The Kira Brightwell Quick Cases Starter Collection E-Book

Jacquelyn Smith

• Herausgeber: WaywardScribe Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Kira Brightwell just wants to mind her own business. Maybe go for a run, or hone her MMA skills while blasting some Nine Inch Nails. She never goes looking for trouble.

But somehow, trouble always seems to find her. Usually the missing woman or dead body kind.

...Good thing she knows how to use her wits, as well as her fists.

Dive into the ongoing cases of a clever detective who kicks ass in this starter collection of early, stand-alone Kira Brightwell shorts by the author of the Mackenzie Quinn mysteries, Jacquelyn Smith. (These adventures complement the novels of the Kira Brightwell mystery series, and all take place before the first novel, Split Decision.) This collection includes:

Tale of the Tape: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel
Striking Distance: A Kira Brightwell Short Story
Under Wraps: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

Tale of the Tape: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

A bootleg Nine Inch Nails cassette tape.

Weird thing for Kira to find abandoned by a sewer grate on her way to school.

The hand-drawn NIN logo in marker catches Kira’s eye. Who tossed the tape? And why?

Kira pockets it, of course. Seems a shame to leave it in the gutter. Who knows what kind of extra tracks she might find on it?

...Now she only needs to figure out a way to play the thing.

A twisting, short novel of Kira’s high school past from the Kira Brightwell Quick Cases mystery series.

Striking Distance: A Kira Brightwell Short Story

Kira Brightwell stands at a crossroads. Her college days lie behind her, but her future remains a mystery, waiting to be solved.

A job already awaits her at her father’s office—the easy, parent-approved option. But Kira wants something different. Something more. She needs to get away to figure out what.

Except Kira’s future hangs in the balance in more ways than one…

In the crime-filled adventures of the Kira Brightwell Quick Cases mystery series, “Striking Distance” focuses on the event that changes Kira’s life forever, and sets her on the path to becoming an infamous problem solver for hire.

(Originally published under the pen name Kat Irwin.)

Under Wraps: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

Halloween. A time for costumes and crime.

Neither hold interest for Kira Brightwell. She only wants to find a way to move on with her life after the trauma she endured three months ago. (That, and track down the man responsible.)

But the local police receive an anonymous tip with a growing list of decrypted names—a list that threatens to shake the suburban, California town to its core.

...And just like that, Kira’s world gets turned upside down.

A stand-alone short novel of Kira’s recent past in the Kira Brightwell Quick Cases mystery series. If you love murder, mystery, and mayhem, grab this book.

(Originally published under the pen name Kat Irwin.)

Leseprobe

THE KIRA BRIGHTWELL QUICK CASES STARTER COLLECTION

Three Short Prequel Adventures

JACQUELYN SMITH

WaywardScribe Press

The Kira Brightwell Quick Cases Starter Collection

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

Published by WaywardScribe Press

Cover and layout copyright © Jacquelyn Smith

Cover design by Jacquelyn Smith/WaywardScribe Press

Cover art copyright © Arenacreative, Ayo88, Sakorn Singsuwan/Dreamstime

Tale of the Tape: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

First published in February, 2020

Striking Distance: A Kira Brightwell Short Story

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

First published in September, 2015 under the pen name Kat Irwin

Under Wraps: A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

First published in July, 2017 under the pen name Kat Irwin

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

CONTENTS

Tale of the Tape

Striking Distance

Under Wraps

Shadow Box

About Jacquelyn Smith

TALE OF THE TAPE

A Kira Brightwell Short Novel

This high school misadventure takes place before Split Decision (Kira Brightwell Book 1).

TUESDAY MORNING

(The day the whole mess began.)

“Kira, what are you doing? We’re going to be late!”

Rob’s exasperated voice drifted back to Kira from a few feet ahead.

“And whose fault is that?” Kira grumbled under her breath as she bent down to look at the item that had captured her attention.

The morning air was damp with the scent of rain. Her long, dark ponytail drifted past the shoulder of her windbreaker to brush against her cheek.

No matter how early she got there, she always had to practically drag Rob out of the house to get him going for school every morning as he tried to put off interacting with the outside world for as long as humanly possible.

This morning had been worse than usual.

Rob had overslept. Their friend Whitney was usually good to give them a ride in her ancient boat of a Cadillac, but she had band practice this morning. So now Kira and Rob had been forced to take a shortcut past a former construction site—which had barely broken ground before the developer had gone bankrupt—in an effort to get to class on time.

