Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“May I help you?”

The officer who smiled down at her had a head of close-cropped dark hair that made his bright green eyes stand out. He was tall and pale and there was something incredibly familiar about the lopsided smile he offered.

“Can I help you?”

Sawyer bit her lip. “Um, maybe? Yeah. I guess.”

“Okay…how about we start with your name?”

“I’m Sawyer.” She wasn’t sure if she should put out a hand to shake or just wave. She chose the latter. “Sawyer Dodd.”

“Are you a student, Ms. Dodd?”

Sawyer nodded, not sure why that would matter. “Yeah, at Hawthorne.”

The officer nodded and smiled. “I thought I recognized you. My brother goes to Hawthorne. I’m Stephen Haas.”

“Haas? You’re Logan’s brother.” Sawyer did a mental head slap. “Detective Biggs mentioned his partner but I didn’t realize—I didn’t put two and two together, I guess. I remember Logan saying that his brother was a cop, though.”

“You can call me Stephen.” He nodded, offered Sawyer a hand. “So, you are a friend of my brother’s?”

Sawyer nodded. “Kind of. He has the locker under mine, and I drove him home from school once.”

Stephen cocked that half smile again and pointed at her, green eyes narrowed. “Ah, that’s right. You’re that Sawyer Dodd.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“My little brother kind of has a—let’s just go with mammoth—crush on you.”

Sawyer’s cheeks flushed red, and she felt the heat go to her ears. “Oh.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, right. Actually, I was looking for Detective Biggs. Is he in?”

Stephen checked his watch. “He probably won’t be in for another couple of hours. Is there something I can help you with?”

Sawyer chewed her bottom lip. “Well not to be rude but no, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, let me put it this way: Detective Biggs won’t be in for another couple of hours, and even then, it’s pretty likely you’ll be talking to me. I’m his liaison.”

Sawyer smiled in spite of herself. “Liaison? That sounds very French.”

“And masculine, right? Why don’t you follow me over to the conference room and you can tell me what’s going on. I can start the case file for Detective Biggs.”

Sawyer’s fingers still worked the strap of her purse, and she felt herself shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Well…”

But Stephen Haas’s face was so earnest, so open, that Sawyer smiled thinly and followed him into the conference room.

“So,” he said, whipping out a yellow legal pad, “what can I help you with?”

Sawyer’s eyes followed the blank lines on the notebook, and she licked her parched lips, fisted her hands, which seemed clammy once again. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she began, feeling her mind whirl with everything that had happened—and how preposterous it would sound. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” She stood. “You know, I should really just go.”

Stephen laid a gentle hand on her forearm. “Sawyer, if whatever is bothering you is enough to make you drive all the way down to the police station at seven o’clock in the morning, it’s something I want to hear about. Besides”—he flashed that sweet, relaxed smile of his—“I’ll be the judge of whether or not we send in the SWAT team or the guys in the white coats with the straitjackets.”

Sawyer sunk back down, still nervous, but feeling a genuine smile twitching at the edges of her lips. “Well, Detective Biggs came to my house a few weeks ago—just after my boyfriend, Kevin Anderson—died in a car accident.”

Stephen nodded. “Kevin Anderson. It was a drunk-driving accident, right?”

Sawyer pinched her lip. “Yeah. But they think someone else was in the car. Someone who escaped. They think it was me.”

Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “And was it?”

“No. No. We got in a fight that night and when I left him, he was drinking but he was alone.”

“Okay. But I don’t see how this is—”

“And the Monday after his funeral,” Sawyer went on, her eyes fixed on the faux wood grain veneer on the conference table, “I got a note. It said, ‘You’re welcome.’ And there was a newspaper article with the note—it was the one about Kevin’s death.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, sucking in his breath and tapping the end of the ballpoint pen on the still-blank notepad. “Sounds like a prank to me. A prank in really bad taste.”

“And then my Spanish teacher was killed.”

“Uh, Mr. Hanson, right? Logan told me about that. But he wasn’t murdered; he died of an allergic reaction.”

“Yeah, but then I got another note. Oh, and before that, we were at a party and someone attacked my best friend, Chloe Coulter.”

“Can you spell that last name?”

Sawyer bit her nail. “Maybe you shouldn’t write that down.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t I write it down?”

