JUST NOT THE GOOD ONES. 6 page

Without revealing that he was doing it, Scott listened in. Why was her aunt checking up on Allison? He’d had a close call with Kate Argent the night he’d stayed for dinner and stolen that bullet. His mind rewound through the entire horrible evening, from her dad needling him about drinking and smoking pot to Stiles’s texts that Derek was dying. Scott had gone into the guest room “to use the bathroom” when in reality he’d been searching for the ammunition she’d used to give Derek a lethal dose of wolfsbane poisoning. He’d found it, and taken one to give to Derek, who had used it for his cure.

But Kate had noticed that the bag had been tampered with and accused him of stealing something from her—what, she hadn’t been exactly sure—and she had ordered him to prove his innocence by taking everything out of his pockets. But just in the nick of time, Allison had confessed that she’d gone into Kate’s bag to get a condom.

For me. To be with me. To have sex.

With me.

Despite his jitters, couldn’t hide his delighted, goofy smile. What would have happened if Allison hadn’t taken it? What if he’d had to empty his pockets, and Kate had seen the bullet? Was it possible to be completely freaked out and happy at the exact same time?

Yes. And he was living proof of that.

“I just wanted to make sure everything’s going okay,” her aunt was saying on the phone.

“Things are fine,” Allison replied, staring at Scott. He could hear her heartbeat. It was in overdrive. She put her finger to her lips, begging him to be silent, and he was a little bit insulted. Obviously he understood that Aunt Kate should not know she was with him. Then he reminded himself that Allison was nervous, and he gave her an encouraging smile.

Oh, yeah, things are great, Scott thought. We’re stuck in the preserve without Allison’s car keys.

“You don’t need anything from the house? Don’t need me to swing by?” Kate pressed.

Allison looked as if she was going to faint. “Nope,” she said. “I’m all set.”

“Hey, Allison,” Lydia said on the other line. “My mom wants our help setting the table. If you don’t mind.”

“No problem. Be right there,” Allison said.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to your mother,” Kate said. “Hey, what—”

“Allison,” said another voice. Scott freaked. Oh, God, it was Allison’s father. Involuntarily, he shrank back into the shadows, as if her father could see right through the phone. Allison was wigging out, too. Scott could hear her heart thundering.

“Have a nice time with your friend, honey,” Mr. Argent said.

“Thank you, Dad,” Allison replied.

There was a click as the call was disconnected. Then Lydia called back.

“Is she for real?” she cried. “What is up with your aunt?”

“I’m sorry,” Allison murmured. She was speaking to Lydia, but looking straight at Scott. Why was she apologizing? It was his fault that she’d been grounded. He’d talked her into skipping school.

“She’s . . . overprotective. She hasn’t seen me in a year and I think she still pictures me as a little girl, you know?”

Because last year you were only sixteen instead of seventeen, Scott thought. Hardly a little girl.

“I could see your father acting that way,” Lydia replied. “Well, anyway, I think we can rest a little easier. Your family has checked up on you, and your dad obviously trusts you, so it’s all good.”

“Yeah,” Allison said, and it was obvious to Scott that not being honest with her father bothered her. Scott still didn’t know if Allison was aware of the world of werewolves and hunters. It hadn’t exactly come up in conversation.

Then Scott had a thought, not his favorite, and he couldn’t share it. But if Jackson was on his way out of the preserve, maybe he, Scott, could track him and ask him for help. To look for the keys, to take Allison home, something.

The idea of asking Jackson for a favor made him wince. Jackson would make sure he got payback, and if he knew that Allison and Scott had both snuck out to be together, he’d be able to get them in trouble if he felt like it.

But then he’d get in trouble, too. At least we didn’t go to that cheap motel.

Or, wait. We did.

Everything was getting too complicated.

He realized Allison was still on the phone with Lydia, and resumed his eavesdropping.

“I have a sort of a problem,” Allison said to Lydia. “I can’t find my car keys.”

After a beat, Lydia said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“I think I dropped them . . . someplace,” Allison confessed. She brightened. “What about a locksmith?”

“They’ll have to check with the person the car is registered to,” Lydia said. “I know this from personal experience. Not that I’ve ever lost my keys, but I have a friend who did.”

