#7-9--The O’Connells Read online

  He wondered whether she expected him to answer. He took in the water on the stairs, a thin stream. As his feet splashed through the puddles, he realized Rita Mae was still talking, carrying on about the seniors. He knew well those kinds of pranks, that kind of trouble. The O’Connells had been neck deep in it at one time.

  Marcus had been the worst. Any time trouble happened at school, nine times out of ten, Marcus had been behind it, had known about it, or had been a part of it. Then there was Ryan. Owen had lost count of the number of times he’d pulled his younger brothers out of something: doing graffiti, keying the principal’s car, letting air out of the science teacher’s tires… His other younger brother, Luke, had pretty much taken care of himself. Karen was one he’d had to watch extra closely, and then there was Suzanne, who had always given the impression that everything was fine even when it wasn’t. Now look at them. He wondered if he’d ever be able to shake his need to herd them all, to keep tabs on all of them.

  As he topped the stairs, he spotted the sheen of water coming from the bathroom just ahead, where the door was open. He found himself looking at the concrete block walls, the girls’ sign on the open door.

  Rita Mae went in first and peered around the corner. “Owen is here now. OMG, look at you, girl! This mess…”

  He wasn’t sure whom she was talking to at first, but as he stepped into the bathroom, he saw her: her blond hair pulled back into a neat bun, her slender curves in navy slacks and a white tank top, her flat shoes in the water on the floor. The paneling had been pulled off the wall that led to the plumbing, and he could see the wrench in her hand. She was reaching as high as she could on tiptoes to bang the red valve, which he knew was the water shut-off.

  She turned her head. All the while, water was still spraying out from what he could now see was a busted pipe. For a second, he felt shocked, looking into her face, oval perfection. Her white tank left nothing to the imagination, soaked. She could’ve won a wet T-shirt contest, as it was practically sheer over her perfect breasts. He had to remind himself this was Tessa Brooks, his first crush, though that had crashed and burned, and she was now just an old rival.

  Right. Someone had mentioned long ago that she was now a teacher.

  “Well, are you going to do something, or are you going to just stand there and keep staring at my breasts?” she said, then made a rude noise. He thought she’d dropped the F-bomb under her breath. Right, she also had a smart mouth. He’d forgotten about that.

  She turned back around and gripped the wrench, about to swing it and pound away at the red lever again, so he reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it just as she went to swing again. It was that damn competitive drive, as if she thought she could do everything better than him.

  “Whoa, what the hell, Tessa? Stop before you break something.” He went to take the wrench, but she seemed to grip it harder, giving him everything in that one look. He was still holding her wrist, but he didn’t let go, just stepped in right beside her. She was tall and slender, with perfect curves, about five inches shorter than him. Pull it together, Owen. Her eyes were blue, vivid, and flashing with hellfire—and then there were those lips.

  “Take your hands off me,” she said, enunciating each word carefully through gritted teeth so there was no chance he’d misunderstand.

  Water was still spraying out, soaking his shirt now too, and what did he do but put his other hand on the wrench to pry it from her? He tossed it onto the floor in the water, then somehow maneuvered her back and reached up to shut off the water. The spray stopped, and the water slowly drizzled and then dripped.

  “It was one hand, Tessa,” he said. “Now that I’m here, you can let a professional fix this before you break something and turn what’ll likely be a simple fix into something far more costly and time-consuming.”

  She didn’t pull those magnificent blue eyes from him. She could tell him to fuck off with just a look, and he could see she was likely thinking of a way to tell him how she could and would do things better than he would.

  “I was trying to turn the water off and almost had it, Owen.”

  He knew she hated him. At the same time, everything about her brought up unsettling and frustrating feelings inside him. He took in the counter, seeing the gray duct tape, and he reached for it and lifted it. Rita Mae had evidently realized she was in the middle of something personal and had quietly stepped out.

  “You planning on doing something with this?” Owen said, tossing the duct tape back on the wet counter and setting his tool case beside one of the sinks. He took a better look at the busted pipe, wondering what had caused this. He doubted this was a prank. More than likely, from the looks of it, the pipe was just old and had been about to give for some time.

  “I was planning on fixing the pipe,” she snapped. “I was going to turn the water off and then duct tape it until it could be fixed. You know, I’m not completely useless, Owen. I have two hands and the ability to problem-solve, which was exactly what I was doing. Then here you are, showing up and thinking I’m out of my depth. I’ll have you know I had a handle on the situation, and—”

  “Are you finished?” He cut her off, facing her.

  She was standing there, holding her ground. The woman was infuriating, and he quickly remembered how she never had gone quietly into the night. No, scratch that. She had never sat back and counted on him for anything. As if she had realized how indecent her shirt was, she simply crossed her arms under those amazing breasts and gave him everything.

  Confidence. Two can play this game.

  “Evidently,” she said, then gestured to the tools and the sink. “I’ll leave you to this, then.”

  He had expected something else from her. No, he had wanted something else. Her walking away that easily should’ve been a relief, but there was something about her attitude that he craved. What was it about Tessa? He had anticipated fighting with her, sparring with her, because their arguments had been on another level. No other woman could compete.