“It’s just—we were out, late—and Chloe’s parents don’t know.”

“If this was an attack, Sawyer, this is pretty serious. Tell me what happened.”

“It was serious. Someone tried to cut the brake lines on Chloe’s mother’s car. And Chloe walked outside—”

“Where did this happen?”

“Oh, at the Rutgers’ house. But maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Let me guess. This girl’s parents didn’t know they were hosting a party?”

“It was a guy, actually, Evan. Evan Rutger. And no.”

Stephen sucked in a breath. “Okay. Just tell me what happened and we’ll figure out who to talk to—if anyone—after, okay?”

Sawyer nodded. “Okay, I guess. Anyway, someone hit Chloe in the head.”

“Was she injured badly?”

“Not very. But enough. He drew blood.”

“So you know it was a male.”

“No, not—I mean, that’s what Chloe said, but she also said she really didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Did anyone call this in?”

Sawyer shook her head again, feeling slightly ashamed. She should have made Chloe call the police that night. “No. Chloe didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Okay, so your friend got attacked. Did she receive any of these notes?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Has anyone messed with your car? Have you seen anyone who fit the description of Chloe’s attacker?”

“No.”

“So there really isn’t any reason to believe that the same person is targeting both of you?”

“No.” Sawyer frowned. “I guess not.”

Knowing that her best friend wasn’t a target of Sawyer’s admirer should have made her feel better, but the thought that two horrible people out on the loose in Crescent Hill wasn’t any more comforting.

“So you said you got a note after your teacher passed away.” Stephen cocked his head. “Did you bring any of these notes?”

Sawyer wagged her head. “No. I didn’t really plan on coming here this morning.”

“Do you recognize the handwriting, or was there a postmark? Anything recognizable?”

“No.”

“Well, Sawyer, I understand your concern and I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but I really think this is just—”

“A coincidence? A prank? Someone sent me flowers too, at school. And then someone spray-painted my gym locker—right after making coleslaw out of my clothes while I was in the shower.”

Sawyer listened to the tension rising in her voice and cringed inwardly. Everything she was saying did sound preposterous, coincidental—like a prank. Someone was playing with her—was capitalizing on the horrid things that had happened and trying to freak her out. Sweat beaded along her upper lip and she sighed.

“Maybe you’re right. This is probably just a really bad prank.”

Stephen pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile and patted Sawyer’s hand as it rested on the table. Her eyes followed his hand.

“I’m sorry that someone would do this to you, Sawyer. Kids can really suck. And from what I hear from my brother, your class has a particularly mean streak.”

Sawyer thought of Logan sitting in her car in his sweatpants and forced a smile. “I guess so.”

“He’s mentioned some kids—your late boyfriend included, sorry—who have pretty much tortured him from the time he set foot on campus.”

Sawyer dug her fingernail into the table’s veneer.

“Is there anything else I should know about these incidents? I’ll write a report just so we have something on file, should there be any more—”

Sawyer’s eyes flashed and her whole body stiffened, the thought of another note, another murder, like a steel fist to her gut. Stephen seemed to read her immediately. “Not that there will be any more incidents.”

She thought of the peanut butter label and shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Call me Stephen. Or Officer Haas, at worst. Not sir.”

Sawyer nodded wordlessly and stood when Stephen checked his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting to school? If you leave now, you can just make the last bell.”

“Yeah.” Sawyer gathered her purse. “Thanks.”

As she left the police station she felt an overwhelming sense of relief—fueled by stupidity—and the tiniest bit of calm. Yeah, she convinced herself as she drove the distance to Hawthorne High, it’s just a prank. A stupid, bad-natured prank. I’m not responsible for anything.

She repeated the mantra even as she guided her car into the parking lot and pulled it into park. She gathered up her backpack, a twinge of confidence bolstering her movements. Just a prank…The words resonated in her head and seemed to fill her with a modicum of calm. But somewhere, deep down, Sawyer knew the calm wouldn’t last.

TEN

Sawyer was feeling slightly more comfortable after homeroom and had nearly forgotten the notes, the flowers, and the shredded clothes by the time she got to second period. When she walked into the choir room, she was downright giddy thinking of her solo, appearing in her new choir costume. Chloe bounded over to her.