Ambition (Private 7)

As soon as I was outside on the quaint Easton sidewalk, I tipped my head back and let out a groan, watching the cloud of steam

from my breath disappear against the stars. I glanced around for lurking photographers, thinking I might tell them exactly where

Hunter was and that I had just ditched him, but they were nowhere to be found. Oh, well. One thing was clear, however--it was time to

take the search for the next boyfriend of the Billings president in a new direction. This particular president was not a Hunter Braden

type of girl. I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking through town toward school. It was a long trek, but that was fine by

me. It was a clear, cool night and I wanted to delay my return to my room anyway. With nothing better to do, I knew I'd start obsess-

ing about the black marbles and the pink clothing and who might have thought it would be fun to freak me out. All things I didn't want

to consider.

It occurred to me somewhere in the middle of block two that Hunter might come looking for me in his Bentley, but I doubted it. He

probably had yet to notice I was gone. And if he had, I was sure he didn't care. At the edge of town I spotted the old-fashioned light

posts with their big, round lamps that marked off the front of the Easton police station. Not my favorite place in the world. I ap-

proached it, my heart starting to beat erratically as I remembered the last time I had been there, the awful things that had occurred. I

ducked my head and speed walked past, feeling conspicuous. I wondered if Detective Hauer was inside. Wondered what that look had

been about on Thursday night. My heartbeat didn't return to normal until I was well past the bright lights of the building and had

turned onto the relatively dark Hamilton Parkway, which would take me back to the Easton Academy gate.

I kept a good distance into the shoulder, knowing I was barely visible to motorists in my black coat. Cars whizzed by, tossing my

hair into my face with their back drafts. The speed limit on Hamilton was forty-five, but people routinely broke it. I was just starting to

wonder if this walk was the worst idea ever when a slow-moving car approached me from behind. I turned around, expecting to see

Hunter and his newly discovered conscience, but instead of the Bentley, I found myself staring into the headlights of a modest, late-

model Ford. The car pulled up alongside me and Detective Hauer leaned away from the steering wheel toward the passenger-side win-

dow. You have to be kidding me. "Need a ride?" he asked. "No. Thanks. I'm fine." I started walking again, shakily. He inched for-

ward. "I think you need a ride," he said. "No, really. I'm--" "Reed, there's something I need to talk to you about." He reached over and

popped the door open so that it almost hit me in the legs. "Get in the car."

* * *

I sat stiffly in the cold, hard chair, my bag placed on the cracked wooden table in front of me. My coat was still on. It felt colder in

the interrogation room than it was outside. And besides, I wasn't planning on being here long. No need to get comfortable.

Detective Hauer walked in through the door behind me, but didn't shut it. He took a seat opposite me, placed a thick brown folder

on the table, and folded his beefy hands on top of it. As unkempt as ever, he wore a green sweater with some kind of food stain near

the hem, and one point of his white shirt collar stuck out while the other was still tucked in. His brown eyes looked heavier than I re-

membered. Behind me, the station was fairly quiet, aside from the occasional ringing phone. Nothing like the last time I was here,