The Last Echo

Violet thought about her night, about staying home with Jay, eating pizza and watching movies, and she smiled inwardly. Lame was the last thing her night had been.

“What took you so long? I’ve been here for half an hour. I’d’ve gone in without you, but I have no idea what I’m looking for.” Rafe scowled as Violet joined him outside The Mecca, his arms crossed impatiently.

The cloudless sky overhead gave the impression that the day should’ve been brighter, sunnier, but instead it just felt cold and empty. Like a vast gray wasteland.

Violet felt a twinge of satisfaction. She liked that she knew something he didn’t, especially since, according to Sam, he was the one who had the cool precognition thing going on. “Sorry,” she tried, but she didn’t sound nearly as repentant as she should have. “I ran into some friends.”

He looked at his watch. “Some of us still value other people’s time.”

She rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling like she had an idea why he wasn’t winning any charm contests. “Whatever. Don’t be such a baby. Besides, it’s not like you had anyplace better to be, or you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to meet me in the first place.”

“Or,” Rafe said as he reached out to get the door for her, holding it so she could go in ahead of him, “I want to catch this sicko.”

Violet faltered. Of course that was it, she chided herself, embarrassed for thinking otherwise. Why else would he be wasting his Saturday with her?

She felt unsettled as she stepped inside the café and surveyed the art wall and the congested tables and chalk menu. That artsy appeal that Violet had felt just a day earlier was lost on her now, tainted with what she thought she knew, what she hoped to confirm by being here today.

“So? This is it, huh?” Rafe asked, but his eyes were on Violet, not on the café.

“Why?” Violet stepped closer to him, her voice dropping. “Do you sense something?”

He shot her an amused look. “Do I sense something? Really? That’s the best you can do? Do you want me to check for evil spirits while I’m at it?” He smirked. “I was only asking because you said this was the place.”

“Whatever. You don’t have to be such a jerk,” Violet told him, her cheeks burning. “I was just thinking that maybe . . . you could,” she stammered. “Maybe you might feel something?”

Rafe tipped his head closer, until it was right next to hers, and suddenly she was far too aware of him. Of his lips and the blazing blue of his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at her, just one. “I have to actually touch something to feel something. Just FYI.”

“Oh?” Violet said, nodding.

“Yeah. That’s pretty much how it works.”

“Do you want to?” she breathed. “I mean touch something?” Her heart was racing, slamming so violently it felt like a sledgehammer, and she worried it might actually crack a rib.

He inched the tiniest bit closer, his breath mingling with hers. “I do,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper as his daring blue eyes held hers . . . longer than they should have. “But I think we should order a coffee so you can tell me what this is all about. Don’t you?”

Violet wanted to nod, but she was too afraid to. Their lips were far too close. Dangerously close. “Sure.”

She blinked when he pulled back and strode toward the counter, his heavy boots thudding along the floor, and she followed him, feeling bemused. She was relieved that the red-haired girl wasn’t working today.

“What can I get you?” the boy behind the counter asked.

Rafe ordered quickly, just a black coffee, the same way Sam had ordered his. He reached for his black leather wallet, which was strung to the hip of his jeans by a steel chain, and pulled out a twenty. And then the two of them stood there, waiting for Violet to decide as she searched the corkboard for a recommendation.

For one recommendation in particular.

Finally she said, “I’ll have that one.” She pointed to the snapshot of a dark-haired girl with shiny hair and big brown eyes. “A green-tea soy latte.”

The boy didn’t even turn to look at the corkboard, but Violet could see his jaw tense and he blinked hard several times. “That’s Casey’s drink.”

Violet nodded. It was all the confirmation she’d needed.

“How did you know?” Rafe asked as they took a table in the back. He dropped into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Violet’s drink was too hot, and she took a small, careful sip before setting it on the table. “I saw her photo . . . well, a really grainy photo in yesterday’s paper after I was here. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t be sure it was her until I came back to look at the corkboard.” She frowned. “I’m almost sorry it was her. Did you see his face? I hate knowing them. I hate knowing who they were. I mean, are,” she corrected quickly. Casey Atkins wasn’t dead. Not yet anyway. “But you know what this means, don’t you?”

“That you were right?”

“No,” she said uncertainly. “Well, yeah, I guess so. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Rafe took a swig of his coffee, hiding his grin behind his cup. “I thought that’s what girls liked to hear . . . that they’re right.”

Violet threw her napkin at him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? No, it means that Antonia Cornett and Casey Atkins might have known each other. At the very least, they have this place in common.” Suspiciously, she glanced at everyone in the café around them. There was a couple, their heads bent together over the table until they were practically touching as they whispered quietly to each other. At another table was a group of girls that reminded Violet of her friends. They were animated and loud and they talked over one another, and then laughed even louder at their own jokes. “He might have found both of them here.”