Allison sagged and bit her lower lip as she looked at Scott. “Then we have to find them.”

Back to square one. Scott tried to smile reassuringly as Allison disconnected. Then she slid her arms around him. She leaned her head against his chest and gazed up at him.

“This isn’t the most romantic Friday night.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I’m having a great time,” he said, kissing her.

• • •

Where the hell are we? Jackson thought. They had been trekking through the preserve like two people on a frickin’ safari or something. Jackson could smell smoke so strong he kept expecting to run into Gramm’s campfire again. Then he realized it was Friday night and people were partying. This wasn’t his kind of deal. He was damn lucky there was no lacrosse game tonight, or he would be in serious trouble with Coach. Now that his “adventure” was almost over, he couldn’t believe that he’d blown off Lydia like this. He was just totally overcranked lately.

“I don’t mean to, um, doubt you,” Jackson said to Cassie, “but this is taking awhile, and I need to get home.”

She turned around, facing him, and stretched her arms out to the sides. She moved her head from side to side, stretching her neck muscles, and said, “I’ll bet you sleep in a nice, big bed.”

He smiled. He was flattered, even though he was used to girls coming onto him. He drove a Porsche, wore Hugo Boss. He worked out, and he wasn’t bad looking.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“We move around a lot,” she said. “Sometimes I even sleep in our car. Hopefully soon I can . . . fly away.” She mimicked the baby bird. “Wasn’t that too funny, how that thing came right at you?”

He chuckled. “If you ever tell anyone I freaked out over a bird . . .” Then he remembered that she wasn’t from here, and didn’t know anyone he knew. It was fortunate that she knew her way around the preserve.

“Make you a deal,” she said. “I don’t tell anyone about that, and you don’t tell anyone about . . . me.”

He frowned, puzzled. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“No, I mean, don’t tell anyone that you saw me. Because . . . I could get in trouble.”

“Trouble?” He blinked. “Just for talking to a guy?”

She walked up to him. He could smell her perfume. They were almost the same height. She gazed in his eyes hard, as if she were trying to tell him something. And then she kissed him.

Her lips were soft, and it was an okay kiss, but there was Lydia, and getting out of there. So he didn’t diss her by pulling back, but he didn’t go for it, either. He knew how to end a kiss without making it seem like he was ending it, and that was what he did.

“That was so nice,” she murmured with a blushy little smile. “I haven’t ever had a boyfriend. We’re always on the ru—go.”

She’d been about to say something else. He didn’t know what, but he wasn’t going to ask. Flirting was nice and all . . . in the right time and place.

Then she started to kiss him again, and he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Her face fell, and he wanted to shake her. It was beginning to dawn on him that she might not know the way to the parking lot after all. That she might be messing with him.

“Okay, okay,” she said tiredly. She gestured for him to follow her. She pointed. “There’s the Porsche,” she said. “Sweet ride.”

And there about twenty yards below the little hill they stood on was the small parking lot, with his freshly detailed Porsche parked across two spaces, so that no one could ding it.

Finally, he thought, as he pulled out his keys with a sigh of relief. He turned to thank her.

But she wasn’t there.

“Hey,” he said. “Cassie?”

There was no answer. He looked around, peering into the trees and the shadows surrounding him. It was as if she’d never been beside him. As if she were a ghost.

“Thank you,” he called, shaking his head. She was just the most recent in a long list of very weird things that had happened since yesterday morning.

He was halfway to the Porsche when someone stepped from a row of bushes bordering the lot, so that he was between Jackson and his car. The figure was cloaked in darkness, but Jackson made out the silhouette of Hunter Gramm. Jackson faltered when he saw him, but ignored him and headed for the left, to avoid him. Warily, he slid his glance toward the guy, who was watching him.

“Jackson,” Gramm said, walking toward him. Jackson still couldn’t make out his features. “Hold on. I’m sorry you got spooked. I really do have information for you.”

“We’re done,” Jackson said, without stopping. “You don’t know anything about me or my birth family. You’re just some scam artist.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Reception. Thank God.

“Is that your phone?” Hunter Gramm said.

Jackson jutted out his chin. “Yeah, why?”