Chain-link fencing surrounded the failed condo site, plastered with signs depicting the architect’s idealized design, complete with smiling people strolling the sunny, landscaped perimeter. The gate leading to the site hung open, dangling on its hinges in the breeze. Regular traffic had been diverted from the cul-de-sac for months, and people still avoided the area out of habit, even though the road was open again.

Kira reached down to pick up a cassette tape from the precarious edge of a storm drain at the side of the empty road. The white plastic was mud spattered, but relatively dry, considering there had been a storm the night before.

“Ugh,” Rob said as he stopped to look back. He wrinkled his nose. “You stopped to pick up some garbage?”

The remains of the storm’s damp wind ruffled his tangled mass of brown curls above the shoulders of his food-stained hoodie. He had been determined to grow his hair out over the past several months, much to the despair of his mother. But instead of falling, his hair just seemed to get bigger and bigger, like a fluffy, brown helmet. Kira secretly wondered how big it would get before he would finally admit defeat and get it cut. His scuffed laptop bag hung from his shoulder.

“It’s a Nine Inch Nails tape,” she said. She flashed the hand-drawn symbol in black Sharpie that had caught her attention. In addition to the distinctive, rectangle-encased ‘NIN’ logo (complete with a backward, second ‘N’), it also bore the letters ‘PHM’. “Looks like a bootleg of Pretty Hate Machine.”

Nine Inch Nail fans had a tendency to shorten both song titles and album or ‘halo’ titles into initials that almost became like a second language that Kira translated out of habit.

Rob rolled his eyes at her. “You already have everything Trent Reznor’s ever done. What do you need some crappy bootleg tape for?”

Kira shrugged. Rob was right. Her collection included everything Nine Inch Nails in both physical and digital formats. Besides, she didn’t even own a cassette player…

But the white tape stood out like a sore thumb in the grimy mud contributed by the nearby construction site, and the familiar logo had given her pause. She wiped both sides of the cassette against her jacket before pocketing it.

“You never know,” she said. “It could have some extra, live tracks or something. Besides, I think my mom has an old tape deck stored in the basement somewhere…”

Rob uttered a long-suffering sigh. “OK, now can we go? Mr. Travers is gonna kill us if we’re late.”

* * *

In the end, Kira and Rob had to make a run for it. Rob was no athlete, but the threat of facing Mr. Travers’ wrath lent him an extra burst of speed as he clutched his precious laptop bag to his side.

Kira caught up with him easily. Still, she was careful about where she placed her feet. Despite her lean, athletic frame, she was at that awkward stage when she seemed to be all elbows and knees, and sometimes her coordination wasn’t what she would like it to be.

The sounds of Rob’s labored breathing and the slap of their wet sneakers against the pavement were the only sounds as they left the cul-de-sac behind them and neared the school. La Valentia High loomed ahead of them—a sprawling, two-story building of gray stone.

Kira’s green gaze darted instinctively for the bike rack. She stifled a groan. Sure enough, Mr. Travers’ familiar, yellow ten-speed had already been locked up. Even though she knew it was foolish, part of her had secretly hoped he might be sick or something—or at least a few minutes late.

She should have known better.

Unlike most of the other teachers, Mr. Travers held a perfect attendance record. He had even stumbled into class a few times just before the bell rang with a pale face and the sour scent of sweat as he heroically struggled to keep the contents of his stomach in line with an obvious case of the flu.

Rob shook his curly head as they raced past the bike rack and scrambled through the front doors of the school. The yard was already empty. Kira followed on his heels.

They both skidded to a squeaking stop and proceeded at a speed-walk as soon as they got inside. With no other students around to disguise their haste, they couldn’t just run past the front office. Still, Kira’s feet almost skidded out from under her as they rounded the corner that led to Mr. Travers’ classroom. The linoleum floor was damp with the muddy footprints of other students. She flailed her arms until she regained her balance, nearly knocking into Rob in the process. He glared back at her from over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Kira mumbled.

They stumbled into the classroom in a breathless rush just as the bell was ringing. Kira mentally steeled herself for the dressing-down that was sure to follow.

The lively conversation of close to thirty other teenagers fell silent for a moment as Rob and Kira stood in the doorway. Kira felt her face burn as a sea of familiar faces turned to witness her and Rob’s dramatic entrance.

