"Geometry with Kylie Rutherford."

"Thursday?" he asked with a sarcastic undertone that put me even further on edge.

I zipped my pack closed.

"Let me guess. You're washing your hair on Thursday?" He reached for a stray lock. My whole body tensed and something on my face must have changed his mind. He paused, his hand inches away, and a slow grin crept over his face. He leaned over the desk, his voice low. "Or is it swim practice?"

I couldn't speak. Up close, his eyes were suffocating and deep. I flashed back to Marcia's dead blue face. He was too close, he'd seen too much, and my thoughts scrambled and blurred.

"No!" It came out loud enough to wipe the smile off his face. I cleared my throat, hiding my bare hands under the table. His eyes trailed after them. "I tutor Teddy Marshall on Thursdays."

He shook his head and half smiled, as though he found me entertaining. "I get it. You're busy." He slid something across the table. "Maybe a few hours after school sometime?"

I waited for his hand to retreat before reaching for the scrap of paper. A phone number. His phone number. I shoved it back across the table, and his hand closed over mine, trapping it between us. I sucked in a surprised breath as his emotions crept into me. He was suspicious of me. And conflicted. Guilt and self-doubts simmered just below the surface, under that cocky self-assurance he wore like a leather skin.

I jerked my hand from his, dropping the number. He hadn't wanted to give it to me anyway. I'd tasted his regret when he did. "What's your name?"

"Reece." He gave me a skeptical once-over, then extended his hand. "Reece Whelan."

I didn't take it. I watched him, brain skimming around the edges of a memory.

He dismissed the rebuff. "So, are we cool or what?"

Whelan . . . We've got a kid inside . . . get me everything he can on Nearly Boswell.

I stood up, gears clicking in place as I grabbed my pack and made a beeline for the door. No, we were absolutely not cool.

12.

The next morning, when I opened my locker, a wad of paper and a pink slip ruffled between the vents. The pink slip was from Rankin, telling me I needed to reschedule two hours of tutoring this week, for Teddy Marshall . . . and Reece Whelan.

The wad of paper had been folded and crushed to fit through the vent. I peeled it open. Chapter one of a basic chemistry textbook had been ripped from its binding, and blocky blue ballpoint letters were inked over the top of the page.

I NEED YOU . . . PLEASE.-RW

I balled it between my hands and pitched it onto the floor of my locker. Reece Whelan could forget it. I knew he was working for Nicholson. No way was I letting him follow me around and spill the details of my miserable life to the police just so he could hold on to his Get Out of Jail Free card.

The first period bell rang. I set my mental timer for five minutes, barely enough to cross the length of the school and up two flights of stairs before the tardy bell. If I cut through the courtyard, I'd make it with seconds to spare. I turned, smacking into a wall of black T-shirt.

I leaned back against my locker, my pulse sky-rocketing. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?" I angled to shove past him, that too-close feeling snaking through me.

"Hey, wait up." He grabbed my wrist and I snatched it away with a curse. The rush of his emotion was cold and sudden, like someone had dumped ice cubes down my back.

"What the hell is wrong?" He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I said to make you so mad yesterday. If you don't want to hang out after school, it's cool. I get it."

I drew in a deep breath, passing it off as impatience. It wasn't a psychic smell. It was him. A spicy masculine-smelling soap mingled with the tang of his leather jacket into something warm and appealing. I massaged my wrist. "It's not cool. Just leave me alone." I pushed past him, careful not to touch him, and kept walking.

He followed me and I had to work twice as hard to stay ahead of his long strides. He was almost as tall as Jeremy.

"Hey," he said, his tone carefully measured. I could actually hear the effort in his restraint. "Can you slow down a little?"

"No."

"Why?" He hovered, one step for every three of mine. I slipped between snuggling couples, jostled through groups of broad-backed jocks. He was impossible to shake. The throng of oncoming traffic parted for him with a reverse magnetism.

"I'm late for class," I snapped.

"So?"

"So, maybe it's okay for you to ditch. You can just take it again. Some of us have scholarships to worry about."

Reece jockeyed himself in beside me. "I don't want to take it again. That's why I asked you to tutor me."

I stole a quick glance at his face. He was clean-shaven and his hair was combed neat.

"I'm not going to tutor you," I said. "I told you yesterday."

He muttered something under his breath and raked a frustrated hand through his bangs.

"Look, can we start over? I'm not sure what I did to piss you off. All I did was introduce myself and ask for help."

"Yeah," I said, recalling my visit to the police station. "I can totally relate."

"What's that supposed to mean?"