Then at last Gramm stepped from the shadows beneath the parking lot light, and Jackson saw that he was wearing a black ski mask.

“Toss it over there,” he said. “Now.”

And that he was holding a gun.

• • •

“What’s that smoke?” Derek asked as he peered through the windshield of Stiles’s Jeep. In the distance, two black plumes rose into the dark sky. He leaned his head out of the window and inhaled the smell. Timber wood.

“I told you not to do that,” Stiles grumped. Then he said, “Oh. No tongue lolling, sorry. It’s just smoke. You can build fires in the preserve.” He made a face. “You’re not big on smoke. I get that.”

“You don’t know anything about me, so shut up,” Derek said.

“Kinda do,” Stiles replied. “Wish I didn’t,” he said under his breath.

“Just drive,” Derek said.

Stiles fell silent and did as Derek said. As they neared the preserve, Stiles looked queasily at Derek and said, “Don’t bite me if I tell you bad news.” Derek looked over at him, waiting for him to go on. “I’ve lost Scott’s signal.”

Derek growled. Stiles held the phone out to him. “We could try yours. Download the app and—”

“I don’t have a cell phone,” Derek informed him. He hadn’t imagined needing one. The reception at his house was practically nil, and he could pretty easily find Scott when he needed him. And aside from the Alpha, Scott McCall was the only person in Beacon Hills he needed to communicate with.

Actually, I don’t need to communicate with the Alpha. I just need to kill him.

And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone tracking him with a cell phone.

Stiles muttered to himself. Derek kept his eye on the twin plumes of smoke.

Which were quickly joined by a third.

“Is that normal?” Derek asked Stiles. “So many fires?”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing yes,” Stiles said. “I’m not usually in a group that does stuff like that on Friday nights. Before Scott had a girlfriend, we did, like, multiplayer games, hung out, watched movies.”

Derek snorted.

“Yeah, well, Mr. Werewolf guy, I don’t exactly picture you attending homecoming, either.”

I almost did, Derek thought as he clenched his jaw and glared at Stiles. “Drive faster.”

Bad vibes were running through Derek as thoroughly as the volts from Kate’s cattle prod. If someone had asked him to explain what was bothering him, he wouldn’t have been able to explain his reasons point by point. But he was a werewolf, and he had animal instincts, and his gut was telling him that there was something wrong.

Stiles was taking the curves on squealing tires. Still, if Derek shifted, he could run faster. As he was considering it, Stiles made a sharp turn and barreled onto a narrow road. Derek realized with a start that it was the back road to his house—a private road. But it had somehow been mapped and put into data banks. That made him feel violated. The world was shrinking. When the code had been created, hunters had ridden horses and used crossbows. Now they drove around in Hummers and used submachine guns. And broke the code without blinking twice.

But they will pay for that.

Stiles drove on the Hale road for a while, then pulled over. He looked at Derek, then punched a number on his phone. He nodded.

“I’ve got the signal back. Scott’s ringing,” he said. “And . . . ringing.” He moved his head left, right. Trying to get good reception, Derek understood. He wanted to grab the phone and talk to Scott himself, but he let the idiot do it.

“Maybe his phone’s dead,” Stiles said.

“Then I’ll scent him out. My nose doesn’t die,” Derek grumbled.

“What if you have a cold?” Stiles asked him, and Derek realized he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. He was genuinely curious. Derek didn’t care. Stiles could stay curious.

Derek got out of the Jeep; then he raised his head and inhaled. So much smoke. He hated the smell. Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his black leather jacket, he started to walk. Behind him, Stiles clambered out and caught up with him.

“Why are you so worried about Scott?” Stiles demanded as he put on a hoodie. “Oh, I know, the Alpha and all, but—”

Derek had had it. He grabbed Stiles by the front of his sweatshirt and slammed him against a tree trunk. Stiles grunted hard, and Derek got into his face.

“Yes, ‘the Alpha and all,’” he said through clenched teeth. “Are you really this stupid? You’ve seen what the Alpha is capable of. You know that mountain lion had nothing to do with what’s going on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Stiles said. His face was ashen. He held up his hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, well, it’s like you’re PMSing, dude. I mean, you’re even crankier than usual. Which, even you have to admit, is off the charts on a good day.”

