“Sounds exactly like the profile we’re looking for. What happened in Seattle?” Claire asked.
Sasha lifted a finger in the air. “One prostitution bust. One. Then nothing. Disappeared again.”
“They’re moving the girls around.” Cooper glanced at Claire.
“Keeping it underground. I take it we don’t know who the guy was she was dating,” Claire said.
Sasha shook her head. “All we have is a car description, no plates. And that is a three-year-old lead.”
Manuel cleared his throat. “What about the john? The man Marie was caught with?”
“Booked and released. Pleaded not guilty. Said he was answering an ad for a professional massage.”
Cooper shook his head. “Yeah, right.”
“But now we have a name and a positive ID of a student at Auburn.” Sasha turned to Claire. “Remember where we met? And what I was doing?”
Claire smiled. “In the library at Richter and you were going over old yearbooks.”
“Guess where you’re going to be on Monday. It’s only been three years that she’s been missing. Many of her teachers will likely still be at Auburn.”
“Why not go to the administration and pull an old schedule?” Cooper asked.
Claire and Sasha exchanged looks. “Because we don’t know if we can trust them.”
“The less people that know what we’re learning the better,” Sasha said.
“Even Warren?” Cooper asked.
“Leave Warren to me.” Neil’s voice came from a single speaker in the van.
Claire jumped.
Cooper placed his hand over hers. “Damn, Boss. We forgot you were even there.”
“Neil is always listening,” Sasha reminded them.
And when Sasha’s eyes didn’t leave Cooper’s, an uneasy pitch in his stomach had him wondering just how much Neil listened to.
Claire went into the next week with a completely new agenda. She arrived to school early and went straight to the library. Unlike Richter, the library at Auburn seemed to house more computers than books, and a quick search uncovered that the library didn’t have a stash of old yearbooks. Those could be found with Mrs. Appleton, the yearbook committee director.
No way Claire Porter would want to be on that kind of thing. That left Claire only a couple of ways to get the books. She could break into the classroom and steal them, or break into the classroom and hack Mrs. Appleton’s computer and hope the old files were in there.
Much as Claire loved a good computer hack, she doubted she’d have enough time to find what she needed and get out unnoticed.
When Mrs. Appleton wasn’t dealing with the yearbook, she was teaching English in the room that adjoined Mrs. Wallace’s, which was a lot less conspicuous to break into from than a hallway filled with students walking by.
A plan formulated as Claire walked into Shakespeare and took her usual seat.
Instead of her normal attitude, she paid attention to the lesson and wrote a few notes.
When the bell rang, Claire held back.
“Mrs. Wallace?”
The older woman looked over the rim of her reading glasses, her expression unamused.
“About my book report . . .”
Mrs. Wallace removed her glasses and pointed them at Claire. “We can’t call that a book report.”
“Oh, so you read it already.”
“Let me see if I remember it clearly. ‘Everybody dies. The End.’”
Claire lowered her eyes. “Yeah—”
“I especially liked the postscript. ‘Five acts for any play is three acts too many.’ Bravo, Claire. Your best work to date.”
Claire huffed out a breath. “I just don’t get it. And last week I had a ton of work and I didn’t actually read anything but CliffsNotes until this weekend. And I’m still not . . .”
Mrs. Wallace kept watching her as if she didn’t believe a word Claire was saying. The woman was smart like that.
“When I try to write down the meaning of the play, I just get all tied up.”
“Then ask for help.” Mrs. Wallace started to soften.
“That’s what I’m doing.” Claire laid on the sad face, the one that used to get her a hall pass from Checkpoint Charlie at Richter.
Students for the next period started to enter the room.
“Okay, come in at your lunch.”
“I can’t. Coach Bennett has me at lunch for algebra.”
For the first time, Mrs. Wallace cracked a smile. “I’m surprised he doesn’t own your nights and weekends.”
“How about after school? I can ask to show up a little late for track. The coaches did say my schoolwork had to come first,” Claire said, smiling.
It took Mrs. Wallace a few seconds to answer. “Fine.”
The bell rang, and Claire turned toward the door.
“Miss Porter?”
“Yeah?”
Mrs. Wallace scribbled on a notepad. “A pass for being late.”
Claire took it, waved it in the air. “Thanks.”
Instead of finding third period, she worked her way to the auto shop.
The metal roll-up doors were all the way to the top, and twenty or so students were working on small engines on various tables set up beyond the car lifts.
Cooper was bent over, showing a handful of kids something in the engine.
For a few seconds, Claire stared and listened. Jax was right, Cooper filled out a pair of jeans really well. And his laugh, the richness of it, had started to become something she wanted to hear often.
One of the students looked up, and then nudged Cooper and pointed her way. “Uhm, Mr. Mitchel.”
He turned and saw her, and those dimples she had just started to notice appeared on his cheeks.
“Sorry to interrupt, Coooach. Can I, ah . . . t-talk to you for a minute?” Claire nearly called him Cooper and stuttered.
“Yeah.” He wiped his hand on a shop towel and patted one of the kids on his back. “You got this. Try again.”
“I have to be late for track today,” Claire said loud enough for anyone listening to hear.
“Oh?” Cooper opened the door to the empty classroom. “What’s up?”
Claire lowered her voice to a whisper. “Yearbooks aren’t in the library. I need to get into Mrs. Appleton’s room. I’ve arranged to meet Mrs. Wallace after school. Their rooms connect. I need you to check up on me and distract her.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know where she keeps them, ten minutes?”
“That’s a long distraction.”
“I’m not going to get another chance, so make it work.” Claire gave him a knowing grin. “Flirt with her. I know you know how.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t try and tell me you haven’t flirted with older women.”
Cooper’s gaze moved to her lips. “And younger women.” His words were slow.
“You’re killin’ me.” Claire ignored the heat rising in her face.
“I certainly hope so.” His words were charged, the look in his eyes matched.
“Cooper,” she said his name between clenched teeth. “Save it for Mrs. Wallace.”
“Sorry.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “Better now.”