Get Dirty (Don’t Get Mad Book 2)

SERGEANT CALLAHAN SLAPPED HIS PALM AGAINST THE TABLE in the interrogation room so fiercely that Kitty jumped in her chair.

“What were you thinking?” he bellowed. His countenance was dark and glowering, and the jolly bedside manner he used with underage suspects had completely vanished.

“We were trying to help,” Kyle said lamely.

Sergeant Callahan pointed at Amber. “By putting her life in danger?”

“Um . . .” Kyle looked at Kitty as if hoping she’d supply the answer. So much for the big man on campus.

“We didn’t think you’d listen to us,” she said. Once again, it was her job to take control. “And Amber wasn’t in any danger with all of us in the house.”

“Do you really believe that?” Sergeant Callahan asked. It was a loaded question, but Kitty had no choice but to answer.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re stupider than I thought, Kitty. What if the killer had shown up with an automatic weapon? What would you have done then, huh? Disarmed him with your extensive hand-to-hand combat training? I’ll tell you what would have happened. You’d all be dead.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Every single one of you.”

“But,” Kitty said, unable to help herself, “the killer’s never used a gun. Don’t you think it would be out of character?”

Sergeant Callahan’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m so glad your FBI profiling experience has come in handy here. I’m so glad you kids think you know more than those who risk their lives every single day.”

“To protect and serve,” Ed said. Despite his glibness, Ed looked markedly uncomfortable as he drummed his fingers against the table.

Sergeant Callahan smacked the table again. “This isn’t a video game. Real lives are at stake.”

“We know that,” Kitty said. Better than you can imagine.

“Do you?” Sergeant Callahan asked. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “Do you really?” He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Because if I was the killer, you’d be the next victim on my list.”

Kitty’s mouth went dry as Sergeant Callahan’s eyes continued to burn a hole through her head. There was something hard in those eyes, a fierceness Kitty had seen only once before in her living room. If I was the killer . . .

“They did more tonight than you’ve done in a month,” Amber said.

Sergeant Callahan laughed, breaking eye contact with Kitty. The grim look on his face vanished. “More harm, you mean.”

Only Amber didn’t find it funny. She shot to her feet and screamed in Sergeant Callahan’s face. “It’s your fault Rex is dead!”

Sergeant Callahan’s face grew red. “I’m sorry?”

“Locker searches,” Amber sneered. “Assemblies. Stupid, pointless questioning. On TV they’d have brought in a profiler, a CSI team, something professional. You just sat there and let this guy kill again.” Her voice faltered. “You let him kill Rex.”

A tear rolled down Amber’s cheek, and for the first time in her life, Kitty actually felt sorry for the meanest girl in school.

Silence fell as Amber glared at a surprised Sergeant Callahan, her chin quivering as tears welled up in her eyes. Kitty watched as Olivia reached out and gripped Amber’s hand. All this time Amber had been the enemy, the symbol of what DGM fought against at Bishop DuMaine. But in the end, she was just as scared and vulnerable as the rest of them.

The quiet was jarred by the sharp pounding of footsteps outside the door, followed by the indistinct swell of voices, quickly muted, then sharp staccatos as officers in the station barked out orders.

Sergeant Callahan shook off his stupor and strode to the door. “What the hell is going on out there?”

Before he reached it, the door burst open, held by an enormous arm. It was attached, as best as Kitty could tell, to a WWE wrestler with flowing blond locks and pecs the size of dinner plates. He stood at attention as a trim woman with sun-streaked hair and an expensively tailored suit strode purposely into the interrogation room.

“Brendan,” she said, addressing Sergeant Callahan. “Is there a reason you’re holding these children for questioning without parental consent?”

Sergeant Callahan straightened up immediately—shoulders back, eyes forward—as if his superior officer had just arrived for inspection. “Mrs. Deringer!”

Kitty’s eyes grew wide. Mrs. Deringer? As in Bree’s mom?

At the other end of the table, she saw John wriggle in his chair.

“They’re not being questioned, Diana,” he said. “There are no charges at this time.”

Mrs. Deringer laughed. Her entire face lit up, and she looked like a teen herself with her perfectly smooth skin and dancing brown eyes. Kitty had a difficult time reconciling her with her angry, sarcastic, and totally non-designer-label-wearing daughter.

Mrs. Deringer laid a hand on Sergeant Callahan’s arm, and he visibly relaxed at her touch. “Are you really going to tell me that you were attempting to scare these poor children?”

“Diana,” he said, clearly flustered. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here in my official capacity as the children’s rights advocate for the students of Bishop DuMaine,” she said, smiling.

Kitty pinned her lips together. An official children’s rights advocate? Was that even a thing?

“But I thought—”

“So unless you’re planning to charge them with obstructing justice or interfering with a police investigation, I suggest you release them all into my custody.”

“No, Mrs. Deringer.” Sergeant Callahan shook his head, confused. “I mean, yes. I mean, at once.”

Mrs. Deringer smiled, her dancing eyes fixed on Sergeant Callahan’s face. “I knew you’d understand.” Then she spun around, winked quickly at Kitty, and snapped her fingers. “Children,” she said, turning toward the door. “Follow me.”

Ed paused outside the interrogation room as the others filed past him, his spidey sense tingling. Something was wrong.

At first, it just sounded like background voices, distant and fuzzy, as if someone had left the TV on in the break room. But as they neared the double doors that led outside, the noise began to swell, and Ed could clearly hear the angry shouts of a large crowd.

“Quickly,” Mrs. Deringer said out of the corner of her mouth.

“What’s going on out there?” Ed asked, trotting after her.

