I inched deeper into the room. “Where are the yearbooks?”

I passed shelf after shelf of nonfiction books, followed by a few rows of young adult fiction. Five rows along the back wall held an ancient Encyclopedia Britannica. My parents had bought a set of those when I was a kid twenty-something years ago and these looked to be about that old.

It was a waste of perfectly good library space, in my opinion. Wouldn’t those rows be better suited, for let’s say, yearbooks?

“Damn it.” Time to give up and attempt to get myself out of this building. Samantha was expecting me tomorrow, so I’d wait. It’s what I probably should have done in the first place.

I rounded the last corner of the room, passing the librarian’s desk. Behind it, the shelves were white, whereas the others in the room were wood. With a quick whip of my flashlight, I expected to find dictionaries and thesauruses. I did a double take when my light landed on tall, thin books, most with foil-pressed letters on the spines. All with a year and Clifton Forge High.

“Bingo.” My smile felt borderline insane.

I rushed to the shelves, my purse getting tossed to the floor as I dropped to my knees. I scanned the rows of yearbooks for the years when Amina would have been in school. I dragged a six-year span off the shelves and got comfortable on the carpet.

The year Amina would have been a freshman had no pictures of her, so I moved on to her sophomore year and found her immediately. My light shone on her dim school photo, picking out shoulder-length blond hair. True to the style at the time, it was feathered away from her face.

I touched the page. Amina had been beautiful. Her smile was natural and bright, even in black and white. On the page, hers was the best photo by far. Somehow, she didn’t have the awkwardness her classmates couldn’t hide.

My heart pinched. She was gone now, her light smothered by a vicious murderer. It wasn’t fair. Unless she proved to be a horrible person, I was making it my personal mission to memorialize Amina Daylee in my newspaper. It wasn’t much, but it was something I could do for the young woman in the photo.

And something I could do for her daughter.

I flipped the page, searching the photos carefully, hoping to find pictures of her involved with clubs or sports or—

“Breaking and entering? Didn’t expect that from you.”

I shrieked as the deep voice carried through the room. Every muscle in my body tightened, holding stiff, as Dash emerged from the dark corner where he’d been lurking.

“Asshole.” I slapped a hand over my heart. It pounded so hard and fast that I felt its beat in the split ends of my hair. “You scared the shit out of me.”