Page 109 of Lesson Learned

“He was under the building. The security guards changed their hours of patrol. I couldn’t get him out without being seen.”

He drums his fingers on his knee, the same habit Patrick has. Probably the person he picked it up from.

I wait, counting my heartbeats off like they’re seconds on a clock, counting down the minutes I have left to live.

“I didn’t tell you to kill him.”

“No.” I close my eyes, resisting the urge to rub them. When I open them again, the world’s still there. Trouble still sits in the next seat. “He was sending information out to his father. There are whole segments devoted to different families on his phone. A few recruitment prospects.”

I want to add how he was blackmailing girls, terrifying them, but Creighton won’t care. Creighton regularly terrifies girls. And grown women. And grown men. He’d probably feel kinship rather than disgust.

He clears his throat. “A surveillance team assures me that Rigor Malloch is inside the school right now.” I feel the weight of his stare until I force myself to turn and meet his eyes again. “Don’t suppose you have a way past security right now?”

“Not with an ambulance crew parked right where I’d gain entrance.”

His gaze tells me he knows everything. That no matter what I say, he’ll already have scrutinised the information, deciding where it falls on the gigantic chessboard continually playing in his head.

Movement near the science block snags my attention. I let my eyes defocus for a second, then zero in when I see it again.

The science block is one of the original buildings, old stone, and masses of concrete, held together through countless earthquakes by the large bands of steel circling the walls like string tying a parcel together.

Xander stares at me from the shadows near the entrance.

“Who’s the boy?”

“The janitor’s assistant.”

“A prospect.”

I nod, adding nothing more. Creighton might take names under advisement but he’s very much a ‘do his own research’ kind of guy.

“I’ve been waiting three years to take Rigor Malloch out. It would’ve been nice to have a heads-up before you killed his son.”

I nod again because I don’t know what else to say. As per usual, I’m deep into the conversation and have no idea of how it’s going.

Then I hear a gunshot.

The ambulance crew loitering near the entrance doors scatter, ducking for cover behind their vehicle. Creighton barely registers the noise.

I’m out of the back seat, running, sprinting, my lungs on fire.

I know the entrance is barred by steel. I know the building is impenetrable.

I slam against the outer doors of the lobby, slapping my palm against the reinforced glass, screaming wordlessly from a pit of frustration.

And my heart tears itself apart as I hear a second gunshot. I smash the heel of my palm on the door then rear back and pound the sole of my boot against the door.

The shutters immediately begin to ascend.

I stare in confusion, thinking I’ve somehow managed the impossible, then hear the cries from inside, the fear as a girl shrieks, “Paisley!”

My heart stops.

The whole world stops.

I watch as the shutters retract, revealing the scene inch by inch, torturously cruel.

Paisley’s on the floor.

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