Chapter 5 Predator Meets Predator
On Thursday, after morning practice, I climbed the steps to the Behavioral Analysis lecture hall. The room was already humming, students filling the fold-down seats with coffee in one hand and phones in the other. A projector screen glowed at the front, the podium still empty.
I took a seat near the back, off to the side where I could see everything, and opened my notebook.
A handful of wolves came in together a minute later and settled halfway down the left side. They leaned in close, voices low. Not low enough.
Jackson Black was back.
Fourth day, right on schedule, exactly as Cassidy had said.
Apparently the summer had been good to him. Bigger, broader, something about his jawline. I had never seen him in person, but the way people talked you would think he was some returning hero instead of a senior who skipped the first three days every year.
Yesterday, the campus had buzzed about the murder. Today Jackson had reclaimed the spotlight. At least for the girls.
Professor Sterling walked in at the hour and set his bag beside the podium. Tall, unhurried, the kind of man who did not need to raise his voice to command a room.
“Behavioral Analysis,” he said. “Chapter four. Organized versus disorganized offenders.” He clicked to the first slide, a stripped-down crime scene diagram.
“By the end of today you should be able to look at a scene and tell me something meaningful about the person who created it. Not who they are. What they are.”
A voice from the middle of the hall cut in. “Professor, what about the Elmwood Drive case? Would that be organized or disorganized?”
The room sharpened. A roomful of half-present students became fully alert.
Sterling did not pause. “What do you think?”
“Disorganized? Because of how violent it was?”
“Common assumption. Frequently wrong. High levels of violence do not indicate disorganization. They indicate intent.” He moved to the next slide.
“An organized offender plans. They control the environment, manage evidence, and anticipate consequences. The emotional content of the act is separate from its execution. You can want something very badly and still be completely methodical about how you take it.”
I wrote that down.
“My roommate’s dad is a detective,” another girl said. “He told her there was almost no forensic evidence.”
Sterling lifted an eyebrow. “Then your roommate’s dad should be more careful about what he shares.” A faint ripple of amusement moved through the room. “But hypothetically, a lack of evidence supports organization. It suggests planning, control, and experience.”
He moved on.
I kept writing, taking notes on a lecture that described in clean academic language exactly what I had done Sunday night. The methodology. The control. The psychology of someone who could plan with that level of precision and walk away without a trace.
The wolves murmured among themselves, a low current of unease the smaller room could not swallow. Colt had been one of theirs. They knew the killer was still out there.
What they did not know was that the killer was sitting quietly in the back row, taking notes.
Sterling dismissed us a few minutes early. I slipped my notebook into my bag and followed the stream of students into the hallway.
Halfway down the corridor, the air shifted. Voices dipped. Heads turned.
The wolves reacted first. Naomi stopped mid-sentence and adjusted her posture, shoulders back, chin angled. The girls beside her snapped their attention forward.
Cassidy appeared at my side and bumped my arm. She followed everyone’s stare and let out a soft, impressed, “Oh. That’s him.”
Jackson Black.
He moved through the hallway with the kind of presence that did not need announcing. Tall, broad, heavy with muscle. People shifted out of his path without seeming to notice. The hallway felt smaller around him.
I watched him. Strong jaw, dark hair just long enough to tug. Well over six and a half feet. Bigger than I had pictured. My pulse kicked up before I gave it permission.
His gaze swept the hallway, casual at first, then sharper. When his eyes found mine, the world narrowed. The noise thinned. The crowd kept moving but I stopped registering it.
For one long moment, neither of us blinked.
Heat moved through me, low and unwelcome. A pull I could not name settled behind my ribs, steady and insistent. I had felt attraction before. This was different. Sharper. Heavier.
My cat went still, ears pricked, alert in a way that felt almost hungry.
That was new. And I did not like it.
Fear, resentment, and dangerous curiosity crashed through me all at once. Danger recognized danger. And this man was dangerous.