“I don’t know why I don’t just kill you,” Derek said, letting his enhanced vision take over, so that Stiles would see his eyes.

“And I sincerely hope you’ll keep asking yourself the big questions,” Stiles said. “Seriously, man, I’m not the enemy, okay?”

You’re too weak to be my enemy, Derek thought. But Stiles could easily become an enemy. One word spoken to the wrong person, and the sheriff’s son could destroy him. Derek knew exactly how that could go down.

Derek let go of him and kept walking. The smoke was blanketing the other forest smells, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was deliberate. Then the moonlight shone down on a car, and his heart nearly stopped. He recognized that car. It belonged to Allison Argent.

But the scent that was covering it belonged to the Alpha.

CHAPTER TEN

Once the sun had gone down, the temperature had plummeted, too. Allison had retrieved a heavier jacket from her car. But she was still shivering as the two of them retraced their steps through the forest. Their breaths were like huge ghosts floating around them. Scott hoped they would run into one of the campfires so she could warm up. Or they could just make their own, if it looked as if they were going to be stuck looking for a while.

He walked in front of her, alert, cautious. Even though she was working hard to keep up, he could tell she was getting tired. He didn’t know what to do.

“Scott.” She tugged on his wrist, and he turned quickly. She waggled his hand and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I need to take a break,” she said. “I’m so cold.”

He put his arms around her and molded her against his chest. Shutting his eyes against the tide of pleasure that washed over him, he nestled her head beneath his chin. Her knitted cap was scratchy as she settled trustingly against him, and he ran his fingers through the strands of her hair. What was the worst that could happen if they just gave up? Maybe Lydia would lie for them, say that she and Allison had driven to the preserve to study, or pick up Jackson, or something. Sure, the Argents would be angry with her, but not half as angry if they knew that she’d lied to them so she could be with Scott.

Sighing, he was about to broach the subject when she leaned her head back and kissed his jawline. She cupped her hand around the side of his face, bringing his mouth toward hers. She kissed him long and slow, and he had the presence of mind to check his fingernails. So far.

So very, very good.

• • •

Stiles was gasping for breath by the time Derek finally stopped charging through the underbrush. He remembered when Scott had suffered from his terrible asthma attacks—that was all gone now, thanks to the Bite—and his own hideous panic attacks when his mom had died. Not being able to catch your breath really sucked.

But at least he could pant to death in the presence of warmth. Derek had halted at the base of a banked campfire. There was no fire, but the embers were still glowing, and as Stiles sprawled beside it, heaving, Derek sniffed at it for a while, grunted, and added some twigs to make the flames jump to life.

“So?” Stiles finally managed to gasp out. “Was the Alpha here?”

“I can’t tell.” Derek sounded as if he was embarrassed and angry in equal measures, which Stiles would have found ironic if he hadn’t been too busy wheezing. “But he was definitely at Allison’s car.”

Stiles closed his eyes against a bombardment of panic. He tried to remind himself that the Alpha had bitten Scott because he needed him. An Alpha derived strength from his pack members. So he wouldn’t kill Scott. Allison was another subject. Her father was a werewolf hunter. What if the Alpha attacked her out of revenge?

“I’m going to look for Scott,” Derek said.

“Hang on. I’ll go with—” Stiles couldn’t finish his sentence. He lay gasping. Then he raised a hand. “—you,” he said at last.

But Derek was already gone.

“Or I’ll just lie here and pass out,” Stiles muttered.

• • •

“Lydia, there’s someone to see you,” Lydia’s mother told her with a soft rap on her door.

Finally, Lydia thought. She had had enough of plucking her eyebrows and redoing her manicure and reading about the history of Fermat’s theorem while awaiting Jackson’s return from his rendezvous with Hunter Gramm. She was lying on her bed in China blue tap pants and a camisole and had just enough time to check her lip gloss—and for it to occur to her that that “someone” might be Allison’s supersnoopy Aunt Kate—before the door opened, revealing Danny, Jackson’s best friend, and a guy Danny’d been hanging out with—Damon somebody.

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. She sat up. “Hi.”

Dark-haired, with that cool Hawaiian vibe he had, Danny raised his hand in greeting. Damon did the same.