“Tsk, tsk.” Trevor Wright shook a finger at them from where he sat at the back of the classroom, surrounded by his army of admirers.

Kira’s eyes narrowed at him with a surge of annoyance. Not a single one of his blond curls was out of place, and the blue polo that hugged his tanned, muscular frame matched his eyes perfectly.

“What’s the meaning of this, Churro?” he said to Rob in a mocking, stern voice. “Are we going to have to report you two for being tardy?” He smirked.

Rob stiffened at the mention of his hated nickname. In a way, it wasn’t really personal. Trevor had one for everyone who wasn’t a part of his little group of spoiled-brat preppies. Kira put a warning hand on Rob’s shoulder from behind him. He had lost his temper and gotten into scraps with Trevor and his lackeys before.

It hadn’t ended well.

“Or maybe I should start calling you ‘Dirty Sanchez’ instead?” Trevor raised an eyebrow when Rob remained silent. Trevor used his finger to outline the area above his own upper lip. “Just who helped to give you that? We both know it wasn’t Kira.”

He smirked again. Kira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Smirking was practically Trevor’s default facial expression.

Around him, his friends chortled in amusement. Miranda Tanner flashed Trevor an adoring smile that made Kira want to vomit. Jake Reynolds and Brent Stevens laughed the loudest of all.

“Good one, bro,” Jake piped up. He reached over to give Trevor a fist bump.

“Thanks, Mini Me.” Trevor grinned back with a preening look.

Jake was pretty much a shorter version of Trevor, with the same blond hair and blue eyes. He even wore the same style of polo shirt and followed Trevor around like his shadow.

Or maybe a fawning puppy…

Kira winced. She knew Rob must be fuming. He had a hard enough time when Trevor and the others called him ‘Churro’—a jab at both his Mexican heritage, and his sexual orientation.

‘Dirty Sanchez’ was definitely worse.

Even though Rob had always been something of a slob, Kira had noticed that he always kept his face clean-shaven. It was the one neat thing about his appearance—probably in an effort to avoid this very scenario, especially since Kira was pretty sure none of Trevor’s little friends could grow any decent facial hair yet, even if they wanted to… She resisted the urge to stick her head past Rob’s shoulder to get a better look at his face.

She hadn’t really noticed it earlier, but now that she thought about it, she realized he did have the faint, brown outline of a blossoming mustache on his upper lip. He had probably forgotten to shave before rushing out of the house.

Still, there was no reason for Trevor to be a dick about it. Not that he ever needed a reason…

“Where’s Mr. Travers?” Kira blurted before Rob could do or say something that might make the situation worse.

Rob had worked hard to lose his accent, but it tended to crop up again when he got upset—a fact that Trevor was well aware of and used to his best advantage. Better to keep him quiet for now, if such a thing was possible.

“Easy, Kira Beaver,” Trevor drawled. “Tattle-Tale Travers isn’t here yet.”

Kira peered past Rob’s shoulder to look at Mr. Travers’ desk at the front of the room. Sure enough, it was empty.

Makes sense. Trevor would never have the balls to talk like that unless there were no teachers around…

As far as unwanted nicknames went, ‘Kira Beaver’ wasn’t that bad. Kira had learned to ignore it long ago, even though just the sound of Trevor Wright’s voice was often enough to make her blood boil. Kira had been raised in California—right here in La Valentia, like pretty much everyone else in school—but she had actually been born in Canada. When you added that to the fact that most of the guys at school were Trevor’s douchebag friends and therefore not worth her interest… Well, of course Trevor naturally assumed she must be a lesbian. Hence ‘Kira Beaver’.

Kira gave Rob a nudge to get him through the door. Mr. Travers’ bike was outside. He was sure to arrive any minute. For some reason, they had been lucky enough to get to class after everyone else without being caught. No reason to push their luck any further.

Once Kira managed to herd Rob forward, she slipped past him to take the lead to their desks with her chin held high. Rob followed behind her, his brown eyes glaring down at the floor, his hands balled into fists. Murmurs of ‘Dirty Sanchez’ followed in their wake. Kira gritted her teeth. She had built up a callus against the taunts of Trevor and his friends for her own sake, but she hated to see them turn on anyone else—especially when that someone was Rob.

