A Different Blue(4)

knowing at what point the woman and her child parted company.”

“Media has been contacted. We have also notified the appropriate agencies as well as inputing

this information in NCIS. We need to start canvasing the area again with the flyer. Let's get

this woman's picture out as fast as we can. See if anyone remembers seeing this woman and

whether or not she had a child with her. We have no current pictures of the toddler, but the

grandmother gave us a basic description. Child is believed to have dark hair and blue eyes.

Ethnicity: Native American, although the father of the child is believed to be white, which may

account for the blue eyes. The mother has been dead now for five days, and we all know how

transient the clientele at the Stowaway is. We've lost some precious time and need to work fast.

Let's get on it, people.”





Chapter One





SEPTEMBER 2010



The bell had rung ten minutes ago, but I wasn't too worried. Actually, the truth was I didn't

care, so why would I worry? The first day of school was useless anyway. Most of the teachers

didn't mark tardies on the first day or yell at you in front of the class. It was the last

period of the day, and my mind had already left the building and fled out over the desert and

into the hills in search of shapes and silhouettes. Already, I could feel the wood beneath my

hands. Reluctantly, I forced my mind back to my body and straightened my shoulders so I could

make an impression as I walked into class, which was usually my goal. Partly because I enjoyed

the attention but mostly because I knew if people were intimidated by me they would leave me

alone. Teachers left me alone, overly friendly girls who wanted to be BFF's left me alone, but

the guys were usually at my beck and call if and when I wanted one of them.

I whipped back my long black hair as I entered the room. My eyes were heavily made up, and my

jeans were so tight that sitting down was highly uncomfortable, although I'd perfected the art

of slouching so they didn't pinch . . . too much. I cracked my gum and slid one eyebrow up

disdainfully as I looked for an empty seat. All eyes swiveled toward me as I sauntered up the

center aisle and slid into the seat right in front, dead center. Damn. Being late had its

downside. I took my time taking off my jacket and dropping my purse to the floor. I hadn't even

deigned to look in the direction of the new teacher whose voice had faded to silence at my

arrival. A few people snickered at my nonchalant display, and I shot a venomous sneer in the

general direction of the laughter. It stopped. Finally, I slid into my seat and raised my eyes

to the front of the classroom, sighing deeply and loudly.

"Carry on," I droned, with another toss of my hair.

"Mr. Wilson" was written across the whiteboard in capital letters. My eyes locked on him. He was

staring at me with a furrowed brow and a slight smile. Dark hair in need of a haircut curled

above his ears and fell onto his forehead. It looked as if he had tried to tame it into

respectability, but his mop had obviously rebelled at some point during his first day at Boulder

High School. I raised my eyebrows in amazement and tried hard not to snort out loud. He looked

like a student. In fact, if he hadn't had on a tie, knotted hastily over a blue button-up dress

shirt with a pair of khakis, I would have thought he was some kind of teacher's aid.