  “So how did this happen?” he added, taking in her confusion as she stepped back. “Rita Mae said it was a school prank, seniors, but these pipes are old, no longer up to code. Corrosion and wear is what this looks like.”

  He took in the pipes intently only because he was finding it damn difficult to keep his gaze from her. When he reached up for the red shut-off lever, he felt how corroded that was, as well.

  “I have no idea,” she said. “I was in my classroom, finishing up for the day, and was just about ready to pack it up and leave when something caught my eye. I stepped out of my classroom to investigate and saw water everywhere. I followed it into the bathroom here and found all this…”

  As she gestured, someone screamed. In the second that followed, Tessa gave him everything before darting out the door ahead of him. Around the corner, he spotted Rita Mae standing outside a room labeled Janitor, staring down at something in shock.

  As he stepped behind both women and took in the closet, he realized what the problem was. He was staring at the body of a young man, curled up, unmoving. On pure instinct, he moved both Rita Mae and Tessa aside and crouched down, seeing the lifeless eyes of what looked like a student. He reached in and checked for a pulse, but just looking at him, he already knew he was dead.

  Chapter Three

  “Look, I have no idea what the hell happened,” Owen said to Marcus, his brother, the sheriff, as he took in the scene at the school. “I was called to a plumbing emergency. There was water everywhere.”

  He’d pulled out his phone and called Marcus after making the discovery, which had brought in what seemed like everyone. Tessa was talking with one of the crime scene techs, and Harold, his brother’s lead deputy and Suzanne’s partner, was speaking with Rita Mae. He took in the body, which had been photographed and was now in a body bag, being wheeled away. Another deputy, Lonnie, was in the bathroom, and the kid deputy, Colby, was directing the emergency workers to move the body down the stairs.

  Owen was
still having a hard time shaking the fact that he’d found a kid in a closet, dead. It was surreal, the entire scene.

  “Any idea who the kid is?” Owen said. His arms were crossed, and he glanced around, taking in everyone. Tessa ran her hand over the back of her neck, strong and confident but shaken as all hell. He could see it only because he knew her better than he was comfortable with. Tessa had a difficult independent personality, and anyone else would’ve had to look real hard to see it.

  “Jackson Moore,” Marcus said. “You know the Moore family? He’s one of Susan’s four kids. A hard call that’ll be.”

  Owen winced. The Moores had been in Livingston as long as his family had—longer, maybe. He could see this was the part of the job his brother didn’t like. Who would want to face parents and tell them their kid was dead? This was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen in their town.

  “You said the water’s off?” Marcus said. “We’re going to have to shut this down for now, so you won’t be fixing anything for a bit. We need to investigate, find out what happened. With all the kids and everyone in the school, it’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack—or we could get lucky.”

  From the way his brother said it, he knew that was wishful thinking. But then, someone had to have seen something.

  “Fine, I get it,” Owen said. “School will be out too, then. I’ll fix it when you give the all clear. How old was Jackson, anyway?” He didn’t know why he needed to ask. It was irrelevant now, but he just wanted to know.

  “Pretty sure he’s Alison’s age,” Marcus said. “What a waste. He never even had a chance at life, at screwing up or choosing something or creating something… Shit!”

  The door was still open, and Owen took in the small closet, how dark it would’ve been, still filled with cleaning supplies, brooms, mops, and janitorial equipment. He didn’t know what to think.

  “So was he murdered?” Owen said. He knew he’d never get the sightless eyes of the young man out of his mind. It was never supposed to happen this way—a wasted life. What the hell had happened?

  The look from Marcus was one he knew well. “You know I can’t talk about that. It’s too early, anyway. Coroner will need to figure it out. Couldn’t see anything, any visible marks to give us a clue. How the hell did he get into that closet? Why was he there?”

  There was a lot to figure out. He looked around, seeing how upset Rita Mae was. Harold was walking over toward them, calm, collected, together, one of his brother’s best deputies. Marcus reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’ll have someone grab your tools, but this is a crime scene now. Let me know if you hear of something. Keep your ear to the ground, and let me know if you think of anything that could help.”

  He watched as his brother moved away with Harold, discussing crime-scene things that he knew had nothing to do with him. He took in Tessa, for the first time realizing she was completely out of sorts. It took her another second before she realized he was walking right toward her. He could hear Rita Mae crying, but he kept walking.

  “You okay?” was all he said as he stopped in front of Tessa, whose shirt was still damp and indecent. He gestured helplessly. He didn’t even have a jacket to give her.

  “Sure. Seriously? Of course I’m not. That was Jackson Moore. He was one of my students. How is it possible that he’s dead? It’s wrong, so wrong that this could happen. What the hell was he doing in that closet, anyways?” She lifted her hands and then let them fall helplessly to her sides. “Any idea what happened, how he died?”

  The more he looked, the more he saw something in her blue eyes that made him not want to walk away. She didn’t show this side of herself to just anyone. There was just something about her. He sensed her vulnerability.