She made a sudden detour on a whim, stalking right up to Trevor’s desk. He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head to watch her with mild interest. She felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the classroom follow her as she went.

She seized the left nipple protruding from beneath the fabric of his snug, blue polo and twisted.

Trevor instantly dropped his muscular arms and tried to bat her hand away as his blue eyes teared up in startled pain. Kira leaned in close enough to breathe in the heavy—and doubtlessly expensive— scent of his cologne.

“Never call him that again,” she said in a low, hard voice.

“OK, OK!” Trevor yelped. “Just let go, you beaver-loving freak! He can go back to being Churro. I was only joking anyway.” The words came out in a breathless rush.

“Who can go back to being Churro?” a puzzled, female voice asked from the front of the room.

Everyone’s head swiveled to look.

A blond woman in a pair of fitted, dark jeans and a light-knit, pink cashmere sweater was putting her briefcase down on Mr. Travers’ desk.

* * *

Kira pulled her hand away from Trevor’s chest as if it had been burned. She hoped the woman hadn’t seen…

Kira turned around with an innocent smile plastered on her face. “We were just settling a friendly argument,” she said in a bright voice.

She reached down to clamp Trevor’s shoulder to warn him against contradicting her. Much to her own annoyance, part of her noticed just how firm and muscular that shoulder was. She told that traitorous part of herself to go take a cold shower or something.

The woman gave her an unreadable look with her gray eyes. Kira flushed. Whoever she was, she was stunning. Her long, blond curls framed her perfectly oval face before cascading past her shoulders. If she was wearing any makeup, it was expertly done. A tastefully subtle scent of perfume surrounded her, mingling with the smells of wet sneakers and chalk dust that came from the rest of the room.

Between Kira’s no-nonsense ponytail and freshly-scrubbed face, she felt like a total scarecrow by comparison. Even under her windbreaker, her favorite black Nine Inch Nails T-shirt did nothing to flatter her lean figure.

The woman’s brows furrowed in a faint frown. “I see.”

“It’s all taken care of now,” Trevor said in a tight voice.

His blue gaze rolled upward to give Kira a pointed look. She realized she was still pinching his shoulder with her seemingly casual grip. She gave him a final, friendly-looking pat and drew her hand away. She went back to her own desk among the small knot of outcasts who weren’t up to Trevor’s standards near the front of the room. They all gave her covert, admiring looks for standing up to their tormentor, and Rob gave her an awkward nod of thanks.

Trevor leaned forward on his desk, his discomfort already forgotten.

“So who are you?” he asked as he gave the woman an appraising look.

If Trevor ever looked at her like that, Kira probably would have punched him in the face. (Not that she expected he would ever have a reason to…) But the woman remained cool under his obvious scrutiny.

“I’m Ms. Evans, your supply teacher.”

“Supply teacher?”

Kira wasn’t the only one to echo the words in a low voice. Mr. Travers never missed a class. Besides, his bike was parked outside…

The woman shrugged. “Yes, I’m here to take over Mr. Travers’ duties for the day.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “Actually, I’ve been trying to get in here for some time now, but there haven’t been any openings I was qualified for. I’ve always been an admirer of Mi—Mr. Lambert.”

“I’ve got some openings you’d be qualified for,” Jake said in a low voice.

Trevor’s groupies twittered in amusement. Trevor’s lips twitched, but he elbowed the shorter version of himself silent.

Probably because he’s annoyed he didn’t think of that line himself.

Kira gave the substitute teacher an appraising look of her own. Michael Lambert was the school principal. He was a laid-back man, who took pride in knowing each student at the school by name. He was well liked by students, and most of the staff as well. He even played golf with quite a few of the students’ parents, along with many of the rest of La Valentia’s elite. Of course, it also helped that he was good looking, charming, and drove a Bentley. The girls all sighed after him and the guys all wanted to be him.

He and his wife had gone through a separation over the past year, which meant he was technically on the market again, even though Kira hadn’t heard about anything as final as a divorce yet. Rumor had it that his wife had left him for someone with more money. Fortunately, there weren’t any children caught up in the whole mess.

“So I know everyone’s a ‘Ms.’ now,” Trevor drawled. “But if we went back in time, would you be a ‘Miss’ or a ‘Mrs.’?”

This time, it was Kira who smirked. Did Trevor actually think he had a shot with a teacher? Ms. Evans was definitely good-looking enough to attract suitors of her own age. Kira could hardly imagine her taking interest in a cocky teenager, no matter how muscular or attractive he might be.