“Is Jackson here?” he asked.

“You could have called to find out that no, he isn’t,” she scolded him, closing her book and setting it on her nightstand.

“We were driving by anyway. And I don’t have your number. And he’s not answering his phone.”

Don’t I know it, she thought.

“Jackson was supposed to meet up for scrimmage this morning,” Danny said, “and he promised Damon that he’d burn him a playlist to give the DJ for his birthday party. Which is tomorrow, and we’re getting a bit concerned.”

Her first impulse was to lie to them both and make up some reason for why Jackson wasn’t there, but then it dawned on her that Jackson might have assumed that when he said “home soon” he meant his home. How could she have lain all alone in her room without that occurring to her? Surely he would have contacted her, though, when he got to his house and she hadn’t shown.

But why would he even bother? a little voice whispered in her suspicious ear. He didn’t bother to call you last night, did he?

“Here’s the thing,” she blurted, to shut the evil voice up. “I was just about to go over to his house. He got held up on his . . . appointment and so it’s . . . time for me to check to make sure everything’s fine. Since his parents are gone.”

“Like, water the plants?” Damon deadpanned.

“Yes,” Lydia huffed. “Jackson loves me to water his plants.”

Danny raised a brow. “But where’s he been? Why all the mystery?”

“If Jackson wants to share, he’ll share,” she said, hinting without actually saying it that she knew and he didn’t. Lydia knew the power of secrets. That was how she maintained control of her clique at school. You doled out information, letting some people have a little more than others. Teasing outsiders with the possibility of being in the inner sanctum. Excluding them when they misbehaved.

The way you maintained boyfriends, now that she thought of it.

He is so going to regret this stunt, she promised herself.

She slid off the bed and Danny looked even more taken aback.

“What?” she asked.

He gave her a completely nonsexual once-over. “Are you going in that?”

She tossed her hair disdainfully and walked to her closet. Her hand came down on a pair of designer jeans and she passed. She was not a blue jeans kind of girl, especially not tonight, when she was out to remind Jackson what he had been missing and could possibly continue to miss unless he begged for her forgiveness. Going in for the kill, she selected a short gray and berry plaid skirt with a matching cashmere sweater and flounced into her bathroom.

She took her time getting ready—she always made boys wait, even gay ones—and came out looking (she hoped) cool, collected, and not like some desperate girlfriend going in search of her AWOL boyfriend, on what could have been their second night of hookup bliss.

“You look nice,” Damon said, and she beamed at him.

“So do you,” she said, sliding her coat off its hanger. “You can follow me over,” she added. She’d need her car if she was going to stay, which she hadn’t decided yet. And if there was any reason to stay.

“Be right back,” she said to the guys.

There was the matter of protecting Allison from any more phone calls, of course. She quietly glided into her mother’s bedroom and lifted the landline off the hook, placing the handset behind her mother’s nightstand, and turning down the ringer so that the incessant buzz wouldn’t tip off her mom when she went to bed. Her mother would assume she’d knocked it off herself. She wasn’t a suspicious parent, and the fact that she and Lydia’s father had gotten divorced made her more lenient than other moms. A lot more lenient that Allison’s aunt.

God.

Next Lydia went into the little workout room her mom had put together in the spare room where her dad used to have his home office. That was where she’d put the treadmill. Dressed in tasteful sweats, her mom was striding off the pounds, watching something on the plasma with her earbuds in, and Lydia waved at her.

Ms. Martin pulled out a bud as she kept striding. “Yes, honey?”

“Allison,” was all Lydia said.

Her mom frowned slightly, looking a little unclear, but nodded anyway and put her earbud back in.

“Have fun,” she said, too loudly, and Lydia hid a little smile. Sometimes, when dealing with parents, less was more. Now, if Allison’s mom, dad, aunt, or some random long-distance friend in San Francisco called, her mom would accidentally fill in whatever blank they offered her. Why, yes, they did go to the library. Lydia mentioned something about that to me.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, and Lydia very much hoped Allison wouldn’t wind up in trouble, but sometimes you had to take risks in this life.

