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I sit up and grab mine and Paisley’s phones, sending a link to the school’s security camera system so she can monitor while I’m outside, ping me a warning if she spots someone on the move.
In the files, I see a program eating through her resources. No wonder her phone keeps going flat at a moment’s notice, the damn thing is guzzling all the power.
When I click into it, it takes a moment to work out what I’m seeing, then my skin turns into gooseflesh, my throat pinching closed.
Someone’s recording every sound, the sensors set to such a low volume it must transmit almost everything. Sending every conversation.
I retrieve James’ phone and go through the settings, finding a link to a cloud server where he’s helpfully saved his login credentials for easy access. There are dozens of files using just the date and time of recording. Others have been labelled and siphoned off from the main repository.
Paisley and Marnie—dress. Paisley and Harrison—school assignments. Paisley and Marnie—false ID. Paisley and Brooke—orgasms. Paisley and unknown—mall. Paisley and Conner???—teacher’s pet.
I blink at the last two. If the kid wasn’t dead already, that’d be enough reason to do it, right there.
There’s another folder labelled Floss and I click into it, then click back out in a hurry, trying not to see anything she most assuredly wouldn’t want me to see.
Files for blackmail.
The girls he’s targeted are bad enough, but there’s another folder, reminiscent of the type I’ve been feeding my uncle.
Doxing students, doxing their families. A list of visitors to one boy who I know is a cousin to the Abercrombies—a family whose patriarch Soren was positioned as my uncle’s highest ranking lieutenant until their daughter was arrested and began blabbing to the police.
He’s pulling information and feeding it to his father.
I scroll through the list, my brain switching into dispassionate mode as I assess what he’s forwarded, how these students are connected, if he’s sizing them up as targets to eliminate or recruit.
Xander, the janitor’s apprentice, is one name in the recruit list, along with a wealth of personal details. There’s a draft saved in his emails, seeking permission to approach. The request’s not yet sent.
No wonder my uncle wanted me in here. He must have suspected someone was feeding out information and, true to his personal style, put me in here to find out without telling me a goddamn thing.
My skin buzzes, my stomach pulsing like I’ve got an ulcer growing down there.
I put Paisley’s phone aside, cueing up the outside feed on mine to watch the last security patrol of the night. They should already be on screen but there’s no sign. My anxiety creeps upwards as I wait… and wait… and wait.
Not tonight, shitheads. Don’t you dare change your damn routine tonight.
But the security team isn’t listening. At five in the morning, they finally show for what should have been their three o-clock circuit. The entire patrol takes close on an hour, which will take us through to six.
I put my phone down, burying my face in my hands. The rugby team will arrive on the fields around then, running circuits to build their endurance. The track has a clear view of the building on the side where I stored James.
My window of opportunity hasn’t just shrunk, it’s disappeared. There’s no way I can move the body this morning.
I close my eyes, thinking furiously.
If I frame the murder correctly, there’s a chance I can use it as an overture to my uncle, perhaps prying myself free of his clutches, once and for all. I’ll phone Patrick when I go home to change. Swear him to secrecy and discuss the situation. Teasing aside, he doesn’t want me under Creighton’s thumb any more than I want to be.
Together, we might be able to pitch it just right.
I can do this.Wecan do this.
Instead of getting up and setting to work, I lie back down next to Paisley. The girl I love is in my arms and the life I thought I’d lost forever is back within my grasp.
By the end of the day, I’ll know for sure.
* * *
PAISLEY
I wake inside Conner’s embrace, warm and protected. My body’s sore in all kinds of unusual places but, when I stretch, the aches ease. The damage isn’t permanent. The horror show of images in my head are already in retreat.
