Page 19 of The Executioners Three
Next time. He’d saidnext time.
Freddie nodded frantically, incapable of doing much else. Arealboy was showing interest in her! And he was getting her phone number. She never wanted to return the Lance Bass keychain.Ever.
Of course, moments later when Kyle attempted to type Freddie’s house number into his Nokia while he was still driving, some of the magic dissolved. Freddie snatched the mobile—perhaps a bit roughly—from his hands.
Which was when the momentreallyspiraled from her control because once she’d added her home number and explained how her mom wouldn’t let her have a cell phone, she caught sight of the road ahead—a road that Kyle was not watching.
A road upon which a figure stood.
“Look out!”Freddie braced herself. Kyle’s brakes shrieked. The car swerved toward the woods… Trees zoomed in fast.
The Jeep squealed to a stop.
And with her pulse roaring in her ears, Freddie gaped at Kyle. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer. He was angling back to see who stood in the road. “Oh no,” he moaned. “It’s the sheriff. I almost hit thesheriff.”
“Well, you clearly have a talent for something,” Freddie consoled.
Sheriff Rita Bowman’s heart-shaped face appeared at the window. She rapped her knuckles against the glass, to which Kyle emitted another groan.
“Jesus, Friedman.” Bowman glowered at him once the window was down. “I ought to write you a ticket. Are you stoned again?”
Kyle grimaced. “N-no, ma’am.”
“Gellar?” Bowman asked, her blue eyes sliding to Freddie. “What the hell are you doing with this knucklehead?”
Freddie gulped. Bowman’s eyes were such a pale, crystal blue. Like ice on the lake during winter. They were terrifying, really, and they made Freddie want to offer up every illegal (or even slightly immoral) thing she’d ever done.
For that reason alone, she just adored Rita Bowman. One day, she was going to be just like her. The summers she’d spent riding with Bowman throughout the Berm area had been the best summers of her life. She’d felt so at home in the squad car.
And while sure, Freddie had also been unable to escape the inevitable thoughts of her dad—like wondering if he’d ever sat in the same seat where she’d sat at the station’s front desk or if he’d ever also complained that the coffeemaker was utter crap—she’d used the opportunities as training.
Tamp down thoughts. Tamp down feelings. Focus only on the task at hand.
Which was what Freddie did right now as she tried desperatelynotto offer up all her secrets to Sheriff Bowman.
“Why aren’t the both of you at the football game?” Bowman asked.
“I find the sport barbaric,” Freddie answered at the same moment Kyle offered, “I was there. The Lumberjacks were winning.”
“So why’d you leave?” She frowned at Kyle. Then at Freddie. “And where are you two going right now?”
“Fortin Pr—”
“Kyle’s house,”Freddie interrupted.
And somehow, Bowman’s expression soured even more. “God, Friedman. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear you.” She pointed at Freddie. “And I’m gonna pretend I believe you. Now move along—”
“Wait!” Freddie lurched her seat-belted body at the sheriff. “What areyoudoing out here?”
“And what’s that smell?” Kyle’s nose wrinkled.
Freddie blinked. Then sniffed. Sure enough, there was a decidedly dead odor in the air.
Her skin crawled. She’d smelled this exactly on Wednesday night in the fog.
“I’m cleaning up roadkill,” the sheriff muttered, obviously displeased by this activity. “And I’m checking the roads for…unsavorycritters.” At Freddie’s and Kyle’s blank looks, she added, “I keep getting complaints of animals—mostly raccoons and turkeys—crossing the road in huge numbers. So I’m looking into it.”
