Paranoid(27)

“No.” She replied quickly. Too quickly.

“Then why do I have the feeling you’re holding out on me? That you’re both holding out on me?”

She waited.

No one said a word.

The refrigerator hummed.

Outside in the yard, Reno gave a sharp bark.

Another knowing look passed between brother and sister.

“What?” Rachel said, glaring at her children, a new fear knotting her stomach. “What?”

“Mom, it’s not a big deal,” Harper finally said. “Kids cut class all the time.”

“Not my kids.”

“Oh, right. Because you never did anything wrong in high school. I forgot you were an angel. Just perfect.”

Rachel blinked. Saw the insolence in Harper’s eyes. She didn’t say it, but it was there between them. You were accused of murder, weren’t you? You were caught sneaking out and your brother died because you shot him. And now you’re all freaked out because Dylan cut one stupid class. She heard the accusation, the rationale as clearly as if Harper had spat the words out.

“This is not about me. So let’s get back to the point. What’s going on?”

A disgusted look tightened Harper’s features as she held her mother’s stare. But her throat worked and she broke first, her gaze moving to Dylan. “Are you going to tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Rachel demanded.

Dylan shot his sister a thanks-for-nothing look.

“Tell me what?” Rachel repeated.

“Thanks,” he threw out at Harper, then blew out a huge sigh. “Okay. Fine. I—I . . . some older kids are hassling me.”

“What do you mean ‘hassling’? You mean like bullying?”

“No! No! It’s not like that.” Another angry glare sent to Harper. “I made a mistake, okay? I, um, I gambled with them and lost. They want their money.”

“They?” she repeated. “As in more than one?”

He licked his lips. “One.”

“Who?” she demanded.

“Oh, man. I don’t want to say.”

“It’s Brad Schmidt,” Harper said.

“I don’t know him.”

Harper glanced at her phone. “You wouldn’t. He’s a loser. Thinks he’s a tough guy. Football player. I hate him.”

“Oh, good.” None of this sounded right. “I need to talk to him.”

“No!” Dylan was shaking his head. “Mom, you’ll only make things worse.”

“So what is this guy threatening to do to you?” she demanded, worried. “What?”

“It’s . . . it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have placed the bet. I know. I won’t do it again and this will all go away.”

Rachel wasn’t so sure and was having trouble not panicking. Who was this kid, this Brad? Was he violent? Would he hurt Dylan? “Mrs. Walsh knows about this?”

“Yeah,” Dylan admitted. “Well, most of it.”

“So you were gambling with him. How’s that work?” Visions of casinos with slot machines and roulette wheels and craps tables spun through her mind. The bright lights of Las Vegas. Or maybe it was local. Whatever kids did.

“It . . . it was kind of an online thing.”

That made more sense. Dylan was forever hooked into his computer or his iPad or some game system. “We were playing a game. A war game. Interactive. For money. You pay for hits. I lost.”

That was almost the truth, she thought. But not quite.

Rachel turned to her daughter. “You knew about this?”

“I knew he got into some trouble with a couple of seniors.”

Her focus swung back to Dylan. “What were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t. It was stupid,” Harper said, stating the obvious. “Now they want to be paid.”

“So they’re what? Threatening you?” Rachel was playing this out in her head.

“Not really.” But he looked scared.

“How much?” Rachel asked, stepping back and folding her arms over her chest.

He swallowed. Licked his lips.

Her stomach dropped.

“A hundred,” he whispered.

“Dollars?”

“No, euros.” Harper rolled her eyes. “Of course dollars.”

“Okay,” Rachel said to Dylan. “So what’re you going to do?”

“Pay them back.”

“With what?”

“I have some . . . My birthday money and . . .”

He was always broke.

“Would it help if I loaned you the money?” she asked, immediately thinking this wasn’t the right way to handle the situation. He needed to learn this lesson. Fast. She couldn’t enable him. And yet . . . “And I mean loaned. I’m serious. You would have to pay me back. ASAP. Summer is coming, so I’ll expect you to do yard work and help with cleaning the basement, whatever.”

His eyes brightened a little. “You’d do that?”

“Maybe.” She couldn’t let him off too easily. “But you’ll have to let your dad know. And if this kid gives you any more trouble—”

“He won’t, Mom. Really.”