Paranoid(38)

“You do. Just a few more minutes and then we’ll wrap it up for the night.” Lila was insistent.

“Yeah, I don’t want to postpone,” Reva said as she and Billy Dee headed back to the far end of the dining room table.

“Fine.” Mercedes threw a dark glance at Rachel. “You’re working on the last of the classmates we can’t locate. You got some?”

Under her breath, Reva said, “She’s such a bitch,” as she walked past to join Billy Dee at the dining room table again, but Rachel didn’t know if she was talking about Lila or Mercedes, or possibly both.

“I heard that!” Lila said.

“Rachel?” Mercedes prodded as she took her seat on the couch again.

“Yes. I’ve got a few.” Rachel pulled up a tufted ottoman, sat on it, and opened her laptop while Nate refilled his glass. “I’ve got names, addresses, e-mail, and phone numbers. Everything but social security numbers . . . a hacker’s dream.”

Mercy arched an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. She was still pissed.

Rachel looked down at her laptop and clicked onto the file. “There’re, let me see . . . still nine MIA, but I think I’ll be able to track most of them down. I’ve actually got information on them, but haven’t received responses to the e-mails.”

“You texted?” Nate took his seat again and sipped from his glass.

“When I could.”

Lila asked, “Is anyone definitely not coming? Did anyone respond and say that they just weren’t going to make it?”

Rachel checked the files on her laptop. “I’ve got about six who are definite no’s at this point.”

“Who?” Lila demanded. It was her contention that everyone should attend.

“To start with, we’ve got two who are serving time. Larry Gorse is in the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla and then there’s Lavonne Tinker. She’s in Billings, Montana.”

“For what?” Lila asked.

“Larry was in for aggravated assault. Almost killed a guy,” Nathan said. “I saw Larry’s brother a few years back and he gave me the word.”

Almost killed a guy . . . Rachel felt herself go cold inside. She had killed someone. Her own brother. Everyone in this room had been there.

“It was on the news even though it happened in Washington,” Mercy said. “I ran a few lines about it in the Past and Present column. And Lavonne tried to run over her cheating husband with their minivan, complete with car seats. Thankfully, the kids weren’t with her, but it put him in the hospital and she ended up in prison.”

“Okay, cross Larry and Lavonne out,” Nate said, then needled Lila. “Hope you didn’t want them to head any of the subcommittees.”

Lila rolled her eyes, and they got down to business. Finally.

As promised the meeting wrapped up quickly. Within forty-five minutes, Rachel was climbing the stairs to get the kids. She gave a quick rap with her knuckles on Lucas’s bedroom door before pushing it open to find the dim space illuminated only by dueling computer screens. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she spied Lucas and Dylan each wearing headgear complete with microphones and speakers. Lucas was seated in a rolling chair facing a large screen while Dylan sat on the floor, his laptop balanced on his thigh, where he was obviously playing some interactive video game that included abandoned buildings, a military force, big guns, and lots of blood.

Dylan’s back was propped against the foot of the bed, on which, in the dim, eerie light, she saw Harper and some boy she didn’t recognize. They hadn’t heard her. They were locked in a tight embrace, lips parted and kissing wildly, one of his hands in her hair, their jean-clad legs entwined.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Rachel stepped into the room, knocking over a cup of half-drunk soda as she slapped on the light switch.

Immediately the room was illuminated.

“Mom!” As if she’d received an electric shock, Harper jettisoned away from the boy, nearly a man by the looks of him. Her feet hit the floor and she stood, thankfully, still in her clothes, blinking against the light. Her flushed face instantly turned ashen. “What’re you doing here?”

Rachel ignored her daughter, her focus laser sharp on the unknown kid—was he a kid? His beard shadow was pretty thick. “Who are you?”

“Xander.” He rolled off the bed on the near side and Rachel tried not to notice the bulge in his jeans, evidence of his hard-on. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed and tried to hide his arousal with the hem of an oversized sweatshirt.

Dear God.

Rachel turned her glare to her daughter. “What is this, Harper?”

Dylan turned his head, as if suddenly realizing there was more going on in the room than the war game he was playing. He pulled off his headgear and scrambled to his feet, all the while shooting worried glances at Rachel.

“Mom,” Harper said, her voice thin, her chin lifted defiantly. “This is Xander Vale. He’s . . . he’s a friend of Lucas’s and . . . and mine.”

“Good friends, obviously,” Rachel said dryly. When Xander took a step forward and extended his hand, she took it for the briefest of seconds. What to do next? No parent manual for this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, this near-man in a gray U of O hoodie, torn jeans, and bare feet. Apparently he was attempting, and having some luck at, growing a beard. A beard! His eyes were dark and there was a hint of arrogance beneath the veneer of embarrassment.