The two of them nose to nose, both being temperamental demons, was all kinds of bad. And, strangely enough, disturbingly sexy.
But they couldn’t get into a fight. I needed Osh to be healthy and bruise-free. Not to show up at Amber’s high school looking like a scrapper-slash-troublemaker. We needed the school on our side.
“Reyes, can we discuss your opinion of Osh later?” He started to argue, but I held up a finger and said, “Amber.”
He bit down, tossed Osh his wallet, and backed off.
“No,” Osh said. “I want to know what the fuck that was about. If you think I can’t protect her, just say so.”
“That’s not it at all,” I said. “You’re one of the few who can. Reyes just had a long day. We went to Scotland. He doesn’t travel well.”
Osh’s expression would suggest he didn’t believe me for a hot minute. I wouldn’t have, either, but we didn’t have time to go into it.
“Okay,” I said, heading for the closet I’d just glared at Reyes for snooping in. “You need to look young.”
“I do look young, considering how old I am.”
“No, like, really young. You look nineteen. Amber’s thirteen, but she’s a freshman in high school, so we could pull this off if you—”
Osh scrambled off the bed and blocked my advance with an arm across the door to his closet. “I’ve been around awhile now. I know how to look young.”
I eyed him doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“Seriously?”
“Okay.” I handed Osh the address and ushered Reyes out. “Be there at 7:30. We have to get it all set up in the office before classes start.”
“Got it.”
“And no flirting.”
“What?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “I would never.”
Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
*
Three hours later, we were in the principal’s office, never a place I liked to be. Uncle Bob was giving her the details of our operation and asked her to keep it all confidential. He showed his badge and said it had all been approved by the captain, and that seemed good enough for her. Thank goodness. She could have insisted on a warrant of some kind.
Ubie and I didn’t come with Amber. We wanted everything to appear as normal as possible, so Cookie dropped her off at the same spot she did every morning. Amber had walked by us, backpack in place, but pretended not to notice us. Good girl. She’d pull this off beautifully.
But the first bell was minutes away and still no sign of Osh. I poked my head into the hallway again. Nothing.
“What can I do for you?” the admin assistant asked.
I turned to see a skater kid with spiky dark hair under a grungy hoodie, baggy pants, and high-tops—untied high-tops—sitting in a corner of the main office. Although sitting would be an overstatement. He was making it his personal mission to elevate the slouch to an art form.
He shrugged as I took another peek into the hall. “I’m just waiting on my uncle to finish with the principal. He’s getting me checked in.”
I whirled around and gaped. “Osh?” I said, surprise shooting through me.
He lifted his chin in greeting and gave me a lopsided grin.
I hurried over and sat beside him. “Holy cow, Osh. You look … this is amazing.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “So, you approve?”
“Osh, um, yes.” I could hardly speak, then I realized the lengths he had gone to. “You cut your hair.”
His gaze studied my face a moment. “Only a little. It grows fast.”
“I’m … I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s Amber, right? And you care for her a lot.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then so do I.”
It was like talking to a kid. Like a genuine fifteen-year-old kid. One that would definitely pass as a freshman, albeit a tall one.
I squeezed his hand, then led him into the principal’s office. When Uncle Bob got a load of him, he was as impressed as I was. We rushed through the introductions, and the principal gave her spiel about what Osh was and was not allowed to do. Sadly, sucking the souls out of her students did not make an appearance.
“Have you ever thought about a career in law enforcement?” Ubie asked Osh. “We could use some good UCs in high schools.”
He grinned. “I’ve seen 21 Jump Street. I’m not sure I fit the mold.”
Uncle Bob shook his head. “That’s too bad.”
“Okay, remember,” I said, handing him Amber’s schedule, “you’re Amber’s cousin from Denver. Your family just moved here. Your dad’s—”
“Sugar,” he said, his sudden Southern drawl and sensual grin stopping me. “I got this.”
“Okay. Right. Sorry.”
He saluted, mocking our authority over him exactly like a freshman in high school might, and headed toward Amber’s first class.
Because we didn’t know if the stalker had access to Amber’s text messages—he could easily have cloned her phone—we instructed her to text her mom and friends as she normally would. Even her boyfriend, Quentin, who had an out-of-town basketball tournament that weekend.