Chapter 21 Weston
WESTON
By the time the book fair winds down and most of the parents’ SUVs have pulled out of the lot, I’ve circled the school twice on foot.
It’s the kind of cold night that makes sounds carry farther than they should. Branches scrape against brick, the flagpole line clinks against the metal, and my boots crunch noisily over old snow and frozen dirt.
I cut across the side of the building again, keeping my flashlight beam low, because there’s no need to advertise my position. The janitor called in sick, which means Elena will be staying late to lock the place down tonight. Buck didn’t like that, and neither did I.
Sentinel’s doing extra patrols, the motion lights are up, and cameras cover more angles than they did a week ago. None of that changes the fact that somebody keeps coming back.
Near the edge of the staff lot, next to a stand of scrub and young pines, I crouch and let the flashlight settle. From here, there’s a clean view of both the main entrance and the staff lot.
Two cigarette butts lie half-ground into the dirt, wet from the thin layer of melt this afternoon. Buck found butts just like this earlier this week, dark paper, strong foreign tobacco, nothing sold near Moon Ridge.
This isn’t a bored teenager hiding a bad habit or a teacher taking a break.
I glance up, tracing the sightlines the way I was trained to.
Front doors, staff entrance, Elena’s office window along the side.
Anyone sitting here could see who comes in and who stays late.
They could watch to see whether Elena leaves alone or has T.J.
with her, and track her direction when she drives off.
My jaw locks.
A few yards farther out, near the service road that cuts behind the gym, there are tread marks in the dirt.
Snow softened their edges, but not enough to hide the fact that they’re the same pattern Calder found near the fire station.
Whoever parked here knew how to pick spots that don’t draw attention from the road but still give useful angles.
I move past it, scanning wider to where three narrow impressions form a rough triangle in the dirt. Tripod legs.
It’s not a spot for a hunter or some dad taking photos of a winter concert, especially not with concealed parking and imported tobacco.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. The anger that rolls through me is hot against the cold. Arson was bad enough. This is planned and deliberate, rather than reckless.
Whoever this is, he has patience, resources, and enough training to know what matters.
Not enough to stay invisible, though. The cigarette butts are sloppy, and so are the tripod marks. Parking in repeat concealment sites is careless. A full professional wouldn’t leave a pattern this easy to connect.
It tells me the man we’re dealing with is dangerous and arrogant enough to think he won’t get caught.
I straighten, roll my shoulders once, and key the radio clipped under my coat. I keep my voice low as I pass Buck the basics.
“Copy. I’ll have Calder come document it in better light first thing,” he says. “Get Elena out of there, and don’t dump more on her tonight unless you have to.”
He knows I’d rather give her every piece of intel we have than leave her standing in the dark, but Buck’s right. She’s carrying enough. Too much.
I make one more sweep before heading around front. The lot is mostly empty now, but Elena’s vehicle still sits under one of the new lights.
At the entrance to the main building, one of the outer doors isn’t sitting flush in its frame. I take the steps two at a time and tug it open. A faint electronic chirp comes from somewhere inside.
A second later, Elena appears in the vestibule, her coat half on and a laptop bag hanging from one shoulder. She has a ring of keys in one hand and the security tablet in the other.
She looks up, and for one stupid second, all I register is her. Soft, dark hair pulled back in a clip, tension pinching the corners of her pretty mouth, and a line between her brows creasing deeper than it ever should.
As I slide the bag from her arm, she says, “Please tell me how to make this thing stop yelling at me.” Even thin and tired, her voice does something to me. The panel chirps again.
I take the tablet from her. “You trying to arm the whole building, or just the main wing?”
“The whole building.” She lets out a sigh as she shoves her arm into the loose sleeve. “I think. Unless I already did that and now I’m locking myself inside forever.”
I glance at the screen and quickly see the issue. “You skipped a door.”
“I checked every one.”
“One’s not sealed right.” I nod at the door behind her. “This one.”
She closes her eyes briefly, and it’s the kind of small, frayed action that tells me she’s closer to overload than she wants anyone to know. “Of course it is.”
I reach past her and pull the door fully shut until the latch catches, then I enter the code Buck arranged for emergency access, and the chirping stops.
Elena sags, but only for a second. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“I know you’re probably on patrol. I’m sorry to add one more thing.”
I hand the tablet back and keep my tone easy. “You’re not adding anything. This is what I’m here for.”
It’s a good reason to hide the rest. I could tell her what I found, and that it looks like someone may have been out there tonight watching the front entrance while families came and went, but there’s a tightness around her eyes that tells me she’s one wrong word from breaking open.
I’ll keep the cigarette butts and tripod marks to myself for now.
Her gaze drifts over my shoulder, out to where snow has started to fall. “Did you find anything out there?”
I could lie. Instead, I give her the gentlest version I’ve got. “A few things worth noting,” I say. “Nothing immediate. No one on site now.”
She doesn’t miss the important part. “Worth noting,” she repeats. I nod once, and she gives a tired huff that’s not quite a laugh. “That sounds bad.”
“We’re taking everything seriously.”
She presses her lips together and looks out at the snow again. “I know.”
“Elena.” I should ask if she wants me to walk her to her car. I should keep this safe and clean. Instead, I say, “How are you holding up?”
Her laugh is quieter and sadder. “Do you want the principal answer or the honest one?”
“The honest one.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder if she’s looking for a gentle version of the truth, like I did. She moves closer to the wall and says, “I’m tired. I’m scared almost all the time, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”
Her fingers tighten around the keys. “T.J.’s at Mae’s now, and I should be able to relax, but every time he’s out of my sight, I think about what could happen. Every time my phone rings, I cringe. When I hear the sirens go off at the station, I worry about one of you going out on a call—”
She cuts herself off before finishing. When she speaks again, the energy in her voice is gone. “I already lost one person I loved. I don’t know how to do this if I lose another.”
I step closer to her before I think too hard about it. “You’re not going to.”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “You can’t promise that.”
“No, but I can promise I won’t stop trying.”
She presses a knuckle to the outer corner of one eye, and I have the impression that she won’t let herself cry. Not here.
The snow is starting to thicken, and I should suggest she head out to pick up T.J., but I don’t want her to leave.
“There’s something you should know,” I say.