Garrison nods. “Blaine’s our skip tracer, but he’s not going to want to leave Resa now, so don’t ask.”
“I can wait a day,” Vincent says.
“You could have called and told me this on the phone.”
“I could have,” Vince agrees with a hesitancy that makes me look at my brother curiously. “You pull people out of situations that leave scars.”
Garrison drops his notebook on the table and walks over to the filing cabinet. After riffling through the contents of the top drawer for several seconds, he returns with a business card and hands it to Vincent.
“Dr. Kira Phillips. One of the best trauma and PTSD psychiatrists in the country. I’ll let her know I’ve given you her card, and she’ll make time to speak to Della.”
Vincent tucks it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Losing an omega leaves scars,” Garrison says quietly. “You might want to take advantage of talking to someone yourself.”
“Those scars have scabbed over, and I’m not looking to cut them open. This is about Della. I want to help her, but I don’t know if this is something I can help her with.” He turns to leave. “Thanks for making time, and I’m sorry to have taken you away from your movie night.”
“I can handle a lot, but zombies?” Garrison says with a shudder as he walks us out. “Your call couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ll call tomorrow once Blaine’s had time to work his magic.”
Back home, the TV is on in the living room at a low volume. I move in that direction while Vincent shuts the door behind me.
Levi turns off the TV and lifts a finger to his lips, a sign to be quiet.
Della is sleeping on the couch with her head resting on his lap. A blanket covers her.
Moving carefully, Levi shifts her head to a cushion on the couch, waits a moment to ensure she’s still asleep, and we all walk into the kitchen, closing the door so our conversation won’t wake her.
“What did you find?” Levi sits on a stool at the kitchen island.
Vince leans against the counter with his arms crossed. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something massive." He adds, "We need to get back into the school.”
Levi frowns. “Why? You think Ms. Huffman is the killer?”
I shrug. "I don't know yet. Garrison will update us tomorrow.”
Levi scrubs a hand over his face. “So, she’s the one who tried to roast me alive in the sauna?”
“Maybe not her,” Vince says. “But shewasmarried before and might have had a whole life before teaching—a life none of us knew about.”
Levi asks him, “So, how do we confirm that?”
“Blaine is doing a background check on her. Adetailedone,” Vince emphasizes when it looks like Levi is about to speak.
“And the end-of-year ball is in a couple of days.” I yawn, tired. “Makes it the perfect night to corner her while everyone is distracted and get some answers directly from her.”
Levi glances at the closed kitchen door. “And Della?”
“She stays here where it’s safe. I’m not putting her in danger,” Vincent says firmly.
We all look at him.
“Youhavemet her, right? There is no way that she’s going to want to sit this out. She’ll want to be involved,” I warn.
“So, we—” Vince jerks his head to the closed door at the sound of rustling fabric.
He walks across the room and pulls the door open. The entryway is empty. We look at each other. If it were anyone but Della, we’d go back to our conversation. By silent agreement, we head to the living room to check if she’s still sleeping.
Della is on the couch, her auburn hair brushing against her cheek, one hand resting on the ground as she snores softly.