I inhaled slowly and forced my expression flat.
Naomi caught the moment immediately. Her face sharpened into something territorial and she stepped toward him, angling her body to cut off his line of sight like a shield.
The moment snapped.
I shifted my bag and turned toward my next class. Something made me look back. Our eyes collided again. I jerked my gaze forward, pulse stumbling.
I had not been ready for that. I had spent years learning to control every reaction. One look from him was enough to crack the control I had built.
I had known I would see him. The son of the man who had taken everything. I had not planned on the rest of it.
A few hours later, I walked into the cafeteria with a tray and claimed a quiet spot near the windows. I had barely set it down before Cassidy slid into the seat across from me, breathless.
“There you are.” She unpacked her lunch. “I swear, you walk fast on purpose.”
I did not bother pointing out she had followed me. She had decided we were friends. Annoying. Also kind of adorable. I was keeping her.
Cassidy stabbed a piece of fruit. “Okay. Tell me what you think.”
“About what?”
She gave me a look. “The murder, Harper. It’s literally all anyone is talking about.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s insane. Things like that don’t happen here.” She stabbed her salad. “Everyone’s freaked out. Colton was well known. Respected. And someone just…” She made a quick slicing motion. “In his own house.”
“Did you know him?”
“Not personally. But everyone knew who he was.” She paused. “Did you?”
“I just got here.”
“Right.” She chewed, thinking. “The thing that gets me is how clean it was. That wasn’t random. Whoever did it had a real reason.”
“People usually do.”
She pointed her fork at me. “Criminology answer. You sound like Sterling.” She tilted her head. “Think they’ll find who did it?”
I shrugged. “Who knows.”
She kept going, theories piling up. Halfway through her rant about the police chief, I felt him.
Cassidy followed my gaze and whistled low. “I would not mind climbing that tree.”
Jackson stood near the entrance, flanked by two broad guys. His eyes swept the room and locked on mine.
I forced my face blank, even as my pulse kicked hard. I could not afford to fawn over him. He was so far off-limits it was not funny. If he was anything like his father, we would have a problem.
Jackson looked away first. He grabbed a tray and headed for the wolves’ table. Naomi puffed up immediately, watching him like she had been waiting all day. He didn't seem to notice.
Cassidy resumed as if she had not just paused to drool. “Different subject. You have to come out tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“It’s a party. Everyone’s going.”
“I’m still not going.”
“You are.”
“Cassidy.”
“Harper.” She matched my tone. “You’ve been here almost a week and the only person you talk to is me. You need to exist in the world a little.”
“I exist plenty.”
“Track and the library don’t count.” She leaned forward. “One party. Two hours. You can stand next to me looking intimidating. You’re good at that.”
“No.”
She sighed theatrically. “Fine. This time. But I’m asking again next week.”
I picked up my tray and stood. “I know.”
Across the room Jackson was watching me again. A few seats down, Naomi’s glare could have cut glass. I headed for the door.
I spent the next two hours in the library working through Sterling’s reading before heading to the weight room.
It was half empty. I grabbed heavy dumbbells, plugged in my earphones, and settled into my sets. Squats, then Romanian deadlifts. The steady work usually quieted my mind.
Refusing to think about him lasted all of thirty seconds. So I added another set and focused hard on my form.
I was two sets from finishing when Naomi stepped directly into my line of sight and crossed her arms. I lowered the dumbbells and pulled one earphone out.
“Stay away from Jackson.”
Damnit. Now I was definitely thinking about him.
Straightening, I rolled my shoulders back. “From what exactly? His line of sight?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. If I wanted him, you’d know.” I said it lightly, almost bored, and slid the earphone back in.
She stood there vibrating with rage for a moment, then stormed off.
I finished my sets, showered, and walked home through the cooling evening air, determined once again not to think about him.
The house was quiet when I got home. I heard my roommates upstairs, voices low, doors opening and closing. I changed fast and slipped out the back door.