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Patrick doesn’t hear me and keeps going. “Yeah, I think it is. Remember we both had her for English, I had the biggest crush on her. She left after that year, though, right?”
When I look at Patrick’s brother, his face is as white as a sheet, and I think his hands are shaking. I know, instantly, that he knows Gabrielle in a way Patrick and I don’t.
“Did you say she interviewed? For a position … here?” Liam’s voice is gruff.
“Dude, are you okay?” Patrick asks.
“Don’t draw attention.” He hides his face so quickly he rattles the table.
Interesting. “Yes, she said she loved being a theater advisor at the school when she worked there, was interviewing for some position but I don’t know what. Maybe she got it since she’s back.”
Liam is muttering something, but I can’t make it out. And then, in the next second, I can’t focus on anything else.
Because I hear it, the sound that sends frigid cold fear skittering down my bones.
That laugh. It echoes in my ears, sends fear flying into my chest, and I have to digest it over and over again before I know why.
“That laugh.” I grip Patrick’s arm and he freezes.
“You okay?” he asks. A rare—these days anyway—unconcerned smile on his face.
“That laugh, over there.” I point to a couple of kids sitting in a booth.
“Baby, what is it?” Patrick’s voice drops an octave, and he moves in closer.
“I just heard someone laugh over there, and I swear it was the same noise I heard the night my house was broken into. The first time, when those kids were there.”
Without another word, he’s stalking over to them, leaving me in his dust.
“What’s he doing?” Liam asks.
“I think … I heard someone who sounded similar … the laugh I heard … first break-in.” My voice is choppy as I move toward Patrick, who is almost to the group of kids.
“Which one of you did it?” Patrick is demanding, his face full of fury.
This is not the time, place, or way to go about this, but I can feel the venom coming off him. The man I love is in a blind rage, and it doesn’t matter that this little scene could throw off the PI’s entire investigation; Patrick is here to get justice and swiftly.
“Dude, what?” One of the guys, who looks a little stoned, smiles goofily at him.
I survey the faces, none of them looking familiar, but I pause when I get to a pair of eyes soaked with guilt. I’m an actress, I’ve studied faces, emotions, and expressions for years. This kid, the one with the dark mass of curls and the dark eyes shifting with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he’s guilty. Of something, that’s for sure.
“Which of you broke into her house? Trespassing, burglary, vandalism, they’re all crimes punishable with jail time, you know that, right?”
“Patrick,” I whisper-hiss, tugging on his sleeve.
“People are staring,” Liam mutters, trying to pull his brother back.
“What’s his name?” I ask Liam, and Patrick turns his head as he sees where my finger is pointing.
The two men study the teen, who is trying to rise out of the booth and successfully skirt around his friends.
“He’s a Drafter, yeah. I think I remember one of the guys I went to high school with bringing him in here a lot as a kid.” Liam studies the teen with his head to the side like he’s trying to place him.
“Drafter.” My stomach drops to my feet.
The teen holds his hands up, like he’s waving a white flag, but he’s already backing for the door. His friends stare at him like they have no idea what’s going on, but it’s some bad shit.
“My uncle, he … I thought it was a stupid prank … he said he’d pay me back …” And before Patrick can wrap a hand around his wrist and yank him back into a chair, he’s bolting for the door, nearly knocking incoming customers over.
