Not One of Us(44)

It was so easy to slink from behind the trees and then slip unnoticed into the back seat of the unlocked Mustang. I crouched low on the floorboard and resumed my wait, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. It didn’t take long for him to return.

The front door abruptly swung open, letting in a blast of cold wind. Jackson heavily sank into the driver’s seat. With a metallic cling, the key slid into the ignition, and he started the motor before slamming the door shut. Moments later, the radio blared, and he put the car in reverse.

I picked up the gun I’d laid beside me on the floorboard. Patience, I chided myself. It was too early. The sports car bumped along the rough field until it reached the smooth pavement of the deserted country road. At least I hoped it was deserted. I’d made the drive earlier today and concluded I should count to thirty before making my move. By then, we would be out of earshot from everyone.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine . . . thirty. Showtime. Adrenaline slammed through every cell in my body. I rose up swiftly and pointed the barrel of the gun against the back of his head. Jackson stared at my reflection in the dashboard mirror as he slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded loudly. The brakes squealed as the car zigzagged across the narrow road before jamming to a shuddering halt. I concentrated on keeping the gun trained on his head. Equal measures of panic and shock lit his eyes when he turned around, the gun now pointed inches from his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked again, voice trembling this time.

I supposed he deserved an explanation before he met his maker. “Turn off that radio.”

Hurriedly, he obeyed. First time in my life I’d ever seen him do that.

“You’ve caused a lot of people a lot of grief,” I began.

“I-I’ll be better.”

“The hell you will. You’re nothing but trouble.”

“Please.” His lips were white around the edges with fear. “Forget I asked you for any money. Okay?”

“Asked?” I snorted with disbelief. “You tried to blackmail me.”

“It won’t ever happen again,” he promised, talking quick. “I promise. I made a mistake and—”

“Who else did you tell?”

“Nobody. I swear.”

“Not even your dealer, Ray?”

“No, man.”

I didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. But I had another plan for that potential problem.

“Turn around,” I ordered Jackson.

“No. Please.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

No trace of the belligerent teenager remained, and my gut clenched with momentary guilt. But it was too late to change my mind. This punk wouldn’t ruin what I’d worked so hard to build. Not a chance.

“I said, turn around.”

Instead, Jackson suddenly ducked beneath the seat and slammed his foot against the accelerator. The car lurched forward, and then he turned the wheel sharply. We U-turned in the middle of the road, and I slid across the seat. He was heading back in the direction of the party.

“I wasn’t gonna hurt you, Jackson,” I lied. I repositioned myself behind him. “Just stop the car.”

He drove faster. I’d have to take my chances now with the speeding car, or I’d never surprise him like this again.

I pulled the trigger.

My ears rang with a thunderous explosion. Blood and sparks of fire strobed inside the car as it spun in a circle. The Mustang rumbled off the side of the road and hit a tree, at last coming to a halt.

It took several seconds for me to catch my bearings. Wet, hot liquid ran down my face, and I brushed it away with my arm, smearing my jacket with blood. I’d take care of all that mess later. Methodically, I scanned the vehicle, making sure I left nothing behind. Nothing that would incriminate me, that is. I withdrew the plastic shopping bag hidden in my coat and pulled out Raymond Strickland’s hoodie sweatshirt. I’d pilfered it from his car a couple of weeks ago. You’d think drug dealers would be more careful about locking up their cars to keep out thieves. Carefully, I smeared the front of it with Jackson’s blood. Satisfied, I climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the woods, where I’d change clothes and dump the gun in the swamp.

Tonight hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but I’d done what was necessary.





Chapter 17


JORI


“This is where I found that . . . that thing. Right there. It was gross.” I still shuddered at the memory and found myself looking over my shoulder whenever I entered or exited a room. Maybe I always would.

Dana peered into the closet and shook her head. “You’ve always been a fraidy-cat, but I’d have totally freaked out too.”

I left her standing there and sat on my bed. “Right? Every time I open the closet, I remember it lying there on the floor.”

“Did the creep destroy all your journals?”

“What he didn’t tear up, I went ahead and burned. At least he didn’t get all my keepsakes from high school.”

Dana crossed the room and sat down next to me. “What else have you kept?”

“Open the bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

She did so and then chuckled, pulling out our old school yearbooks. “I lost all mine in the fire,” she said.