Page 10

Levi

I stay out of sight, watching Delilah from a distance as she mutters, curses, kicks piles of leaves, and stomps her way to the front gate.

She is never still. Or quiet. Or motionless.

Every time I see her, she’s chatting with someone, laughing with someone else, rocking on her heels, always in motion.

I try to imagine her sleeping, then I make myself stop because I remember how good she looked in spandex.

She’s not truly my student, and I’m not her teacher, but the things I had wanted to do to her after that fencing lesson are not thoughts I should have been having in a school.

And I watch, tucked behind a tree, first amused, then reluctantly impressed as she scales the front gate on her own.

When I see far more of Delilah’s body than I should, I adjust myself in my pants.

She’s stuck.

I step forward to free her trapped leg. Damn Vincent’s order to stay out of sight and make sure she leaves the campus.

She pulls at her leg to free herself, letting out a yelp as she tumbles the final few feet to the ground. I stifle a laugh when she quickly bounces back up, fist raised triumphantly.

I shake my head and turn away, jogging back the way I came. She’s off school grounds, which is all I came to confirm.

A part of me is going to miss seeing what she tries to blow up and set fire to next, especially after Vince said she’d snuck into his classroom with a tube of superglue.

As I walk around the pale pink cottage that contains the girls' dorms, I halt.

A red-haired male figure lingers near the tree, as if he quickly stepped aside to avoid being seen.

Too late.

I stalk toward him, frowning. “What are you?—”

He bolts. I lunge to catch up, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. “What are you doing here?”

It’s a janitor—the youngest.

Thomas Benson.

I haven’t given the beta much thought until now.

He keeps his head down, green eyes fixed on my chest as if he’s afraid to meet my gaze. “Just had something that needed fixing.”

My fingers tighten around his blue overalls when he tries to leave. “And that involved you hanging around outside the girls' dorms?”

“It’s not what you think,” he denies in a voice so low I have to strain to hear it.

“And what do I think?”

Silence.

Our suspect list is as small as it’s ever been.

Thomas Benson wasn’t on it. He’s young. Early to mid-twenties.

Our killer is in their forties or fifties. Maybe even older.

“You’re new to the school, aren’t you?” I prompt.

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“You realize there’s a curfew, right?”

“Just for the students.”

This guy is throwing off so many alarm bells, I can barely hear his muttered responses.

“So, you had your eye set on a girl, huh? Thought you’d invite yourself right into her bed, maybe?”

His eyes fly to mine, and he jerks his head from side to side. “ No . I told you. That isn’t what I was doing. It isn’t what you think.”

“But you haven’t said what you’re doing, have you?”

“Fixing something,” he mutters.

“With no tools.”

He pulls on his arm. “Let me go.”

I’m yanking him back, not even close to being done with this conversation yet when an alarm rings out, sharp and loud.

Thomas rips his arm free and takes off, sprinting into the trees and disappearing from view.

I start to go after him when I spot the security guard racing down the gravel path to the front gate in a golf cart.

I’m not the only one drawn by the noise.

As I make my way toward the gravel path, aiming up toward the academic building, I spy the small huddle of teachers near the faculty offices. They’re in sweats and PJs, clearly starting to settle down for the evening.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I join them.

“Not sure. One of the teachers is inside trying to calm her down,” Miss. Adkins, the drama teacher says, glancing at me.

I jerk my head toward her. “Calm who down?”

She shrugs. “Not sure.”

As casually as I can, I walk over to Xavier, lowering my voice. “We need to watch the janitor. The young one.”

Xavier’s thick, dark beard hides most of the lower half of his face so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing his mouth move. “He’s too young.”

“Yeah, well, I just caught him hanging around outside the girls' dorms, there to fix something with no tools. He’s too young, but he’s old enough to have a father or an uncle.” I raise my voice for this part. “What’s all this about?”

Xavier shrugs. “No clue.”

“I saw Professor Vincent go inside to help,” another teacher says, rubbing her arms against the slight chill in the evening air.

Good. He can fill us in later.

Delilah Farrow left the school grounds. I watched her tumble over that iron gate myself, and she was the only one out there.

So why does it feel like whatever this is about has everything to do with her?