“It sounds like a mob,” Olivia said.

Mrs. Deringer paused before the doors and turned to face them. “It appears that some parental members of the community have gathered outside the precinct to express their, er, disapproval of the investigation. So if you’ll just stay close to Olaf, we should be fine.”

Ed shimmied up behind Olaf’s bulk. “Done and done.”

As soon as the door opened, a wave of sound crashed into them. About forty people had gathered outside the station, kept at bay by a line of noticeably inadequate metal barriers, and two uniformed officers who looked as if they weren’t sure how to handle the situation.

“If you could all just go home,” one officer pleaded.

“The police are idiots!” a woman screamed, followed by supportive cheers.

“Ma’am,” the officer said patiently, “this is a complex situation, and we are—”

“My son is missing!” the woman cried. She pushed herself to the front of the crowd, and Ed instantly recognized Xavier Hathaway’s mother. “And you’ve done nothing to find him.”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

“Really?” a man asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yes,” the officer said, clearly offended. “In fact, Sergeant Callahan is questioning suspects right now.”

“It’s that DGM group!” someone else yelled.

Another voice agreed. “Yeah. They’re the ones behind it.”

“Is that them?” Ed saw a finger pointing in their direction. “Are those the suspects?”

Uh-oh.

“They’re the ones! They’re the killers!”

There was a rush of rage and motion as the crowd pushed forward, hardly contained by the two officers who attempted to form a wall between them and the crowd. Ed was wondering if they’d have to make a break for it, when Mrs. Deringer stepped forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice commanding and utterly calm. “These children are not murderers. They were witnesses to the most recent string of crimes, and their presence here this evening is merely to help the investigation.”

“Who the hell are you?” someone asked. “Their lawyer?”

“I represent the students of Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School,” she said, keeping up her bluff. Good call. If they found out she was Bree Deringer’s mom they’d probably tar and feather her. “And we want to find out who is behind these killings and disappearances as much as you do.”

The crowd stalled, their angry momentum derailed. Mrs. Deringer spun back to Ed and the rest with a guilty smile. “Quickly,” she said under her breath. “To the cars.”

They walked as fast as they could without breaking into a run, glancing back over their shoulders every few seconds just to make sure the mob hadn’t changed its collective mind.

“How did she know where we were?” Kitty asked.

“I used Logan’s phone to text Bree,” John said. “To tell her what happened in case we got arrested.”

“I had no idea her mom was such a badass,” Olivia said, her eyes wide with wonder. “And fierce. Did you see that Burberry jacket she has on? A-mazing.”

“I wonder if she’ll let us see Bree,” John said to no one in particular.

“I wonder,” Ed the Head chimed in, “if we should talk about what the fuck actually happened tonight!”

“Can we at least get out of the police parking lot first?” Kitty said drily. “In case you missed it, there’s a mob back there calling for blood.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Fine.” It wasn’t like he wanted to talk in front of Logan anyway. How he managed to weasel his way into the plan at Amber’s house was beyond him.

They rounded the building where two cars waited: a tank-like SUV, black with tinted windows, and a Lincoln Town Car with a livery tag on the back bumper. A driver stood at the passenger door and whipped it open as they approached.

“Sweet,” Ed said, starting for the Town Car. “I’ve always wanted my own private driver.”

Mrs. Deringer held out her arm. “Not you, twerp,” she said under her breath. Then she turned to Kyle and Tyler, once again all charm and smiles. “Do you think you boys could escort Amber home? After all she’s been through, I think she could use the support of two strong, sensitive men such as yourselves.”

Tyler puffed up his chest. “Anything you say, Mrs. Deringer.”

“And on behalf of the students of Bishop DuMaine,” Kyle said, attempting to out-brown-nose his friend, “we’re lucky to have you as our rights advocate.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Deringer said with a twinkling smile. “Aren’t you?”

Amber, however, didn’t look as pleased. She reached out to John. “I want to go with him,” she whined.

But Mrs. Deringer intercepted her, draping an elegant arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the Town Car. “I know, my dear. But now isn’t the right time. You know they say that relationships based on intense experiences never work.”

“Isn’t that from Speed?” Ed asked under his breath.

“You need to give this one a little space after tonight,” Mrs. Deringer continued. She squeezed Amber’s shoulders as they reached the car door. “Trust me. I bagged a senator.” Then she pushed Amber into the car and slammed the door.

When she straightened up, she was all business. “The rest of you, come with me.”

“Hold up,” Ed said, eyeing Logan. “Don’t you think ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ here should go ride in the clown car?”

“Huh?” Logan asked, looking confused.

“Ed!” Olivia cried. “That’s awful.”

Ed shook his head in mock contrition. “I know, I know, it’s really serious.”

John stared at him in disbelief. “You’re a total dick sometimes, you know that?”

Ed smiled. “Sometimes?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Logan said, “but I can hitch with Amber back to her house. No worries, dude.”

“I think that’s best,” Ed said.

Kitty and Olivia had other plans. After exchanging a hurried glance, Kitty stepped forward. “Actually,” she said, “I think you should come with us.”

“Why?” Ed asked. “What could he possibly bring to the table?”

“He’s got as much of a stake in all this as you do,” Olivia said.

That’s not true.

The Town Car drove off, sealing the deal, and Ed resigned himself to having Logan along for the ride. “Fine.” He grabbed Logan by the wrist and dragged him to the center of the group. “But he has to swear the same oath John and I did. It’s only fair.”

“Oath?” Logan asked.

Ed rolled up his sleeves like a proctologist about to perform an exam, then thrust his arm forward. “Just relax and let it happen, big guy. It only hurts for a second.”