The Secret Circle: The Complete Collection Read Free Page A

don’t understand,” he said quietly. “Those guys are trouble.”
    “I don’t care ,” Cassie said, and she almost pushed him toward the dock. Hurry, hurry, hurry, something in her brain was urging. Her shyness had vanished. All that mattered was that he got out of sight. “What are they going to do to me, beat me up? I’m an innocent bystander,” she said.
    “But—”
    “Oh, please . Don’t argue. Just do it!”
    He stared at her one last instant, then turned, slapping his thigh for the dog. “C’mon, boy!” He ran down the dock and jumped easily into the powerboat, disappearing as he ducked into the cabin. The dog followed him in one powerful spring and barked.
    Sh! thought Cassie. The two in the boat were hidden now, but if anyone went up the dock, they would be plainly visible. She hooked the loop of frayed rope over the top of the last pier, screening off the dock.
    Then she cast a frantic glance around and headed for the water, splashing in. Bending down, she dug up a handful of wet sand and shells. She let the water wash the sand out of the loose cage of her fingers and held on to the two or three small shells that remained. She reached for another handful.
    She heard shouting from the dunes.
    I’m gathering shells, I’m only gathering shells, she thought. I don’t need to look up yet. I’m not concerned.
    “Hey!”
    Cassie looked up.
    There were four of them, and the two in front were Portia’s brothers. Jordan was the one on the debate team and Logan was the one in the Pistol Club. Or was it the other way around?
    “Hey, did you see a guy come running this way?” Jordan asked. They were looking in all directions, excited like dogs on a scent, and suddenly another line of poetry came to Cassie. Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling . Except that these guys weren’t lean; they were brawny and sweaty. And out of breath, Cassie noticed, vaguely contemptuous.
    “It’s Portia’s friend—Cathy,” said Logan. “Hey, Cathy, did a guy just go running down here?”
    Cassie walked toward him slowly, her fists full of shells. Her heart was knocking against her ribs so hard she was sure they could see it, and her tongue was frozen.
    “Can’t you talk? What’re you doing here?”
    Mutely, Cassie held out her hands, opening them.
    They exchanged glances and snorts, and Cassie realized how she must look to these college-age guys—a slight girl with unremarkable brown hair and ordinary blue eyes. Just a little high-school ditz from California whose idea of a good time was picking up worthless shells.
    “Did you see somebody go past here?” Jordan said, impatient but slow, as if she might be hard of hearing.
    Dry-mouthed, Cassie nodded, and looked down the beach toward the headland. Jordan was wearing an open windbreaker over his T-shirt, which seemed odd in such warm weather. What was even odder was the bulge beneath it, but when he turned, Cassie saw the glint of metal.
    A gun ?
    Jordan must be the one in the Pistol Club, she thought irrelevantly.
    Now that she saw something really to be scared about, she found her voice again and said huskily, “A guy and a dog went that way a few minutes ago.”
    “We’ve got him! He’ll be stuck on the rocks!” Logan said. He and the two guys Cassie didn’t know started down the beach, but Jordan turned back to Cassie.
    “Are you sure?”
    Startled, she looked up at him. Why was he asking? She deliberately widened her eyes and tried to look as childish and stupid as possible. “Yes . . .”
    “Because it’s important .” And suddenly he was holding her wrist. Cassie looked down at it in amazement, her shells scattering, too surprised at being grabbed to say anything. “It’s very important,” Jordan said, and she could feel the tension running through his body, could smell the acridity of his sweat. A wave of revulsion swept through her, and she struggled to keep her face blank and wide-eyed. She was afraid he was going to pull her up against