Not One of Us(32)

Inwardly, I groaned. Terrific. Another opportunity to be insulted by Dempsey. Immediately I brushed away my petty insecurity as I left Oliver’s office and returned to my own. Despite his warning, I spent the next twenty minutes sneak-reading the old Cormier file. If there was any connection between the past and present murders, I’d find it.

If we found and shut down a drug distributor in our bayou, we’d be a safer town. A safer place for my kids to grow up in. This job was more than a paycheck to me. It was my way of trying to shield the innocent and the vulnerable from danger. I didn’t want anyone to go through what I had as a teenage girl.





Chapter 10


TEGAN


April 1991

He knew my name! He called me cute!

I didn’t think Jackson had ever noticed me all these years I’d been crushing on him. Tonight was my lucky night. As much as I’d dragged my feet about coming to this party, Lisa had been right. If she hadn’t convinced me to come with her, I’d be doing my usual Saturday night thing—sitting in my bedroom, reading a book while half watching some lame sitcom.

Jackson freaking Ensley knew my name and was actually talking to me—me—fat nobody Tegan Atkins. Maybe even flirting with me? My head was dizzy with excitement before I even swallowed the whiskey he offered. Disgusting stuff, but I didn’t tell him that. If I hadn’t wanted the hard liquor, I for sure hadn’t wanted to smoke pot. But he held it out to me and smiled oh so charmingly.

Aw, come on, Tegan, don’t be a drag.

So I smoked the joint. It took several attempts to inhale without coughing up my lungs, but I discovered that I liked it much better than the whiskey. When he threw his arm over my shoulder and began carting me off to who-knew-where, I offered no resistance, wobbling on my feet and giggling.

First party, first-time high.

The music, laughter, and loud conversations dimmed behind us as we walked away from the barn. Jackson removed his arm from my shoulder and opened the door of his red Mustang, motioning me toward the back seat. My excitement pulled up short, and I planted my feet, balking.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, flashing that crooked smile that made my stomach turn flips.

“I, uh . . . I’m not sure about this.”

“Why not? It’ll be warm in my car.”

I stared at the black leather seats and gulped.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, his voice husky as he nuzzled his nose against my throat and neck. And when I turned to face him, his lips fanned my hair, my cheeks. So gentle, so sweet. I closed my eyes and sighed as his mouth pressed against my right temple and then my forehead. My first kiss—if you didn’t count the peck on the mouth Bucky Rodgers gave me in third grade at recess.

This kiss was nothing like that one.

How many times had I dreamed of this moment? Of kissing Jackson. Don’t be such a baby. Get in the car.

I caved to that inner whisper. Jackson wouldn’t like me if I was a prude. He dated girls like Natalie Clecker. Pretty, popular, and, I assumed, putting out. What harm could a few minutes of making out do? I’d never get a chance like this again.

He pulled away from me, again beckoning me into his car. I slipped inside and ungracefully plopped onto the cool leather seat, shivering as much from nerves as cold. I pulled my skirt down over my thighs pockmarked with cellulite. He climbed in beside me and shut the door, sealing us off from the rest of the world. We were in our own little bubble. He kissed me again, right on the lips, a little more insistent this time.

I responded, lost in the heady newness of whiskey, pot, and my first real kiss. Too quickly, his hands began roving toward my back. Inwardly, I cringed, thinking he had to notice the roll of fat beneath my bra. Thank God we were in the dark, where he couldn’t see it as well as feel it. Some of my giddiness seeped away at the thought. I should have refused to get in the car. Better he think I was a prude than a disgustingly fat slob.

With expert fingers, Jackson unbuckled my bra with a flip of his hand. The guy had obviously done it hundreds of times before. I was in over my head. Nothing special. I pulled away from him.

“I—I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I think we should go back to the party.”

He laughed. A disbelieving, unkind laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?”

I tried to fasten my bra but couldn’t get it snapped together. I drew my coat closer around me. If I kept it on, no one at the party would know my bra was undone.

He’d hurt my feelings with that laugh, and it reinforced my decision to get the hell out of the Mustang. Although handsome and with an abundance of surface charm, Jackson was not a nice guy.

“I want to go back to the barn,” I said with as much dignity as I could scramble together.

He changed tactics; his voice lowered to a husky note as he cajoled me. “Aw, come on, baby. It’ll be fun. Haven’t you ever done it before?” He reached up and palmed one of my breasts.

I jerked away from his touch and grabbed the door handle on the passenger side of the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” he growled, all trace of huskiness gone.

“Leaving.”

“The fuck you are.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the door.

“Let me go. I changed my mind.” I tried to sound firm, tried to keep the quiver of fear out of my voice. This was not how I imagined our getting together in my dreams. In my fantasies, Jackson was kind and romantic. I tried to pull from his grip, but his fingers squeezed my biceps so tightly that I was afraid the bone beneath would snap in two. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I gasped from the pain. “Stop it!”