Free Desires of the Dead by Kimberly Derting Page A

woman if she had seen her around school. And while the boy who trailed behind her looked barely older than Violet, he too seemed oddly out of place in his faded black T-shirt and ripped jeans. Straight, nearly jet black hair, too long and unkempt, fell sideways across his eyes, adding to the impression that he would be more at home at a skate park than in the parking lot of a small-town school with country music playing in the background.
    He kept his hands in his pockets and glared at the asphalt beneath him, never glancing Violet’s way.
    Violet pulled her key out of the lock.
    “Are you Violet Ambrose?” The woman awaited Violet’s confirmation.
    “Uh-huh.” Her curiosity was definitely piqued.
    The woman stepped forward, holding out her hand formally. “I’m Sara Priest. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
    Sara Priest? That name . . .
    Of the FBI? That Sara Priest.
    Oh, crap, crap, crap! Violet silently cursed herself.
    Violet scrutinized the woman as she absently shook her hand, taking in the details of her meticulous appearance. Not just the pristine suit and the flawlessly sleek ponytail but also her no-nonsense demeanor. She exuded a confidence that Violet knew she would never be able to pull off.
    “Can we talk?” FBI Sara asked when it was evident that Violet didn’t have anything to say.
    “I guess so,” Violet conceded, looking around to see if anyone was watching the three of them. She tried to think of some pretense—some reason— not to have this conversation right now.
    She was suddenly irritated with Jay for having to work today, mad that she’d driven herself to school.
    So now here she was. All alone. With FBI Sara Priest.
    Crap!
    From the sidewalk, near the entrance of the school, Violet saw Mike waiting for his bus. He waved to her, enthusiastic, kind of like a puppy. Guilt over how envious she’d felt toward his new friendship with Jay flooded her, reminding her of how childishly she’d been behaving. Violet lifted her hand and waved back.
    Unfortunately, Lissie Adams was standing right behind him, and she saw Violet too.
    Lissie was everything Violet wasn’t: blonde, trendy, and insanely popular, and it killed her that Jay had chosen Violet over her as his date for the Homecoming Dance. She got her digs in whenever he wasn’t around.
    And this happened to be one of those moments. Lissie raised a stylishly manicured middle finger and flipped Violet off.
    Violet closed her eyes; she was so sick of taking Lissie’s crap.
    “So who’s your friend?” the woman asked, tipping her head in the direction of the school.
    Violet sighed. “She’s not my friend.”
    The woman smiled. “Not her. The boy you waved at.”
    “You mean Mike?” Violet frowned. “He’s just a new kid at school.”
    FBI Sara pursed her lips, pausing briefly. “What do you know about him?”
    “Nothing. Why are you asking?” Violet asked hopefully. “Is that why you’re here? To talk about Mike?” Suddenly conversations about Mike Russo didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
    To her credit, Sara Priest didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all. I’m here to talk about you, Ms. Ambrose. May we?” She pointed to Violet’s car. “So we can speak in private?”
    Violet’s stomach sank. She was fleetingly aware that she’d never actually been shown a badge, and she knew her parents wouldn’t like the idea of her talking to strangers—even if they were from the FBI. Still, she had a hard time mustering the courage to do anything but agree.
    Her heart skipped nervously as she climbed inside. She thought about not letting this Sara person in her car, and instead just locking her doors and taking off. But even as she weighed the option, she knew it was useless at this point. Obviously they knew her name and her phone number. They knew where she went to school and probably where she lived. Did she really think she could escape the FBI?
    So instead of leaving, she reached across to the passenger side and unlocked the