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“Exactly,” the head says like it’s case closed. “And until the police—”
“For fucks’ sake, we’re going to hospital. If I understand correctly, these girls’ friend has been shot on school grounds by an armed man that you let waltz in here despite the place being in lockdown. Instead of worrying how the police will track down three students wholivein this facility and who you possess all relevant details for, I’d be more concerned about that.”
I try to walk past the security guards near the door, but they’re quicker to react than the head teacher, moving to block our exit.
I’m about to lecture them on priorities when I see Creighton approaching, his expression grim. Patrick follows at a safe distance, smirking when he sees me. His car is parked right next door to mine.
If I thought the head looked upset before, it’s nothing compared to her expression now. “What’s he doing here?” she mutters, looking like she wants this day to end and doesn’t care what she has to sacrifice to make that happen now.
“You,” Creighton says from just outside the lobby doors, pointing straight at me. “Come here.”
I go towards him, pulling Paisley behind me, reaching him just as the second team of ambulance officers cart Rigor Malloch’s body past on a stretcher. His eyes widen, then he turns his penetrating stare back to me.
“He’s dead?”
I nod. “Or soon will be. The wound isn’t survivable.”
Creighton stares at me for a full minute, unbroken by anything so much as a blink.
“Okay. Get going. You’re done here.”
He steps forward, flicking his fingers at the head until she walks over, face set like a patient waiting for a root canal.
I can’t move. Done meaning dead? Meaning finished? Meaning waiting for redeployment?
When he sees I’m not moving, he gives a grunt. “Good job.”
Patrick smirks harder at my confusion, nodding to the girl hovering by my side. “Nice to meet you, Paisley. Conner’s told me almost nothing about you.”
“Are we still going to the hospital?” Brooke asks.
“Sure,” Patrick answers for me, then his gaze turns to Floss and his mood visibly improves. “You can all come with me if you like. There’s room in my car and my brother’s such a terrible driver, he pays someone to do it for him.”
“Oh, uh—” she stammers to a halt, then gives him a wide smile, remarkably like the one she gave me in the queue outside the club. “Sure. That sounds great.”
“She’s seventeen,” I tell Patrick who doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. Brooke and Harrison exchange worried glances, then hop to join her before he can get any closer.
“We’re allowed to go?” Paisley whispers. “Is that right?”
I pull her close to me, not caring about the stares and the muffled whispers. With her face cupped in my hands, I give her a kiss, trying to let her know exactly how much I care.
But I don’t get anywhere close to that before she breaks away, taking my hand and tugging me towards the car, anxious to check on her friend.
* * *
PAISLEY
I barely get a chance to visit with Marnie before Conner whisks me away.
On arrival, she wasn’t conscious, but her surgeon appeared hopeful. He explained how the injury penetrated her lung tissue but missed everything else of importance.
The speech was hurried because she was being prepped for surgery. Once he’d gone, Conner settled Brooke and Floss in a private waiting room, then dragged me out of there against my vehement protests.
“You can’t do anything more for her,” he explained in that gentle but firm way he has.
I argued back, but he still insisted on us leaving. We were at the airport before I realised where we were going, installed on a plane a few minutes later, buckled in and waiting for clearance that came far too quickly for me to catch my breath.
“Come here,” he whispers now, unbuckling my belt and pulling me into his lap.
