“She’s got plenty of people invested. She just isn’t appreciative of the fact,” he muttered.
“Fourteen-year-olds seldom are.” She smiled, but her gaze was focused on the hallway beyond the tape. “I guess I should get my things,” she said quietly.
“I can get them for you,” he offered. “If you’d rather not go back to the classroom.”
“I’ll have to go back Monday, so I may as well face it now.” She lifted the police tape and shimmied under it, her advanced pregnancy not seeming to hinder her movements.
Up ahead, rookie K-9 officer James Harrison and his bloodhound, Hawk, crisscrossed the hallway, moving from side to side and back again.
“We’re moving through,” Tristan said, and James gave a brief nod, his focus on a wadded-up piece of paper that lay on the glossy tile.
“Anything interesting?” Tristan asked, and James finally looked up.
“I’m not sure. Hawk alerted here, so I’m going to process it like it is. It could have just been left behind by a kid and kicked by the gunman when he ran through.” He shrugged, his gaze shifting to Ariel. “We’ll figure it out though, and get this guy behind bars as quickly as possible.”
He was trying to reassure her, but Ariel didn’t look convinced. She looked tense, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, her bandaged hand resting on the swell of her abdomen.
“I appreciate that,” she said. “I’ll feel a lot safer when he’s in custody.”
“Do you have any idea who it was?” James asked, opening up an evidence collection kit. He took a quick photo of the paper, then put on gloves and lifted it.
“No, but I don’t think he’s anyone I know.”
“You didn’t see his face?” James carefully opened the sheet, studying words that were scrawled across it.
“No. He was wearing a mask of some sort. I already explained everything to Officer McKeller.”
“I know it’s frustrating, but you’ll probably be explaining things to a lot of people, Ms. Martin,” James responded. “Unfortunately, that’s the way these cases usually work. Lots of questions asked over and over again. Did the chief give you permission to leave the scene?”
“She’s been cleared to go,” Tristan responded. “I’m going to escort her and make sure she arrives home safely. At this point, that’s my top priority.”
She tensed at his words, but she didn’t protest them.
“Good,” James said. “If the guy was planning this, if he found out information to help him achieve his goal, there’s no guarantee he won’t go after her somewhere else.” He held up the paper, so that Tristan could read the handwritten words.
Desert Valley High School
Room 119
Ariel Martin
They were scrawled in black ink, every i dotted with a circle. The A underlined.
Ariel took a step back, her gaze focused on the paper, her face leeched of color. Freckles dotted her nose and her cheeks, giving the impression of youth, but there was maturity in her eyes—a deep knowledge of what it meant to struggle, to suffer and to survive.
She’d been through a lot. Now she was going through more. That bothered him. It made him want to do everything in his power to keep her safe.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Yes. I...” She pressed her lips together, sealing in whatever she’d planned to say. “You’ll think I’m nuts.”
“There are a lot worse things that people can be,” he responded, and she smiled, a dimple flashing in her right cheek. She had a pretty smile, a soft one.
“True. The thing about the letter...the writing looks really familiar.”
“A student?” James suggested.
“No. My ex-husband.”
“Did you part on good terms?” James asked. “Is it possible—?”
“He’s dead.” Tristan cut in. There was no sense walking down that road. A dead man didn’t write notes. He didn’t carry a gun. He didn’t stalk his ex.
“That blows a hole in my theory, then,” James responded, carefully placing the note in an evidence bag.
“What about the writing made you think of your ex?” Tristan asked Ariel.
“Mitch always underlined the A in my name, and he always used circles to dot i’s.”
“That’s information anyone could have known,” he pointed out. “Friends, coworker, family. Most would have seen his writing at one point or another.”
“He didn’t have family. It was one of the things that brought us together. Two college students with no one.” She blushed, shook her head. “It’s an old story, and there’s no reason to tell it now. I can get you a list of Mitch’s associates, but I can’t guarantee that I know all of them. He was involved in some things I didn’t know about until after he died.”
“Affairs?” James asked bluntly, and Ariel shrugged.
“I found that out before we divorced. After he died, the police started questioning me about other things. He’d been involved in a money laundering scheme in Las Vegas and insurance fraud in Nevada and several other states. If he’d lived, he’d have been arrested.” She said it as if it didn’t matter, her face and voice devoid of emotion. It had to have hurt, though. It had to have made her doubt all the things she’d thought were true about herself and her relationships.
“I’m sorry, Ariel,” Tristan said, and she offered him that same soft pretty smile.
“So you keep saying. Sorry doesn’t change things, though, and it’s not going to help you figure out who tried to shoot me. I’m not familiar with any of the people who were involved in criminal activities with Mitch, but I can print out a list of his work associates and friends and swing it by the police department tomorrow. I may have a sample of his writing, too. If that will help.”
“It will,” Tristan said. “I’ll talk to Chief Jones and see if we can send the paper for handwriting analysis. The state crime lab should be able to process it.”
“You want me to handle that while you escort her home?” James asked.
Tristan met Ariel’s eyes. She didn’t look any less tired than she had a few minutes ago, and he thought she needed to be home more than she needed to wait around the crime scene while he did something another officer could handle. “Sure.”
“Okay,” James said. “Come on, Hawk, let’s see what else we can find.”
The bloodhound offered a quick bark in response and moved down the hall, ears brushing the ground as he moved.
Ariel must have taken that as her cue to leave. She headed down the hall, moving toward her room at a half run that Tristan didn’t think could be good for her or the baby.
But, then, what did he know?
He’d never spent much time around pregnant women. He didn’t know what the protocol was for exercise this late in a pregnancy. She was in good health and very fit. If she wanted to jog, who was he to question her? If she wanted to run away from her problems, who was he to tell her it couldn’t be done?
Obviously, the discussion about her ex had been painful. It was just as obvious that she was done talking about it.
That