He heard a snicker.
“That’s the school photographer,” someone said in a stage whisper.
“What?” said Ackerman.
Cries of “I didn’t do it” echoed around the room, accompanied by more laughter and a few bawdy-toned comments.
Don Ackerman looked horrified. “That’s enough! Mr. Nash, I don’t know what to say.”
Ethan said nothing but focused on deleting the images off the network, double-checking for any clever storage spots or holes the brats might have managed to create.
If you could harness fifteen-year-old testosterone, he thought, you could move the world.
“A word?” he said as he shut down the machine.
Once in the hallway again, Ackerman set about apologizing. “I stop one, and two more get up to something worse,” he said. “I feel terrible about Carrie. I hope this hasn’t harmed her in any way.”
“Of course it’s affected her,” said Ethan shortly. “How could it not? Your firewalls are a joke. Your equipment, software and hardware, is in dire need of upgrades. This department might have singlehandedly destroyed her business. If I were her, I’d sue.”
Any pleasantness in Don Ackerman’s face disappeared. “Tell it to the mayor. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Nash. I need to get back to my students.”
Again, it came back to Calloway.
He stomped back toward the front door, only to be stopped by Mrs. Terlecki. “Did you find what you were looking for, Mr. Nash?”
He whirled to face her. “Yes and no. Why does Mayor Calloway have it out for me?”
“I already told you,” she said, blinking.
“Yeah, yeah, I tore down the old house I bought.”
“Oh no, Mr. Nash,” she continued. “It’s not just that. Mayor Calloway wanted to buy the property himself. He was in the process of getting investors to go in with him, when you showed up, offering full price, and no subjects. You stole the deal out from under him, Ethan. I thought you knew.”
Chapter Fifteen
‡
Carrie’s cell phone buzzed, notifying her that she’d received a text message.
Ethan.
Her confrontation with Gibson Kyle was forgotten as she looked at the screen.
Gun still misses you.
He’d attached a photo of the dog lying on a blanket, all stitches and shaved patches and red, healing wounds.
Nerves from one conflict shifted to another as all the jumbled panicky feelings of that night returned, Ethan bare-chested and bloodied, his eyes frantic, the limp body of his dog slipping over his ropy muscled arms, the metallic-smelling stickiness of the steering wheel.
The warmth of his hands as he helped her change in Doc Morrow’s chilly washroom.
The torment in his eyes as they’d met in the mirror as he deliberately, with finality, set her aside.
It was as if that kiss had never happened.
Another buzz.
Now, he was calling? After ignoring her?
I miss you, too.
This time he attached a selfie, with an uncharacteristic goofy grin, his black eyebrows raised questioningly.
She bit back a laugh.
I’m visiting the patient, if you want to join me.
Carrie felt her own face lifting in a matching grin.
I’m guessing you wouldn’t turn down some food, she typed.
The response was quick. You? Have food?
Her thumbs flew over the keypad.
I seem to recall a steak dinner that never happened?
Come on, he answered. You gotta gimme a pass for that. Medical emergency and all.
It felt good to banter with him again.
She’d tried not to take it personally when she hadn’t heard from Ethan but it was hard not to. Maybe, she thought, the chill she’d felt wasn’t about her. It was about his worry for the dog.
She grabbed her bag, trying not to think about what his reaching out meant, trying to ignore the bubbly feeling inside her, and what that meant.
It all might mean absolutely nothing.
But this was her life, she told herself as she walked to her vehicle. It was high time she allowed herself to want something.
*
Ethan waited for Carrie with a mixture of dread and anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see her again. He wanted to be sure she was okay. That she was weathering the storm, that her clients had come back, that the repercussions of her leaked photos weren’t as bad as she’d feared they would be.