Page 14

“If the IP addresses are the same, there’s no way to trace who it is, right?” Mac asked.

“Actually, no. The external IPs are the same,” Remi explained. “But the internal IPs won’t be.”

“So, there’s a chance that if we trace the internal IP, we can figure out who she was talking to?” Boone asked a moment before his pocket began vibrating beneath Payton’s ass.

“Yeah, but that’s not going to be as quick as tracking the external IP,” Remi countered. “I’ll need some time for that.”

Boone displaced Payton just enough to slip his phone free of his pocket, frowning when he saw it was Park calling.

He slid right to answer the phone, then put it on speaker. “What’s up?”

“We have a situation,” Park said.

Boone snorted. “You’re gonna have to be way more specific if you want me to know what you’re talking about. This whole day is a situation.”

“Seems that when the teachers put the kids on lockdown, they didn’t secure their phones. Someone called their parents and told them a student was murdered here by another student—a known serial killer—and then explained how it was broadcast to the whole school. If that wasn’t enough, they also sent the email of that Lady Watchtower abomination to said parent, who forwarded it to the board, demanding an explanation.”

Payton studied Boone as he huffed out an exasperated sigh. Was he wondering the same thing Payton was? Had someone in the staff deliberately left the students with their phones, knowing this would cause enough chaos to possibly throw them off their scent?

“The board contacted you ?” Boone asked.

“Technically, they contacted you. I just happened to be sitting at your desk when the call came through,” Park grumbled.

Payton could feel Boone’s agitation. Every muscle in his body was tensed like a coil that could snap at any moment. Boone really did have a lot to deal with. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and the muscle in his jaw popped every time he clenched his teeth. Payton slid his hand to the back of the older man’s neck, slowly stroking the skin there with his thumb.

“What did they say?” Boone prompted, getting to his feet, inadvertently bringing Payton with him.

When they were both standing, Boone’s arm lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his hand sliding down his hip and giving a squeeze before he put some space between them. The moment Boone’s hands disappeared, Payton’s world tilted on its axis. He didn’t stumble, just blinked until the world righted itself. The others didn’t seem to notice. Was this a concussion? He’d been…off-kilter all day. Every time he forgot about the symptoms, they popped up like some villain in a horror movie.

Park sighed. “They said they want Payton detained.”

Payton’s eyebrows shot up at the word. Detained where? Probably in the holding cells near the main gate. Interesting. Payton had never seen the inside of a prison cell before. At least, not in real life. While part of him was eager to know what fate might befall him should he ever get convicted, the dull throbbing behind his right eye told him his curiosity could wait.

“Detained?” Boone practically shouted. “Absolutely not.”

Another wave of dizziness hit Payton. He fell back into the office chair they’d just vacated, causing it to roll back a bit, which only made his stomach lurch violently. He didn’t want to be sidelined for the rest of the investigation, but it wasn’t like he was much help in this condition. He only had one skill, really, and that was killing people. It sucked that he’d miss out on that part.

“I’m not done,” Park said, his tone telling Payton that wasn’t the worst of it. “They want you suspended pending an internal review.”

“A review by who?” Boone asked. “Which one of those suit-wearing bureaucratic whiners thinks they are qualified to judge my performance as headmaster? Not a single one of them could go a whole day without air conditioning and water that didn’t come from a bottle.”

“I’ll call Dad,” Archer said, reaching for his phone, then strolling towards the back of the security office.

“This is horseshit,” Boone snapped, his accent thickening tenfold in his anger. “We know the footage is doctored.”

“ We know that. They don’t,” Park said, his voice as calm as ever. “You are sleeping with a student.”

“So are you,” Boone shot back.

“Who cares if we’re sleeping together?” Payton interjected, waving a hand Park couldn’t see. “I’m not a child.”

“I don’t think it’s having sex with a student that bothers them so much as having sex with a serial killer,” Park pointed out. “And not to put too fine a point on it, but the footage of Payton leaving your room isn’t the only part of that footage that’s not doctored. If we push too hard, the wrong people might start asking the right questions.”