And once she actually realizes what Trevor is like…

“No more questions,” Ms. Evans said. She raised her chin and opened her briefcase to pull out a familiar-looking Spanish textbook.

“Definitely a ‘Miss,’” Trevor murmured to his friends with a satisfied smile.

Kira watched as they all whispered questions asking how he knew as they pulled out their own textbooks. Miranda was the only one who didn’t seem interested. She was too busy glaring at Ms. Evans with an expression of pure loathing.

Trevor gave a careless shrug, as if it were obvious. He waggled his fingers in the air with a knowing look.

“No ring.”

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

(Things get messier.)

Kira and Rob poured out of the front doors of the school later that afternoon, carried on the surging wave of students rushing home for the day. Rob wore an expression of distaste tinged with mild panic at the press of bodies around them as he clutched a snack-sized bag of Cheetos in one hand, while hugging his laptop bag against him with the other.

Kira couldn’t really blame him. Toes were stepped on and ribs were jabbed in the crush, and overstuffed backpacks bumped into other people’s shoulders by accident. The air was thick with the commingling scents of hair products, body odor, and clashing fragrances of overly-applied cologne and perfume. A babble of at least ten different conversations filled Kira’s ears at once. Many of them were still talking about the ‘hot, new substitute teacher.’ No one seemed particularly interested in what had happened to Mr. Travers.

Just before they exited the building, Kira caught sight of Mr. Lambert holding out Jake Reynolds’ backpack.

“You dropped this,” Mr. Lambert said.

Jake took his bag back with a smile of thanks. “Right. Thanks, Mr. L.”

“I was pleasantly surprised you weren’t sent to the office today,” Mr. Lambert said with a pointed look. Jake seemed to do something every day to disrupt Spanish class, and Mr. Travers sent him to the office each time, without fail.

Jake flushed. “I told you Travers has it in for me…”

The rest of the conversation dropped away as the crowd propelled Kira out of earshot.

She and Rob washed up on the outskirts of the school parking lot. Most of the students were already starting to walk home, but several of the older ones had cars. In addition to Mr. Lambert’s green Bentley, the parking lot was filled with Porsches and Beemers. The rain clouds had cleared, and the afternoon sun glimmered against car windows and polished chrome.

While neither Kira nor Rob were particularly wealthy themselves, their families lived in the better part of La Valentia, and many of the students who went to LV High were loaded. Or at least, their parents were.

Kira’s green gaze swept the parking lot in search of their friend, Whitney. She eventually caught sight of her standing in an empty parking spot with an expression of alarm on her face from behind the large rims of her glasses. Her shining cap of short, dark hair ruffled around her face in the breeze, giving her a harried look. Kira jogged over to join her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Rob arrived behind her a moment later.

“My car…” Whitney spun in a slow circle in disbelief. “It’s gone!”

* * *

Kira shook her head to herself. Of course. They were standing in Whitney’s usual parking spot. And her car was pretty hard to miss. The decrepit, burgundy Cadillac usually stuck out like a sore thumb among the other students’ fancy rides.

“You drove it here this morning?” Kira knew it was a dumb question, but she had to ask.

Whitney nodded. “I got here early for band practice. There were hardly any other cars here.”

Kira tugged at her ponytail as she considered. “What about your keys? Are they gone too?”

Whitney jammed her hand into the pocket of her worn-looking jeans. A moment later, she fished out a jumbled collection of connected key chains, a familiar, pink ‘W’ with rhinestones on it among them. Whitney fumbled through the various charms to pick out a car key.

“It’s still here.”

“So someone had to jimmy the car door open somehow.” Kira frowned. She had a hard time imagining anyone from school doing something like that. She doubted Trevor or any of his friends even knew what the business end of a hammer was, never mind any other kind of tool.

Whitney flushed and bit her lip. “Well…”

Kira’s eyes narrowed. “‘Well,’ what?”

“You know how fussy the lock is on the driver’s side,” Whitney said in a low voice. “You have to jiggle the handle once you get out to make sure it sticks.” She swallowed. “I was running late this morning, and I was in hurry…”

Kira blew out a breath. “So you might have forgotten.”

Whitney gave a helpless nod.

Great. So anyone could have taken the car.

