Chill Factor Read Online Free Page B

so
familiar to
Scott he didn't even notice it. His own stink mingled with the stench
of adolescent sweat, dirty socks, jerseys, and jockstraps. The odor was
so pervasive it seemed to have soaked into the grout between the tiles
in the shower room.
    Scott turned on the faucets in one of the stalls. As he peeled
off
his shirt, he looked over his shoulder into the mirror and frowned with
disgust at the outbreak of acne on his back. He stepped into the shower
and put his back to the spray, then vigorously scrubbed as much of it
as he could reach with an antibacterial soap.
    He was washing his crotch when his dad appeared, carrying a
towel.
"In case you forgot to pick one up."
    "Thanks." Self-consciously he removed his hand from his
private
parts and went to work on his armpits.
    Wes draped the towel over a bar outside the stall, then
motioned
toward Scott's groin. "You take after your old man," he said around a
chuckle. "Nothing to be shy about in that department."
    Scott hated when his dad tried to get chummy with him by
talking
about sex. Like that was a topic Scott was just dying to discuss with
him. Like he enjoyed the innuendos and suggestive winks.
    "You've got more than enough there to keep all your
girlfriends
happy."
    "Dad."
    "Just don't make one
too
happy," Wes
said, his smile
inverting. "You'd be a real catch for one of these local gals looking
to elevate herself. They're not above tricking a guy. That goes for any
female I ever met. Never trust the girl to take care of birth control,"
Wes said, shaking his index finger as though this was a new lecture and
not one Scott had been routinely subjected to since puberty.
    Scott turned off the water faucets and reached for the towel,
quickly wrapping it around his hips. He headed toward his locker, but
his dad wasn't finished yet. He clamped a hand on Scott's wet shoulder
and turned him around. "You've got years of hard work ahead before you
get to where you're going. I don't want some gal to turn up pregnant
and ruin all our plans."
    "That's not going to happen."
    "Make damn sure it doesn't." Then Wes gave him an affectionate
push
in the general direction of his locker. "Get dressed."
    Five minutes later Wes locked the gymnasium door behind them,
securing the building for the night. "Bet anything school's out
tomorrow," he remarked. Intermittent sleet was falling, along with a
dreary rain that instantly froze on any surface. "Be careful where you
step. It's already getting slick."
    Cautiously they made their way to the
faculty parking lot,
where Wes had a premium space, reserved for the athletic director of
Cleary High School, home of the Fighting Cougars.
    The windshield wipers labored against the freezing rain on the
tempered glass. Scott shivered inside his coat and pushed his fists
deep into the flannel-lined pockets. His stomach growled. "I hope Mom's
got dinner ready."
    "You can have a snack at the drugstore."
    Scott turned his head quickly and looked at Wes.
    Wes kept his eyes on the road. "We're stopping there before we
go
home."
    Scott sank lower into his seat, pulled his coat close around
him,
and moodily stared through the windshield as they moved along Main
Street. There were Closed signs in most of the store windows.
    Shopkeepers had left early, before the worst of the weather
moved
in. But it seemed no one had gone straight home. Traffic was heavy,
especially around the grocery market, which was still open and doing a
brisk business.
    All of this registered with Scott, but on a subliminal level,
until
his dad stopped for one of Main Street's two traffic lights. He was
staring vacantly through the rain-spattered window when his eyes
happened to focus on the flyer tacked to the utility pole.
    MISSING!
    Beneath that bold headline was a black-and-white photo of
Millicent
Gunn, followed by a basic physical description, the date of her
disappearance, and a list of telephone numbers to call with any
information as to her whereabouts.
    Scott closed his eyes, thinking