Payton watched as Boone’s jaw tensed. “If they don’t trust me to do my job, then why did they hire me in the first place? I don’t give a shit if they suspend me, but they’re not putting Payton in a holding cell.”

Payton placed his hand on Boone’s thigh, the only part of him still within reach now that he was hovering beside him. “It’s okay. They’re not sending me to a black ops site. I’ll just have to sit in a cell for a while.”

Boone moved closer, placing a hand on Payton’s head. “It’s not okay. You have a head injury. I’m not letting you sit in an empty cell where I can’t keep an eye on you,” Boone snapped.

Payton’s heart tripped clumsily behind his ribs. Boone really was trying. It was like he thought Payton needed protecting. It made Payton feel something he didn’t know how to put into words—this strange warmth radiating through him every time Boone put himself between Payton and someone trying to harm him.

He didn’t need protection. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had offered or if they ever had. Boone acted like Payton was something delicate, like he needed someone to watch over him. It was a little absurd to think a psychopath like him needed saving. But was it bad that he liked that? Was it wrong to ask someone to take care of him when he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself?

He suddenly felt restless. He shot to his feet, just to try to walk off this feeling of ants beneath his skin. Another wave of nausea washed over him, but it disappeared just as quickly as it arose.

“Boone,” Payton said gently. “They know about me. Even if the evidence was doctored, they knew enough to make it look good. If we don’t do what they want, they could just have CID come in here and drag me away. Maybe even call the Las Vegas police department. Do you know the kind of media spectacle that will ensue if they think I’m the Xecutioner?”

“You are the Xecutioner, dumbass,” Drake muttered.

Remi’s hand shot out to slap the taller man on the back of the head hard enough to leave his hair standing up in its wake. “Not the time.”

Drake stared at Remi, stymied. It was lost on the handler. He was, once again, engrossed in the task before him. Payton smirked, making a show of smoothing out Drake’s ruffled tresses. Drake batted his hand away with a glare. Payton snickered. If Drake wanted to spend the rest of the day looking like an exotic bird, so be it.

“As much as it pains me to agree with Drake,” Park began, “Payton is a famous serial killer. If this leaks to the press, we’re fucked. And even if the footage is doctored, there’s no way to prove that. Hell, the hacker will probably hand them whatever they need on a silver platter.”

“Are you suggesting I just let them lock him up?” Boone snarled, his face uncharacteristically flushed.

Payton frowned, tilting his head as he studied the older man. Had Payton ever seen Boone angry? Frustrated, sure. Irritated, often. Cranky, definitely. But he’d never heard Boone raise his voice. He’d never seen his fists clenched at his sides or the muscle in his jaw ticking like it was now. He wasn’t just mad, he was furious.

Over Payton.

Payton’s insides flooded with that sticky, gooey warm feeling he didn’t have a name for. He suddenly wanted to wrap his arms around Boone and scent him like a pack animal. He wanted people to know that Boone was all his, even if nobody was trying to state otherwise. Boone was defending him, protecting him. He was livid on his behalf.

Boone loved him.

Boone was in love with him.

They all looked at him when he sighed wistfully, a small smile playing at his lips.

“What?” Payton asked, expression going blank as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’re not suggesting anything,” Mac said. “We’re just stating facts.”

“I’m suggesting it,” Drake said. “Lock him up before the whole program gets exposed.”

“Nobody asked you,” Remi muttered without looking away from his work.

Boone started to pace, shaking his head like he was arguing with himself. He’d never looked hotter than he did right then.

Payton could spend hours dissecting why someone like Boone would love someone like Payton. He could spend days picking it up, turning it this way and that, until he’d studied every facet of what that meant for them. Boone’s love for Payton had been enough to crack the man’s unflappable exterior.

