But Mr. Whitehead just stood there as the police who’d come into his office instructed Randy Junior to put his hands up against the wall and proceeded to frisk him.

The police weren’t the only ones who came in, either. They were followed by a young guy in a Hellboy T-shirt, brandishing an X-Men comic book.

“Oh, hey, Jess,” Douglas said when he saw me. “How’d I do? Did I get ’em here on time, like you asked?”

“Perfecttiming, Doug,” I said. “Perfect timing.”

Sixteen

When we emerged from the DA’s office several hours later—I had a lot of explaining to do, it turned out, as to exactly how I’d come across the videos I’d given to Douglas to give to them. But they hadn’t kept me nearly as long as they seemed to plan on keeping Kristin, who was their star witness and who was being kept in protective custody until her parents could come to pick her up—I was famished enough almost to wish I’d taken Karen Sue up on her offer of brunch. I thought I might pass out on the courthouse steps.

Fortunately Rob seemed to feel the same way, since he went, “What would you say to some lunch?”

“I’d say hallelujah. Douglas?”

Douglas shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. I gotta get back to the shop. Someone’s got to make sure that the graphic-novel needs of this community are met.” The noon sun was pelting down on us, but I still saw Douglas’s gaze slide towards me. “But you guys go on ahead. You know, there’s a really nice place Tasha and I have been going lately, out by Storey, Indiana, that’s completely worth the drive. It’s right next to this river, and real romantic—”

I knew what he was doing. I knew what he was doing, and I hurried to put a stop to it by pointing across the square. “Oh, look. Joe’s is open. We could stop by there and pick up some burgers and take them back to your place, Rob.”

Rob raised his eyebrows. “My place?”

“She’s the only one on the tapes,” I said, “I haven’t spoken to yet. I need to know if she wants to press charges against Randy as well. I gave all the other girls the choice.”

“You didn’t give the cops her tape?” Rob asked, looking curious.

“Not yet,” I said.

Rob glanced at his watch. “Gwen’ll be there to pick her up any minute. Guess we could get a burger for her, too. And about eight more on top of that, for Chick.”

“Or,” Douglas said, looking disappointed. “I guess you could do that instead.”

“We will,” I said firmly. “Thanks for your help this morning, Douglas. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

He perked up a bit at hearing this. “My pleasure,” he said. “Anything to rid the world of more smut-peddlers, and make room for wholesome entertainment likeSin City. You two have fun now. Call me later, Jess.”

And with a jaunty salute, Douglas started across the street for Underground Comix. He’d doubtless track me down and demand an explanation when he learned about Mr. Whitehead’s “donation”—Randy Senior was supposed to present the check personally to the head of the Pine Heights Alternative School committee, which was Douglas himself.

In the meantime, I was glad to have him out of my hair. I didn’t exactly need my big brother hanging around, trying to play matchmaker. Things between Rob and me were awkward enough without interference from my family—even though I knew Douglas meant well.

Still, I was totally willing to take advantage ofsome of my family…. The nice thing about having parents who own all the best restaurants in town is that you don’t have to pay to eat there. Even so, Rob insisted on leaving a hefty tip for our burgers…which I understood, considering the fact that his mom used to be one of our waitresses. Burgers bagged and in hand, we got back into his pickup and started for his house.

The silence that ensued in the cab on the way to Rob’s wasn’t at all awkward. Not. We hadn’t had a single moment to ourselves in order to discuss what had happened in Randy Senior’s office, because we’d been too busy explaining to the DA what Randy Junior had done. I really didn’t think there was all that much to talk about, anyway.

Rob seemed to disagree, though.

“So,” he said as we hurtled past cornfields—the corn was only knee-high. In another month, it would be well past the top of my head. “This new nonviolence thing you’ve got going…”

I let out an inward groan. I didn’t want to have to explain to Rob—to anyone, for that matter—why it was that hitting no longer held any appeal to me. I’d seen enough violence to last me a lifetime, and I’d hung up my (figurative) brass knuckles. Why couldn’t we just leave it at that?

But to my surprise, he finished with “…I like it.”

I glanced at him. He kept his gaze on the road.

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically. “I bet you do. Since your block was one of the first ones I was going to knock off, as soon as I got the chance.”

He still wouldn’t look at me.

“That’s not why,” he said. “I just think you’re good at thinking up nonviolent solutions to your problems. Like that thing today, back in Whitehead’s office. That was genius.”

I felt my cheeks heating up, and uttered a silent curse at myself. Why did I let this guy get under my skin? I mean, I was actually blushing, just because he’d given me a compliment. Why did he have this insufferable power over my body temperature?

“I always told you,” he went on, still not looking in my direction. Which was good, because if he had, he’d have seen my face heated up red as a lobster. “That the problem with your being so quick with your fists was that someday, someone bigger than you was going to hit you back. And you weren’t going to like it very much.”

“That would never have happened,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I’m too quick on my feet. Float like a butterfly—”

“Yeah, well, I think both Randy Whiteheads would agree that your sting is much worse when you use your head,” he interrupted, “than your right hook. Who’s Eric?”

I blinked at him. “Who?”

“Eric.” We’d reached the long driveway to his house, and Rob turned the truck up it. It really was a beautiful piece of land—the one Rob’s farm sat on—complete with stately hundred-year-old oaks and its own stream. Randy Whitehead Senior, I’m sure, would have enjoyed turning it into a golf course or country club. “The guy you said you’d tell Mrs. Whitehead about if her husband didn’t do what you said.”