• • •

The Whittemores lived in one of the biggest and most expensive houses, if not the most, in Beacon Hills; an estate, really, well away from the street, in an almost countrylike setting. Lydia clicked in the security code and drove on in. Danny and Damon followed in Danny’s car.

When they reached the driveway and there was no familiar Porsche there, Lydia’s stomach did a little flip. He texted that he was on his way back. Sure, the woods were a ways away, but he’d had more than enough time to make the trip twice and still have time to go shopping for a nice piece of jewelry to accessorize his apology.

Still, a girl had her pride, and although she wasn’t sure if she should continue to honor Jackson’s privacy by not involving Danny, or even, at this point, Sheriff Stilinski, she keyed in the front door code, as well, and opened the door with a flourish.

As Jackson’s best friend, Danny had been to his extravagant home before, but the splendor was all new to Damon. Standing beneath the skylight in the living room, he looked at Danny with newfound respect, and Lydia concealed a grin. She was happy to help Danny with his romance, in her own small way.

They went upstairs to Jackson’s room and she flicked on the light switch. There, alas, was his empty bed, still rumpled from when she laid waiting for him the night before. She took off her coat and laid it on the bed, then went straight to the drawer where she’d found the note and casually moved some things around—athletic cup, eww—checking to see if she’d missed a vital piece of information about his whereabouts.

“Are you looking through his stuff?” Danny queried, and she gave him her best patronizing look.

“Please,” she said. “You must know that I have a drawer here.”

Damon looked even more impressed. Very few teenagers could claim the very adult perk of having a drawer containing their belongings at their boy- or girlfriend’s house. Not that many teenagers had the need. It spoke of changing clothes, spending the night. Adult stuff.

Sex.

In reality, there was nothing of hers in the drawer, except, oh, yes.

She showed them the packet of glow-in-the-dark condoms she had purchased Jackson for last Valentine’s Day. He had refused to use them. Tonight he would. She’d make sure of that.

“Have you ever tried these?” she asked, showing them to the guys. Damon guffawed, and Danny grinned. “Want a sample in case you decide to play the home version?”

“Pass,” Danny said, and Lydia supposed it would be some sort of violation of the man code to use your best friend’s condoms.

“So where is he?” Damon said, looking around at Jackson’s vast collection of sports trophies, plaques, and team photos. “Maybe the CD’s around here?”

“Could be,” she said, wishing she’d thought of that excuse before she’d pawed around in his drawer. She didn’t know why Jackson hadn’t just set up a shareable playlist for Damon, but he wasn’t here to explain. So she sat at his desk and flipped on his desktop.

His wallpaper was a picture of her—one she had picked out herself, and approved of—and she typed in “captain” when prompted for the password that would unlock the secrets of Jackson to her prying eyes.

If he ever did anything like this to me, I would dump him in a heartbeat, she thought. That’s where we’re so different.

She also opened a couple of the desk drawers. No more cryptic envelopes presented themselves.

“He usually keeps playlists in a folder,” she lied, running the cursor over Jackson’s private affairs. She was beginning to feel like she’d pushed this maneuver about as far as she could with witnesses present. Maybe inviting them over hadn’t been her cleverest move. She was beginning to feeling guilty about Allison, too.

“Do you think we’re ready for a drawer?” Damon murmured to Danny, and she smiled to herself again.

Then Danny said, “What was that?”

She made a half turn. “What was what?”

“I heard a noise,” he said. “It sounded like it was in the garage.”

She pictured the automatic garage door opening, Jackson’s Porsche gliding in, the door closing. Yes.

Smoothing back her hair, she said, “You wait here. I’ll let him know we have company.”

She turned off the computer and walked from the room. She crossed the distance of the enormous house to the garage, and was about to open the interior door that led to the garage when the knob turned.

“You’re in such trouble,” she said in a kittenish voice, to take the sting out of her genuine ire.

The door slammed open. Something hit her in the face and threw her to the floor. Stunned, she saw nothing but a huge black shape as she was dragged away. She tried to scream but she was so shocked all she could do was gasp.

“He said no one would be home,” a guy said in a low, gravelly voice. He sounded young, maybe early twenties. She blinked her eyes rapidly and looked up—

—into a ski mask and a pair of hazel eyes glaring down at her.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 608