Kathy Reichs - Code

Slowly, the duo managed to back Ben away, but his glare never strayed from Jason. At the exit, Ben shrugged free and stalked down the hall alone.

I took my first breath since Jason stood.

Crisis averted, but barely.

Excited chatter filled the room. As classmates watched our table, hoping for more drama, Jason hastily retook his seat.

“That was …” I struggled for words. “Jason, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why—”

“You really don’t, do you?” Jason snapped. “Everyone else can figure it out.”

“Figure out what?”

“Never mind. I’ll get in touch with Marchant. It might take a few days for him to call you. That okay?”

“Yes.” It would have to be. “And thank you again.”

But his comment bothered me. “When you said everyone else—”

“I’ve got to get going.” Rising quickly. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Jason strode through the doors, nodding to Shelton and Hi as they hurried back to the table. The three of us huddled close, our lunches forgotten.

“What in God’s name was that?” Hi looked as alarmed as I felt.

“I saw your expression, Tor.” Shelton’s eyes darted, scanning for eavesdroppers. “Ben almost slipped, didn’t he? Almost … changed?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Not good.” Hi ran a hand down his face. “Not good at all.”

“We’ve got to keep those two apart for a while.” Shelton dodged my eye. “Let them cool down.”

I rubbed my forehead, in a daze. “They’ve never been this bad before.”

The look in Ben’s eyes when Jason challenged him—it’d been dangerous. Borderline irrational. For him to get so angry he nearly flared in public … How could he allow such a loss of self-control? Would it happen again?

“Ben’s always had a temper,” I said, “but lately he’s off the chain. Do you have any idea why?”

“Um. Huh.” Hi wasn’t looking at me. “I mean, look. I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll get over it. Things happen. We should just give him some space.”

“Space.” Shelton was inspecting a thumbnail. “That’s probably the best thing.”

My eyes narrowed. Did these two know more than they were letting on?

I was about to probe further when Hi spoke. “Jason said we might not hear from Marchant for days. How much time do we have left?”

The Game. I’d almost forgotten.

I rooted inside my backpack, keeping the iPad hidden. Checked the timer.

“Thirty-six hours. Until tomorrow midnight.”

“Then we can’t wait,” Shelton said. “We’ve got to solve the puzzle.”

“You’re right.” I slapped the tabletop in frustration. “I’m tired of being jerked around like a yo-yo.”

“I hate it too,” Hi said. “But for now, we have to follow the script. No choice.”

“We need an idea.” Shelton tapped a finger. “Some plan of attack.”

He was right.

But I didn’t have one.

And we were running out of time.

Tick tick tick .

CHAPTER 19

“TORY! GET DOWN here for dinner!”

Blargh .

I slipped the iPad into a drawer. No progress, though I’d scanned and uploaded the image. Shelton was combing the Internet for a match.

“Tory!” Kit’s voice had reached level two.

“Coming!”

Gathering my hair with chopsticks, I hurried downstairs. Whitney was there, of course. I hadn’t been informed she was dining with us. Of course.

Coop padded over and nuzzled my hand.

“Good boy.” I pointed to his corner. “Place.”

Coop yawned, then retreated to his doggie bed in the living room. Whitney eyed him, wary of a wolfdog sneak attack. Please.

Recently, I’d been working on Coop’s begging. Kit had put his foot down—no four-leggers tableside during meals. No exceptions.

Coop obeyed me most of the time. When it suited him.

I didn’t mind if Coop ruffled Whitney’s feathers—she was a self-important, dog-hating whiner. But it put Kit in a tight spot. Best not to make waves.

Another accommodation for the bimbo .

Kit had come home early that night, surprising us both. Grocery bag pressed to his chest, he’d announced he’d be grilling. Whitney had practically squealed with delight.

The menu was a given. Kit cooked a mean cheeseburger, and that’s about it.

I’d watched him hustle down to the communal grill, charcoal in tow. Mr. Devers had joined him with a trio of steaks, followed by Hi’s father with marinated chicken breasts.

The temperature was a pleasant seventy-five degrees, one of those perfect October nights in the Lowcountry. The men had shared a few beers, waiting for the meat to cook.

I was happy Kit could still relax with the neighbors. He was their boss now, but it hadn’t changed things back on Morris Island. They’d laughed and swapped stories, three dads hosting an impromptu barbeque, at ease in one another’s company.

Kit makes that happen. He doesn’t set himself apart, and they sense it .

“Dinner is served.” Kit set three plates on the dining room table.

Whitney ooh ed and aah ed like a moron. I dug right in.

Kit cooked his burgers a true medium-rare. Pinker than Mom used to make, but I was coming around. Juice dribbled down my chin as I took large bites.

“Tory darling, have you made a decision?” Whitney sipped pinot grigio from a crystal-stemmed wineglass that she probably brought from home. “Who will be the lucky boys?”

“Do what now?”

“Your marshals, Tory.” Whitney rolled her eyes. “This is only the third time I’ve asked you about it. The ball is next Friday.”

Shoot. I’d managed to block that out.

In the last few days, I’d been to Loggerhead twice, accidentally detonated a bomb in Battery Park, stopped by Claybourne Manor, and watched Ben explode like an Indonesian volcano.

But Whitney wanted an update on my cotillion plans. FML.

“Still working on that.” Chomping ground beef. “Lots of factors in play. Don’t want to make a poor choice, right?”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, champ.” Kit gave me a disapproving head shake. “Whitney needs those names ASAP. You know that.”

“What about that nice Taylor boy, from Mount Pleasant?” Whitney tapped her lip with a cherry red fingernail. “James? No, Jason! The lacrosse player with the blond hair.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “He’s cute .”

Gross .

Whitney discussing my friends was straight-up creepy.

Though he is cute. No denying that .

“I dunno, maybe.”

“Would you like me to speak to his mother?” Whitney leaned close. “If you’re uncomfortable inviting a boy, we could arrange for him to ask you.”

I wanted to punch her face.

He already offered, you dolt. Everything’s not as simple as you are .

“I can handle it.” Crunching the last of my pickle. “May I be excused? Big chem test tomorrow.”

Kit nodded. “Whitney needs an answer tomorrow night. No more delays. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Slapping my leg for Coop to follow, I scurried upstairs and flopped onto my bed. Fought off an anxiety attack. I’d been avoiding this decision since learning I’d have to make it.

Whom to invite? Upon which gallant young men should I bestow the honor of walking me across a ballroom three times?

Such a hot ticket. I don’t want to start a riot .

I decided to make a list. I like lists. They help me frame an issue. Plan a strategy. Sort the possible from impossible.

Grabbing paper and pen, I wrote Chance Claybourne. Immediately crossed it out.

Get real . My subconscious was an idiot.