“Oh,” I said with a grin. “Him. Yeah. My dad told me about him. Eric’s a waiter at Mastriani’s.”

“So?”

“So you know how people who work together get to chatting. Eric, my dad says, likes to hang out at a gay bar in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah. And?”

“And it turns out, so does Randy Senior.”

Rob brought the truck to a stop with a jerk, his foot landed on the brake so fast. Finally he turned his head to look at me.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, looking stunned.

“Nope.” I undid my seat belt and started to climb from the pickup. “Eric’s Mr. Whitehead’s boyfriend. They have their own little love nest together and everything. Except, apparently, Randy Senior would rather his wife not know about it.”

I gathered up all the burgers and started towards Rob’s house. Chick—owner and proprietor of Chick’s Bar and Motorcycle Club, out by the highway—apparently heard us pull up, since he came to the front door. When he saw me coming up the brick walk, he broke out into an enormous smile.

“Well, if it isn’t Lightning Girl,” he said, holding open the screen door to let me in. “Long time no see.”

“Hi, Chick,” I said, grinning back at him. “How’s life?”

“A whole lot better now that you’re back in town,” Chick said as Rob followed me up the walk. “Hey, now that you two are back together, maybe you can do something to make this guy stop working so hard and have some fun once in a while.”

Chick slapped a heavy hand down onto Rob’s shoulder. Rob winced. But not, I’m pretty sure, because Chick’s grip hurt.

“Yeah,” Rob said, not looking at meor Chick. “Well, Jess came back, but only to help me find Hannah. She’ll be heading back to New York soon.”

Chick’s smile vanished. “Oh,” he said. Then he noticed the bags in my hands, and his crestfallen demeanor brightened again, but only slightly. “Well, at least she brought food.”

And he started back inside the house.

I turned to glare at Rob. “How do you know?” I demanded.

He stared down at me, confused. “How do I know what?”

“How do you know when I’ll be heading back to New York?” I couldn’t explain why I suddenly felt so incredibly angry. But I was definitely rethinking my whole nonviolent stance, as well as my decision not to knock his block off. “Maybe I won’t be going back to New York. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He blinked at me. “Okay,” he said. “Take it easy.”

Why is it that whenever anyone tells you totake it easy orrelax , it has the totally opposite effect?

Feeling exceptionally unrelaxed, I stomped into Rob’s house to find his sister, Hannah, just coming down the stairs to see who was at the door.

“Oh,” she said, looking distinctly disappointed when she saw who it was. “It’s you. I thought it might be my mom.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just as thrilled to see you,” I snapped. “Is there a VCR up there?”

Hannah cocked her head quizzically at me from the staircase. “What? Yeah. Why?”

I signaled for her to turn around and head back up the stairs. Rob, going into the kitchen to get plates for the burgers, said, “Jess. Eat first, okay?”

“Oh, Hannah and I are going to eat,” I assured him. Then, seeing that Hannah had stayed where she was, I pointed up the stairs again and said, “Go. Now.”

Looking churlish, Hannah spun around and headed up the stairs. I followed, after handing Chick all but one of the bags I carried.

Upstairs, in the guest bedroom where Hannah was staying—the one that used to be Rob’s, but which he’d done over in muted beige—I saw that she’d made herself at home. Her clothes were strewn all over the floor, along with several bags of chips and numerous empty soda cans.

“You’d better pack,” I said to her. “Your mom’s on her way to get you, you know.”

“I don’t care,” Hannah said, flopping back onto the bed and glaring at the ceiling. Her multicolored hair made a rainbow against the white pillowcase. “I’m not going back to live with that bitch. And Rob can’t make me.”

“Uh,” I said, pressingPOWER on the VCR and inserting the videotape I’d removed from my backpack. “Yes, he can. He is under no obligation to keep paying for you to live under his roof.”

“Fine,” Hannah said to the ceiling. “He can kick me out, then. He can’t make me stay with Mom, though. I’ll just run away again.”

“Because that worked out so great for you last time?” I pressedPLAY , then took the bag of burgers and went to sit in an armchair by the room’s single window—after first removing a pile of Hannah’s clothes from it. “Good plan.”

Hannah was watching me, not the TV. “Hey,” she said, sitting up, “can I have one of those? I’m starved. That Chick guy offered to make me a sandwich, but have you ever looked at his fingernails? I was, like, no way.”

After taking a burger out for myself, I tossed the bag to her. “Be my guest.” I looked at the TV screen. “Oh, cool,” I said, sinking my teeth into the thick cheese-and-bacon combo. “This is my favorite part.”

Idly, Hannah glanced up from the burger she was biting into to the TV…

…then let the burger drop to her lap.

“What?” She stared, bug-eyed, at the screen. “Where did—hey, that’s—”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I prefer boxers, too. But what can you do? Some guys will never learn.”

Hannah scrambled off the bed—sending burger everywhere—and dove for the VCR. She slammed theEJECT button. When the videotape slid out of the machine, she wrenched it up and stared at the side, where the neatly typed label—HANNAH—caused her eyes to bug out even more.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded in a small voice.

“From your boyfriend’s closet,” I said when I was done chewing. “You didn’t know you were being filmed?”

She shook her head. The ability to speak had apparently left her.

“He had copies, too,” I went on. “I assume for distribution purposes.”

“Dis…distribution?” Hannah’s face had gone as white as the sheets behind her. “He was…selling them?”

“Oh, not just yours,” I said. “There were lots of different tapes of lots of different underage girls. He apparently had quite a little harem going. You really didn’t know?”

She shook her head again, staring down at the tape.