We actually don’t end up talking about Lucas’s father afterward. After our shower, we dress and order some food and talk about so many other things, including Carl Fetto.
“I don’t know. I swear that photo was Eliza, but why would he lie? Why would he carry a photo of Eliza in his pocket?”
“Maybe your instincts are right. Maybe it is Eliza, and he just made up a bullshit story to get you off the scent.”
“But why carry Eliza’s pic around?”
“It’s a pic he probably took of her himself. He must really be stuck on her.”
I shudder. “It’s predatory.”
“You might’ve scared him off for now, but if he is a true predatory…”
“He’ll be back at it again before long,” I say.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find out for sure one way or another. I need proof, which means I need to investigate more.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think he’s dangerous.”
“Maybe not to you.”
I snort. “Even if I thought he was dangerous, I would still go after him.”
“I don’t doubt that, but you need to be safe about this.”
“Aw. How sweet. You want to protect me.”
“I do. Are you sure you shouldn’t just tell your mom about this and let her and the school board handle the investigation?”
“I would like to turn this into a newspaper article, remember? To have the inside scoop, I want to scoop it myself.”
“Are you sure I can’t be the Superman to you Lois Lane?” he asks.
I kiss his cheek. “You can be my Superman in the bedroom, but I need to be the one to handle this.”
He nods. “I trust you. Just have the police on speed dial.”
“Will do.”
* * *
I don’t want to, but I opt to skip all of my classes on Monday so I can watch Carl. For the most part, he does his work, but it’s in between sneaking peeks. Nothing noteworthy.
I’m starting to think I wasted all of my time on this, including my hour of workout training with Lucas, when he heads away from the classrooms. Curious, I trail behind him, not too closely for him to notice, and he stops by a door marked supplies. He pauses and doesn’t open it right away, so I duck down the hall and then peek around it. He’s looking this way and that, checking to make sure no one is around. Why would he need to do that for the supply closet?
He opens the door, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from gasping. The entire door is covered with pictures.
I snap a few before he can shut the door. I zoom in on them, and I shiver, a chill turning my blood to ice.
The pictures are of students, all of them girls, every one of them bent over, clearly picking up something from the ground so that their cleavage is exposed.
What a pig.
I hurry away before he can spy me, and my her pounds as I reach my car. After climbing behind the wheel, I call my mom. “Mom? Can we meet up?”