But they would still have to get it started somehow…

“Did you see anyone suspicious?” Kira asked as she tried to imagine who might be capable of hot-wiring a vehicle.

“No… I mean, like I said, I was in a rush. But I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the parking lot when I got here.” She gave Kira a tearful look from behind her glasses. “My aunt and uncle are gonna kill me.”

Kira winced in sympathy. Whitney’s parents had both died in a car accident several years ago. Her aunt and uncle were her only surviving relatives. They had no children of their own and had taken Whitney in with ill grace. Yet they had been happy enough to move into Whitney’s sprawling childhood home, which her parents had owned, free and clear. They were exceedingly strict with her, and greedy to boot.

Even though Whitney’s parents had left all their considerable wealth to their only child, it was held in trust until Whitney turned twenty-five. A monthly allowance was supposed to support her needs in the meantime, but it was controlled by her current guardians—her aunt and uncle.

Kira was pretty sure Whitney never saw a cent of that money. Whitney had been working as a receptionist at an optometrist’s office in the local mall for years now. She had saved up the money to buy her own car, and the worn-in look of all her clothes indicated that she bought them second-hand—probably without the help of her aunt and uncle.

What annoyed Kira the most was that Whitney’s guardians already seemed to have lots of money of their own. Whitney’s uncle always seemed to be coming back from business trips with his golf bag in hand and a tan on his face.

“Maybe someone had it towed?” Rob said in a low voice. He gave Whitney a pointed look.

Kira mentally kicked herself for not coming up with the same idea.

Like Kira and Rob, Whitney was one of the school’s tormented outcasts. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone arranging to have her car towed as some kind of practical joke.

Whitney’s dark eyes widened. “You don’t think someone would actually⁠—”

“Hey, Horn Rim,” Trevor called out as he sauntered over to his own silver Porsche a few spots away. “What happened to your sweet ride?” The cluster of friends following in his wake laughed.

Kira’s eyes narrowed as her gaze swept from Trevor Wright to the crowd. Did any of them look more smug than usual?

“Did you have it towed?” Whitney demanded in a tearful voice. She wiped at her face, smearing the thick layer of foundation that she used to help mask her painful-looking acne cysts.

Trevor’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Me? What would I want with that piece of garbage you call a car?”

“Trevor would never do something like that,” Miranda Tanner said in a hard voice as she stepped forward to her beloved Trevor’s defense. Her eyes flashed. She raised her chin, as if daring anyone else to say otherwise.

“Um, thanks, Miranda,” Trevor muttered with a trace of embarrassment.

While it was clear that Miranda was obsessed with him, Kira had also noticed the feeling didn’t seem to be mutual. But Miranda was good looking, and came from the same circle of wealth all the other popular kids did, so they accepted her without question. Besides, she was absolutely devoted to Trevor.

“So you don’t know anything about where Whitney’s car might be,” Kira said, not even bothering to acknowledge Miranda’s presence. She held Trevor’s gaze.

Trevor spread his hands and gave an innocent-looking shrug. “I’m telling you, I have no idea.”

Kira raised her right hand and made a pinching gesture as she took a step forward. Trevor hastily folded his arms across his chest to protect himself. He took a half-step backward, his eyes widening in alarm.

“No need for that,” he said in a hasty voice. “Besides, I didn’t think I was your type.”

He flashed her one of his shit-eating grins. The rest of his friends elbowed one another with mutters of ‘Kira Beaver’.

Kira lowered her arm and gave him a flat look. “You’re not.”

Trevor shook his curly, blond head. “Look, I really don’t know anything about Horn Rim’s car. But you’re smart… Maybe you should figure it out, instead of going around blaming people.”

Kira frowned. Did that mean one of his friends had something to do with it?

She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and took another step forward with a scowl. “If I find out that you or any of your snobby, little friends had anything to do with this…”

“If you’re talking about Mini-Me, he can’t help being short,” Trevor said with a careless smirk at his own joke. “Besides, since he is just like me, I’m sure he makes up for his height in other ways. Am I right, bro?” He gave Jake a nudge.

Jake leered at Kira and Whitney. “You know it!”

“Not that you would be interested in that sort of thing,” Trevor continued with another smirk in Kira’s direction. “But since you insist on making this my business, how about a little wager?”

Kira gave him a puzzled look. “What kind of wager?”

“You find out what happened to Horn Rim’s car in three days—without involving the police.”

