Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,12

Kimi used to do when the clouds rolled in over the Pacific Ocean. A seashell. A surfboard. A wolf. Another wolf.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples to break the building tension, the cot creaking as she tried to get comfortable. And then she detected muffled voices on the other side of the wall. Then not so muffled, as she stopped moving and eavesdropped.

“. . . don’t know where he is,” said a voice. It was Coach Ambrose.

“Well, he didn’t call in sick. He didn’t call in at all, and I can’t reach him.” That was Mr. Hastings, the school principal. “I’ll send Pat Lewis over there to check.”

Pat Lewis would be Sergeant Lewis, the man who had taken fingerprints at her house after the break-in.

“Wes did caution the kids not to go into the forest. So he knows better than to put himself at risk.”

Katelyn guessed that Mr. Henderson’s first name was Wes. And he still hadn’t shown up for class. They must be talking about him.

“God, what if it’s another murder?” Mr. Hastings muttered, then sighed. “I don’t mean to sound so heartless. Let’s see what Lewis finds out.”

“I have to get back to my class,” Coach Ambrose said. “Oh, for your info, I’ve got Mike Wright for detention. I caught him loitering around Trick Sokolov’s car after the second bell rang. With a box cutter.”

Katelyn grimaced. Mike again, with his piglike nose and super-bad attitude. She’d made an enemy of him the first time she’d met him by sticking up for Cordelia when he’d started harassing her. Katelyn had had no idea, of course, that Cordelia could have crushed his windpipe and tossed him off the bridge over the river if she’d felt like it.

If I get that strong, I’ll totally do it for her, Katelyn thought acidly. For both of us. For Trick, too.

The principal swore beneath his breath. “There was a break-in over at the McBrides’,” he said. “I wonder if Mike had anything to do with that, too. He’s said some choice words about that new girl, McBride’s granddaughter.”

Katelyn scowled. She just bet he had.

“Remember when Mike and his boys tried to pin those other burglaries on Sokolov?”

“Trick didn’t do this one, either. Lewis already cleared him.”

“Mike’s just a bully. But Trick’s a rich kid, bored, smart as hell,” the coach said.

“Trick and I go way back,” Mr. Hastings replied with a wry chuckle. “Wolf Springs can’t contain a boy like that.”

“Seems to be a few other things we can’t contain,” the coach replied. “I’m worried about Wes.”

“I’ll let you know what I find out,” Mr. Hastings told him.

She heard a door close. There was another silence. Then the principal said, “Yeah, hi, Pat. Listen, can you go over to Wes Henderson’s place? Brick house on the corner by the old stables? He didn’t show up for work and my calls are going straight to voice mail. Given the circumstances . . . yes. Thanks.”

Katelyn waited, but nothing more came from the office, leaving her to ponder what she’d heard, Trick’s frequent run-ins with Mike, and the slashed tires on his Mustang the first day he’d taken her to school.

She woke to the sound of an incoming text on her phone. She was still in the sick room and she snatched the phone up, reading off an unknown number. Her heart skipped multiple beats when she saw the message.

RU alone? C

C, for Cordelia. Katelyn almost screamed in relief. Her friend was alive!

Yes! School. Where RU? Katelyn texted frantically, screwing up three times in her haste and having to redo.

Safe. For now.

Katelyn closed her eyes against an onslaught of deep, relieved joy.

A third text bubble popped up: No thanks to you.

It hurt, but Katelyn almost didn’t care. Just to know Cordelia was okay was enough.

C, tell me where u r, she typed.

But there was no answer.

Then her glance ticked up to the chalkboard.

Coming home w/me today, it read. J.

J for Justin. The board had been blank when she’d come into the room. Deep, visceral fear propelled Katelyn off the cot as she stared at the board. Justin had been in this room while she’d been asleep.

She looked around for any other evidence of his visit. There was none. Then she grabbed up her backpack, got a pen and her English notebook, and copied Cordelia’s new phone number into it. Next, with regret, she deleted the texts.

She stayed in the sick room past lunch, hiding, seemingly forgotten by a busy Mrs. Walker. She texted