“It’s fine,” Payton assured him. “I’m a big boy. I can handle a night or two in a holding cell with a couple of CID officers. It’s not like they’re allowed to question me without an attorney.”

“No,” Boone snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Take him to the doctor,” Remi said distractedly.

They all turned to the smaller boy. When he didn’t elaborate, Payton asked, “What?”

Remi did stop typing then, spinning his chair around to face them. “Dr. Ganis is on campus for another hour. Take Payton to him. Have him treat and document his head wound. If he has a concussion, ask that he be detained in his room versus CID.”

“That’s…a good idea, actually,” Park said.

“You think CID would go for that?” Archer asked, returning to the group once again.

“The last thing anybody wants—especially the board—is to hear that the son of Roland Skinner was left to rot in a holding cell with a head injury,” Drake said begrudgingly.

“As much as I hate to agree with anything Drake says,” West muttered, “he has a point.”

Drake gave the older man a sulky look that had Payton biting back a laugh.

“My dad hates me. I doubt he’d care if I died in prison,” Payton admitted. “But he wouldn’t want to lose face in front of his golf buddies, so he’d probably take it as a personal affront if they threw me in a holding cell, head injury or not. Even if I am a serial killer.”

To say his relationship with his father was complicated would be an understatement. His father loved the power raising Payton had given him. But he hated that raising Payton was the only way he could earn a seat at that table.

What was the criteria they’d used for picking families? There were lots of rich and influential people in the world. How had people like his father made the cut? He was nothing like Thomas Mulvaney or Molly Shepherd. At least, on paper. Payton had never met either of them in any real meaningful way, but they’d raised Archer and Mac and they’d both come out okay. But neither of them really seemed to have any true psychopathic tendencies that may have made raising them difficult.

“Fine,” Boone muttered. “I’ll take him to the campus doctor. But he’s sleeping in my room—in my bed—with me tonight. If they don’t like it, they can drag me to lock-up, too.”

Payton’s heart swelled until it felt like it might explode into confetti. He found himself biting back another smile. He’d known the moment he laid eyes on Boone that he was meant to be his. Payton hadn’t known a thing about him except that he was tall, Texan, and saw Payton as a project. Payton had decided then and there that Boone would be his project as well. He would make him fall in love with him, no matter what it took.

He hadn’t expected that it would take a sex toy incident, a blown-up lab, a fucked-up class assignment, an anonymous blackmailer, an unsolved murder, a head injury, and, now, the military police. But as long as he got to call Boone his at the end of all of it, Payton would endure. Well, as long as he managed to avoid a prison sentence, which seemed less likely by the minute.

Murdering Navy might get him twenty-five to life in Nevada, but he was still eligible for parole in ten years. Going to prison as a serial killer in Texas meant death row. And while those accommodations in some prisons were better than, say, gen-pop where people were sometimes stacked on top of each other, Texas had an express lane when it came to killing inmates on death row. At least it would be lethal injection and not the electric chair. He would hate for them to shave his head just for that.

He shook all thoughts of jail away as Boone’s hand found his lower back, guiding him towards the door. How much of the rest of the conversation had he missed? It didn’t matter. He had Boone.

The hallways were eerily quiet. Payton squinted at the harsh glare of the sun as they exited the building. It wasn’t even that bright out, but it might as well have been a thousand watt bulb. He blinked rapidly, to clear the spots from his vision, allowing Boone to lead him to the building on the north side of campus.

They walked inside the small office used by Dr. Ganis only to find he wasn’t there. In his place was the much younger, much hotter Dr. Kim. The other physician had only been on campus a handful of times, but he’d always caused a stir. The girls had spent the day stage-whispering about how he looked like he’d stepped out of a K-drama. Their assessment wasn’t wrong. He had inky black hair, full lips, high cheekbones, and wire-rimmed glasses just nerdy enough to make them swoon.

