Chapter Sixteen Covert Mission #2
Reuban huffed, threw down his bag, then changed out of his Jordans into scruffy school shoes. He tried to stuff the oversized trainers into his school bag, but they hung out as he slipped past Jude.
“If Mrs Turner catches you with them on, you could have them confiscated.”
Reuban snorted something inaudible, then jogged over the road.
Straight to a figure half-hidden under the dripping canopy of plane trees.
Older bloke. Not old enough to be a parent.
Possibly an older brother, though Jude was pretty sure Reuban was an only child.
The grin splitting Reuban’s face as he got closer said enough.
Shoes switched back, quick as a card trick.
Hands clasped in greeting. Something passed palm-to-palm, gone in a pocket before Jude could even register it.
“Jesus,” Jude muttered under his breath.
Off school grounds. Out of his jurisdiction.
And he hated it. How they always went for the same kids.
The ones who wanted the nice stuff. The ones who’d never be given it.
Jude glanced over to Warren. He had his phone out.
Camera up. Angling it right to Reuban and the bloke under the tree. Subtle, but Jude saw it.
Then Warren lowered the phone and called out, “Reuban!”
But movement further down the road caught Jude’s attention before he could figure out what the hell Warren was doing and when he turned, his stomach dropped.
Callum.
Standing right across from him. But Callum wasn’t looking at him.
He had eyes set on Warren. And he did that laugh.
That private laugh Jude knew so well. And Warren was watching right back at him.
As if they were both in on the same joke.
Not that Warren was laughing. Especially not when Callum lifted two fingers to his eyes, then aimed them squarely at Warren.
Jude’s pulse slammed once, hard. Instinct screamed for him to move. Run.
But tiny, bright-eyed Bethany from Year Seven, who absorbed every topic like a sponge, was suddenly in front of him, hugging a history textbook to her chest.
“You know what you said about the Egyptians, sir?”
Jude had to drag himself back to the class he’d just taught. “Which bit?”
“That they took stuff with them to the afterlife?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Did they believe it worked? Like… they’d actually think their cat would be waiting for them?”
Jude forced himself to focus on her, even as his peripheral vision locked onto Callum across the road, standing there like lead weight, gaze pinning Jude in place.
“They didn’t just believe it, Bethany—” Jude watched Callum clutch his heart as if wounded then turned away, “—they built their whole lives around it. Everything they made, they made to last forever.”
“That’s interesting, sir.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“What would you bury with you?”
He adjusted his glasses. The first answer that came to mind was a knife, so he could fight Callum in the afterlife too, but he couldn’t say that to a twelve-year-old. “My books,” he said instead. “So I’d have something to read while I’m there.”
“What’s your favourite book, sir?”
He hesitated. Too many answers crowded in, most of them too telling. Then, “The Count of Monte Cristo.”
“What’s it about?”
“A man who escapes his past…” He glanced at Callum again. “And makes sure it never catches him again.”
Bethany smiled. “Sounds good.” Then she skipped off into the stream of students.
And Callum stepped off the kerb.
Jude ushered the last of the stragglers through in haste, then stepped back inside the school boundary. He swung the gate shut, letting the electronic lock slide home before Callum could reach him.
“Putting me behind bars again, eh?” Callum stopped close enough for Jude to smell his aftershave. “Where’ve you been, lamb?”
“I’m at work,” Jude said, keeping his tone even.
“I know.” Callum swept his gaze down him then back up. “Look cute. But that’s not what I asked. Where did you go?”
Footsteps sounded and Warren appeared the other side of the gate next to Callum.
“Everything okay, Mr Ellison?” Warren’s voice was calm, but there was a thread underneath it. “There a problem here?”
Callum laughed. “It’s a public footpath. I can be here.”
“Not beyond that gate.” Warren nodded to the metal barrier between Jude and them.
“I’m not beyond the gate.” Callum tilted his head. “And who the fuck are you? Path police?”
“School safeguarding lead for this post,” Warren replied without missing a beat. “My job’s to make sure staff aren’t harassed on school grounds. If you want to meet with Mr Ellison, you can arrange it through the front office like everyone else.”
Callum cocked his head, roving his gaze the length of Warren, and Warren folded his arms, a pose saying, try me.
For a beat, nobody moved.
Then Callum smirked, as if he’d decided this wasn’t his moment. “See you soon, lamb.” He lingered his gaze on Jude long enough to press the point before stepping back and sauntering away.
Warren watched him go, then turned to Jude through the bars. “You alright?”
Jude forced a nod, though his grip on the gate stayed tight enough to ache.
“Yeah.” He shook himself loose, made himself step back.
“Irate parent or whatever.” He even tried for a laugh, the sound brittle.
“Better get to the Humanities meeting.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder and somehow got his jelly legs moving, walking the path towards the main building.
There was no Humanities meeting.
Instead, he shut himself in his classroom.
Marking. Lesson planning. Rewriting schemes of work that didn’t need rewriting, anything to keep from replaying the way Callum had stood there, one locked gate between them.
The way it felt as though that gate had been nothing at all.
And two hours passed before he gave up pretending to work.
He fished out his phone, stared at it for a long time, chewing over the fact that this was even on his mind.
Then he swallowed his pride and hit call.
Freddie answered on the fourth ring, just as Jude was about to hang up. “Hey.” He sounded out of breath. As if he was at the gym. Jude remembered when they’d had those brief calls. When it had been flirty. And Jude had tried to be someone else.
“Hi, Freddie. It’s Jude.”
“Yeah, I know.” A pause. As if the treadmill had stopped. “You okay?”
Jude leaned back in his chair, tipped his head to stare at the ceiling. “Can I ask you a completely hypothetical question? About the law. Policing.”
“Go on.”
“If a convicted felon is released early from their sentence, what limitations are there on that person?”
“All depends on the conviction, the conditions of their licence, and whether they’re on any kind of probation supervision.”
“And if they’re not on probation?”
“Then they’ve served their time. Legally speaking, they’re a free man.”
“What if… hypothetically… they turn up at someone’s home? Start hanging around?”
“Only a crime if they’re trespassing, making threats, or harassing. And even then, you’d need evidence.”
“So… showing up at a workplace?”
Freddie hesitated. “Public place, no restraining order in place? Not much we can do except ask them to leave. If they refuse, you can make a report. But unless there’s proof of a specific offence—threats, violence, breaking in—our hands are tied.”
Jude fluttered his eyes closed. “Right. Thanks. Hypothetically, of course.”
“Jude…” Freddie’s tone carried a warning. “If this isn’t hypothetical…”
“It’s a student. Safeguarding means I can’t say anything. You understand.”
A pause. Then, “You know where I am.”
“Yeah.” Jude pulled the phone away from his ear. “Thanks, Freddie. Appreciate it.”
He ended the call before Freddie could push. And he sat there a moment longer, staring at the desk. He’d already known it, but hearing it confirmed by police, that just made it all the worse.
Even if he did call it in, nothing would stick.
Because Callum knew exactly how far he could go without crossing a line.
And how much he had hanging over Jude for him not to be able to do that.