Trevor’s crew thumped him on the back with crows of admiration for this genius idea.

Kira raised an eyebrow. “And if I succeed?”

Trevor shrugged. “I’ll give you three thousand dollars.”

Trevor’s friends whooped while Kira stood, reeling.

“Don’t do it, Kira,” Rob said to her in a low voice. His hand gripped her shoulder. “He only wants to mess with you.”

Kira knew Rob was probably right. Trevor was known to be a gambler. Three thousand dollars was nothing to someone like him, but to her, it was a lot of money, and college was coming up soon…

She shrugged Rob’s hand away and raised her chin. She met Trevor’s gaze.

“What happens if I lose?” She suspected she knew what the answer would be…

Trevor’s lips twitched. “Then you’d better be ready to pay up.”

* * *

Kira stood still with Trevor’s challenge ringing in her ears. Rob was talking to her again, his Cheeto-laced breath brushing against her ear. She wasn’t listening, but she got the gist of it. Of course, Rob thought it was a stupid idea.

That’s because it is a stupid idea.

How could she possibly expect to find Whitney’s car in three days, and without involving the police? She was no detective. Yes, the other outcast students at school tended to come to her with their problems, and usually she found a way to solve them. But there was a big difference between tracking down some stolen homework or tracing anonymous notes left in a locker and a missing car.

Trevor was also ignoring the babble of his fawning friends, who crowded around him. He held Kira’s gaze with his his arrogant chin raised in silent challenge. A self-satisfied smirk played on his lips. Kira’s hands balled into fists as she imagined what it would feel like to pummel his perfect features.

If she backed down, she would never hear the end of it.

Oh, Trevor and his little posse might forget eventually when the next chance to torment someone came around. But Kira knew she had already pressed her luck today by standing up to Trevor on Rob’s behalf.

This was payback.

Kira forced her fingers to relax and extended her hand.

“You’re on.”

Trevor stepped forward to shake on it with a grin. His friends went wild, but Kira could hear Rob groaning from behind her. Trevor gripped Kira’s hand longer than was strictly necessary, holding it fast as she went to pull away.

“Good luck,” he said in a mocking voice. “One way or another, I’m sure this is going to be interesting.”

Kira yanked her hand free just as Trevor decided to release it, sending her fingers flying back to her side in an awkward rush. She did her best to brush her embarrassment aside by making a show of wiping her hand clean on the front of her jeans.

Trevor gave her a coy, parting wave. “Three days, Kira Beaver. Either Horn Rim’s car is back here by Friday afternoon, or you hand over the money.”

He stood by the door of his car, waiting for his friends to sort out who was going to be riding with him amongst a flurry of shouted counter-bets, and what sounded like an impromptu pool concerning how long it would take before Kira gave up and called the police anyway. Kira deliberately turned her back on them.

“Kira, what the hell?” Rob demanded in a low voice. “You don’t have three thousand dollars.”

Kira bit her lip. “I know. But I couldn’t just…” She gave a helpless shrug as she rolled her head in Trevor’s direction. Her ponytail brushed the shoulder of her windbreaker with a faint rustle.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Whitney shook her head.

Kira felt a sudden stab of guilt, followed by a surge of panic. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first… If you want to go to the police, I don’t blame you⁠—”

Whitney snorted. “Are you kidding? If I called the cops, it would only make things worse with my aunt and uncle. They hate the police, or anything to do with scandal. They would just come up with some way that this is all my fault, so they could punish me.”

Usually, that punishment involved grounding, followed by housework, which meant Whitney wouldn’t be able to go to work at the mall to earn the money she needed to support herself.

“So you’re OK if I help?” Kira said, nearly wilting in relief. She hadn’t relished the idea of going over to Trevor immediately after agreeing to the bet, only to forfeit in front of his friends.

Especially since Rob was right. She didn’t have three thousand dollars.

“Of course!” Whitney said with a weak smile. “I was going to ask you for help anyway. But I can’t stick around. I’ll have to go catch a bus now if I want to get to work on time…” She flashed Kira an apologetic look.

“Right. Well, before you go, are there any of Trevor’s friends who you think might have done it?”

Rob snorted. “You actually believe it wasn’t Trevor?”

Kira’s expression darkened. “I want it to be him, but I don’t think it is. I mean, why get me to look into it if he’s the one responsible?”