Payton didn’t know much about him. He heard he’d been sent back to the States after being wounded overseas, and that they’d chosen him to sub for Dr. Ganis due to his high security clearance. Payton couldn’t imagine how someone who looked as young as Dr. Kim had lived long enough to attain a medical degree or such a high level of clearance.

What Payton did know was the first time Kim subbed for Dr. Ganis, the injuries that day had skyrocketed as girls and gays alike did whatever it took to get a look at him. It had briefly gotten so out of hand that they’d stopped announcing Dr. Ganis’s days off. At least now the staff knew the students were willing to risk life and limb to keep their eye on a target.

Boone stopped short just inside the room, causing Payton to do the same. Dr. Kim wasn’t alone. Brogan sat on one of the gurneys, legs swinging as he gazed down at Dr. Kim, who sat on a rolling stool with an ice coffee in his hands. When Boone cleared his throat, the two men practically broke their necks snapping their gazes in their direction. Payton didn’t miss the guilty look the two exchanged, like they’d been caught doing something dirty.

Boone frowned at Brogan, arching a brow. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you helping to deal with the shitshow that’s happening inside?”

“I am. I-I was. I just came for…” Brogan seemed to flounder.

“Advil,” Dr. Kim supplied, popping two pills into his hand. “He came for Advil.”

“And to bring you iced coffee?” Payton added, noting the condensation on the plastic cup and the unmelted ice cubes rattling around inside it. Brogan had gone out of his way to hit the cafeteria and make Dr. Kim a coffee before hand-delivering it across campus…all for a couple of Advil? That math definitely wasn’t mathing.

Boone fixed him with a flat stare. “You’re telling me the staff lounge didn’t have anything you could have taken?”

“Would I be here if it did?” Brogan shot back before his gaze went to his shoes.

Boone sighed. “Go away. Go find Park and see what he needs help with. I need your boyfriend to screen Payton for a concussion.”

Dr. Kim’s eyes went wide, and he jumped to his feet so fast, the stool shot into the table behind him. “Yes, of course. Let me get the computer warmed up.”

The physician walked to the back corner of the small office where a computer sat gathering dust. As he typed in his password, Boone looked back to Brogan, who was just…standing there.

He snapped his fingers in front of the other man. “Now. I need you to go now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Brogan said before trudging out of the room, head down like a kicked puppy.

“What was that all about?” Payton asked under his breath.

“Fuck if I know. Everyone in this whole goddamn school seems hellbent on fucking each other. It’s like everyone’s going through their second puberty or their rumspringa.”

Payton snorted. “Did you just say…rumspringa?”

“Hush,” Boone muttered as Dr. Kim returned.

“I’m assuming you hit your head?” the man asked Payton, leading him to the examining table.

Payton hopped onto the bed. “Someone else did. They knocked me out last night. Around two in the morning.”

Dr. Kim’s eyes narrowed. “You lost consciousness?”

Payton nodded. “At least, I think I did.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Kim asked, flashing a pen light in Payton’s eyes.

Payton shrugged. “I mean, someone hit me in the head, everything went dark, but, somehow, I managed to get back to my room, crawl into bed, and fall asleep.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Kim said, abandoning his pen light to dig through Payton’s hair. “Who stapled you up?”

“Archer,” Payton answered. “He said it was pretty small.”

Dr. Kim nodded. “It looks fine.” His hands moved over his skull the whole time, checking him over. “Any dizziness, nausea, vomiting, double vision, blurred vision?”

“This morning, I threw up,” Payton admitted. “I was dizzy, a little bit of double vision, but mostly, just a headache.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Kim said ambiguously.

“Hmm?” Boone said, voice taut. “What does that mean?”

Dr. Kim was checking Payton’s neck, both hands digging slightly into his skin.

“Boone, honey. Relax,” Payton murmured. “He’s just doing his job.”

Dr. Kim’s hands froze, gloved fingers probing behind Payton’s ear, the side opposite his head wound. “Did you recently go…on a boat…or a rollercoaster?” he asked, turning away to grab what looked to Payton like oversized tweezers.