  He shook his head. He knew she was asking the same questions he was. “Where’re your things?” he said. “We should grab them and then go.”

  She lifted her hand in a gesture and started to one of the classrooms down the hall. Inside, he took in the empty desks, the old chalkboard, the same as when he’d gone to school. She opened a drawer and pulled out her purse, then tucked a laptop from the desk into a case. He took in the cream-colored sweater looped around the back of the chair and reached for it.

  “Here, put this on,” he said, holding it up, taking in those blue eyes that seemed to connect with him for just a second. Would she argue? “Tessa, your shirt. Come on, you have to be cold. You’re still wet.”

  She must’ve known, as she slipped her arms into her sweater, and he rested his hands over her shoulders, feeling her tension and the stress of the moment. He let his hands linger. Of course she was upset. He could feel it.

  There was something about her hair, that fine blond hair. He ran his fingers over the strands that fell here and there from her bun, then tucked a few strands behind her ear and let his hand fall away. He made himself step back.

  She didn’t pull her questioning gaze. For a moment, he was positive she was fighting the urge to lean closer. He could see it. At the same time, she wouldn’t let herself. He gestured to the door behind him and then ran his hand over her shoulder again and around her back to steer her there.

  “We should go,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  She was about to shake her head. He could just tell when a woman wanted something even though she denied it, but Tessa was a master of control, of making sure she would never have the one thing she wanted. She didn’t give in, and he was well aware he was as stubborn as she was.

  “You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m a big girl, Owen. I can look after myself. Been doing it for years.”

  At any other time, he’d have said fine and walked away, but something about the situation had him digging his heels in. “No,” he said. “I’m sure you’re capable of looking after yourself, Tessa, but seriously, a kid just died. Don’t be so damn stubborn. You’re upset, I’m upset. Be human for a second. This isn’t about that. Let’s go. I’ll walk you out.”

  He could sense without her saying a word that she was happy he was insisting. Her hand was on her computer bag, and he reached for it and took it from her. He didn’t know how he did it, but he had her walking out of the room. He took in the cops, the crime scene, and Marcus, who was talking to one of them but gave Owen a look. Something passed between them as he led Tessa out to the stairs, where water was still running down in a thin stream.

  “Careful on the stairs,” he said. “It’ll be slippery.” He just couldn’t help himself. He let her go first as she held the rail.

  “You know, Owen, you don’t have to walk me out. I already told you…”

  “You’ve said that already, Tessa. Just stop it, okay? This isn’t the time to be so stubborn.”

  She stepped down off the last step and looked up to him, and for a moment, he could see she might be having trouble with something.

  “Any idea of what happened?” she said. “I mean, Jackson was kind of a loner. He had a few friends in class, but he kept his head down. Why would he have been in that closet?” She lifted her hands, adjusting her purse over her shoulder. She was struggling and wasn’t about to leave it alone. Could he blame her? Hell, he needed a shot of something after this.

  He somehow maneuvered her around and had her walking to the front door again. The questions kept circling in his mind, too. “Rita Mae said something about a prank, about how she was waiting for something. Know anything about that?”

  “You mean the grad pranks from the seniors that happen every year around this time?” She was so close to him as she walked, and he opened the front door and gestured for Tessa to go first. She did, but she seemed to linger a bit as if waiting for him, then fell in beside him again, walking down the steps.

  He took in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. She gestured to a light blue compact in the parking lot not far from his plumbing van.

  “Yeah, those ones,” he said.

  She sighed as she kept walking, and he pressed his hand to her lower back
because he just couldn’t keep from touching her. “Honestly, I don’t know, Owen. With the deserted halls and the flooding, that was honestly my first thought, too. It seems as if someone knew something…”

  She stopped at her car and let out a sigh, then reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. He watched the way she clutched them, then hesitated, looking over the roof of her car as if thinking some heavy thoughts.

  “You good to drive? I can follow you home,” he added.

  She gave him everything again. “What happened between us, Owen?”

  There it was, the million-dollar question. He was too stubborn, and so was she. “Life, everything…nothing,” he said, then shrugged, knowing it wasn’t an answer. He didn’t know when it was that his feelings for her had changed, which single moment had had him walking away. She didn’t pull her gaze from him, and Owen didn’t step back.

  He found himself nodding. “You want to grab a drink?”

  She said nothing for a second, giving him everything. Her eyes, the blueness… No one could compete with her. He expected a no, hell no, but instead she clutched her keys and seemed to consider it. “Yeah, a drink seems appropriate. So where?”

  “Pop your things in your car, and I’ll drive. The Lighthouse?”

  She held her keys up, and he saw that part of her that never went quietly as she said, “The Lighthouse sounds great, but I’ll drive.”

  Chapter Four

  “Never realized you were a gin and tonic woman,” Owen said, taking in Tessa as she sat on the bar stool beside him, leaning on the old dark wood bar top and swirling a plastic stir stick in her drink after squeezing in a lime.

  “And I never expected you to just get in my car and let me drive,” she replied. She tapped the stick on the edge of her glass and set it on the bar counter, then lifted the glass and took a swallow.