Page 124 of Wicked Rivals

“Dude, get it together,” my son said. “We won’t kill you unless you make us do it.”

I blinked down at him. I couldn’t have agreed more, but what nine-year-old talked that way?

Enzo flicked his gaze up to me. “Right?”

“Right,” I said, then turned to the guard. “Answer the questions, tell us what we want to know, and you’ll be fine.”

He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, then threaded his fingers together in front of himself.

“S-Sure, man. Whatever you need.”

“Good. At what time was the girl shot upstairs on the third floor?” I asked.

His brows raised in surprise.

“What? No, no one was shot here. This is a private school. People don’t get shot here. It doesn't happen here.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It happens everywhere, you stupid fuck. How long have you been on duty?”

“Since the end of school hours. So like half past three?”

Enzo scoffed at the man, then met my gaze.

“How does he not know she got shot right above him? These halls echo. You can hear things even with our classroom doors shut.”

“Never underestimate incompetence,” I muttered. “If the rent-a-cop here didn’t hear anything, we need another way to get the information.”

“How?” Enzo asked.

I pointed at the guard's workstation and the line of monitors flashing between views from the different security cameras around the school. Then I leveled my weapon at the guard's head again.

“There’s a security camera on the third floor pointed at the mosaic tiles by the main staircase. Find the camera footage from earlier tonight and start rewinding.”

The guard burst into tears again as he sat at the computer.

“H-how far back should I go?”

Enzo reached for my free hand and pulled me back a step, his gaze aimed down at the puddle growing on the floor beneath the guard’s pant leg.

For Christ’s sake.

I moved around the chair and stood by the guy’s dry leg.

“Apparently around three-thirty this afternoon,” I said.

As he bobbed his head up and down, he moved the mouse around to wake the computer from a screensaver on a fucking loop. He hadn’t even watched the feeds at his own workstation.

“How many guards are here?” I asked.

“Just me. Budget cuts, so we work one at a time.”

Finally, the man got the right camera up and went back to the time school closed. Seemed like a quiet building. An occasional straggler in the halls, a lone child running from one classroom to another.

Most figures caught on camera were on their way out.

He sped up the video, making the people on screen look like cartoon characters running around. According to the timestamp, a tall man entered the frame at 5:30 p.m., hauling another stumbling figure behind him near the large marble staircase.

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