Payton frowned as the doctor picked at something behind his ear. “Huh? No.”

“Any blood pressure issues? Chronic pain?” Dr. Kim asked.

“Definitely not,” Payton said.

Boone frowned. “Why do you ask?”

Dr. Kim tipped Payton’s head to the side, showing Boone something, causing him to mutter, “What the fuck?”

“This patch behind your ear, is it for motion sickness?” Dr. Kim asked. “How long have you had it on?”

“I didn’t put any patch on,” Payton said, instinctively reaching up to feel whatever it was Dr. Kim felt.

Dr. Kim batted his hand away. “I’ll take it off. If the medication gets on your hands, it can make you sick. Well, sick er .”

“How sick?” Boone asked.

“Depends on the dose, but this combined with a blow to the head could explain why he was dizzy, nauseated, having memory lapses even if he doesn’t have a concussion.”

Payton’s skin tugged as Dr. Kim pulled at something sticking to it. It looked like a small circular Band-Aid. “What is it?”

“It appears to be scopolamine,” Dr. Kim said, taking a small plastic bag and putting the patch inside before handing it to Boone.

Boone stared at it. “Are you sure?”

“I can’t be positive without testing, but it looks like the same kind of patch you’d get at any pharmacy.”

“Why would someone put a motion sickness patch on him?” Boone asked absently.

Dr. Kim gave Boone a look. “I’m assuming your question was rhetorical, but I’ll answer you anyway. Highly concentrated doses of scopolamine have been used overseas to aid people in both robberies and sexual assaults.”

“Highly concentrated doses? Like people using multiple patches to make a much more powerful dose?”

Dr. Kim nodded. “In places like Central America, they call it Devil’s Breath. It’s usually a liquid or powder they get tourists to ingest. We don’t see it much in the States. Theoretically, if whoever hit Payton over the head wanted them pliant enough to move on their own…if this has been altered in some way, it might do the trick.” When Boone and Payton continued to stare, he said, “But, again, this is all speculation.”

“That’s… Why would someone just have those patches on them? Who would go to all the trouble of running to get them just to get me back in bed?” Payton asked.

“If you want, I can take the patch with me and have the lab break down the compounds, see what we’re dealing with,” Dr. Kim offered.

Boone grimaced. “Yeah, our own lab…”

Dr. Kim’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I heard. Lucy, huh?”

“Yup,” Boone said, shaking his head.

Dr. Kim turned to Payton, nodding towards the computer. “I’m gonna have you take something called the imPACT test. Everyone had to take it at orientation to achieve a baseline for an event like this, so the test might seem familiar to you. Just answer the questions that you can. Don’t force yourself to answer if you don’t know. And don’t guess. Just let me know when you’re done and I’ll look at the scores.”

“Okay,” Payton said, sliding from the table to sit on the cheap folding chair in front of the computer.

“I need a favor,” he heard Boone tell the doctor.

The physician frowned. “What’s up?”

Boone rubbed the back of his neck that was now flushed bright red. “They want to detain Payton in a holding cell tonight.” He glanced in Payton’s direction. He snapped his head back to the computer screen, hoping Boone didn’t notice him eavesdropping. “Can you tell them it’s better for his recovery if he’s in his room—well, my room—so I can keep an eye on him?”

“Is this about the email?” Dr. Kim asked.

“Yeah, the footage was doctored,” Boone said. “No pun intended.”

Dr. Kim nodded. “Yeah, Brogan told me.”

“What’s the deal with you and him?” Boone asked.

Payton wanted to know, too.

“Deal? I told you, he just came to get Advil,” Dr. Kim answered.

“And bring you coffee,” Payton added.

“Yeah, and that. Is that a crime?” Before Boone or Payton could answer, Dr. Kim held up a hand. “Look, if you drop this, I’ll write whatever you want. Just promise me your boy’s not going to just up and disappear.”

“Okay, deal.”