| |
Riley groaned when Patty dumped a two-inch stack of printouts on her desk.
“Sorry. I attempted a first-level cull, but wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“Neither am I.” A tiny throb behind her eyes hinted of coming attractions. Time to pop another pain pill?
“Patty, would you please set up a meeting on commencement security with Pete and Alan for eight a.m.? Block out two hours.”
Given the Onward threat, Riley hoped this year’s celebrity parents would opt out. As a respected private school, BRU often attracted the children of high-ranking officials and well-heeled, sometimes controversial, public figures. Two of this year’s VIP dads had recently received death threats. One was a fertility specialist experimenting with cloning in a third-world clinic. The other was a CEO who bankrupted his company’s employee pension fund with a stock manipulation scheme.
Patty jotted a note on her steno pad. “Two calls rolled over to voice mail while I was visiting the ladies’ room. One from Dr. Valdes.” The admin sighed theatrically. “That man is one fine specimen. Though I usually prefer dark cocoa, he makes milk chocolate look yummy.”
Riley laughed. “Oh, yeah? Want me to share that verdict with your hubby?” Wed for thirty-five years, Patty and Charlie had five children and twelve grandkids.
“No, ma’am.” Patty giggled. “You don’t tattle to Charlie, and I won’t tell your mama on you—which reminds me you’d better call her.”
Riley played back her messages. John Hunter was first up, miffed that he’d had to hear about the biker attack and Onward via a newscast. “Thanks heavens the FBI has taken over. I’ll come over tonight, grill us some steaks. Make damn sure no one else tries to kill you.”
What made him imagine she’d scurry home once the FBI cavalry arrived? The assumption she needed his protection made her teeth ache.
Okay. Unclench. You’re in a bad mood. You’d be torqued if he offered to kiss your feet.
She smiled at the preposterous image. She’d tell John—diplomatically—she had other plans.
Wolf’s message started out as a mood lifter. Ellen was in good health and spirits. The reunion with her dad a success. Then he delivered the bombshell. “Ellen confessed she stabbed herself.”
Riley ground her teeth. I told Wolf not to question her. Damn! What if the kid decides she’s been wronged and waffles on her story down the road? There was a right way to handle these bombshells. Questioning the girl alone wasn’t it.
She vented with a few under-her-breath mutters before she called her mom.
“Good morning, Reid residence,” her mother answered.
Riley rolled her eyes. Her mother believed Southern ladies always kept the silver polished, the beds made, and answered the phone in a fashion that said good manners ruled this home.
“Hey, Mom.” Riley twirled the cord on her desk phone as she pictured her mother in her customary sweater set and pearls. “Sorry I couldn’t take you to the doctor’s. Did you cancel?”
“No, Riley Yates Reid, I did not cancel. John Hunter was kind enough to escort me. I didn’t call to talk about my day. I saw that TV report.”
Her mother’s emphysema offered a tiny respite in the form of a wheeze. But Riley knew the oxygen-refueling pause wouldn’t end her tirade.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were mauled last night? For heaven’s sake, am I the last to know your life’s threatened? I can’t believe you didn’t come home. That you spent the night alone.”
Riley knew how quickly her mom’s disposition would head south if she knew Wolf had slept on her couch.
“Mom, TV blows everything out of proportion. I’m fine—a few scrapes. No big deal.”
“Riley, I was married to a detective. He never brought his work home, but I understood the danger. I’m old, not senile. Your attacker was shot to death. It is a big deal.”
Okay. Time for a little conversational two-step.
“You’re right. I should have called. It was the middle of the night. No point waking you to fret about something that was over and done. Now, how did John end up taking you to the doctor? You didn’t call him, did you?”
“Of course not.” Pearl huffed in indignation. “John came by to visit his father. He took Lewis out for a bit of fresh air. I ran into them when I walked to the mailbox. We chatted and John volunteered.”
Riley pictured the encounter. Lewis Hunter dozing in his wheelchair. Miz Pearl spotting the father and son from her window and hustling out to make accidental contact with the man she wanted for a son-in-law.
John would have welcomed the interaction. The senior Mr. Hunter’s mind was as crippled as his body. He no longer knew his son. Yet John faithfully visited three times a week. His devotion touched Riley. The fact that Lewis’s condition was self-inflicted made John’s loyalty all the more gallant. John’s mother left his father after his dad lost the family fortune. His dad couldn’t cope. Put a gun to his head while sitting on the steps of the BRU building named for him. The attempted suicide failed.
The Yates and Hunter families had four generations of history. When Riley’s widowed mother returned to the Shelby area, she couldn’t resist playing matchmaker for her daughter with the very eligible John Hunter, a man who hadn’t let bad fortune ruin him.
Initially Riley enjoyed John’s attentions. He was smart. Successful. Respectable. A church deacon. Good looking, too. Fifty-two with chiseled features, brown puppy-dog eyes, and wavy silver hair. Unfortunately they held opposing views on almost every social issue.
Her mother’s voice brought her back. “John’s worried about you, honey. That TV report came on while we were in the doctor’s waiting room. He couldn’t believe you were injured and hadn’t phoned. He thinks you work too hard and have way too much stress.”
He’s spot on with that. Still she didn’t cotton to John gossiping with her mother. It felt as if the grownups were deciding how to handle a naughty ten-year-old.
“Listen, Mom, I have to run. Your checkup was okay? Need me to come by tonight?”
“No, sweetheart. You go straight home and rest. We’ll catch up later.”
No matter how trying her mother seemed to outsiders, Riley knew her love was genuine.
She returned to her teetering paperwork pile. Patty’s Google search had produced a passel of hits about campus threats and Onward. Like the Ku Klux Klan, this group operated in secret, loosely linked cells. For the fragmented organization to make coordinated threats against five colleges seemed totally out of whack. Could Onward have recruited students on the targeted campuses?
She phoned her friend Barb at the Southern Poverty Law Center for some unofficial intel. As she wrapped up that conversation, Patty appeared and used her finger to draw a line across her throat—a not-so-subtle signal to hang up. Riley rushed a thank you.
“What?”
“Dr. Sparks phoned. A student, Rosalind Perez, is in critical condition at the hospital. He’s already made travel arrangements for her parents. She’s from Puerto Rico.”
“A car crash?” Vehicle accidents were the number one cause of serious student trauma.
Patty shuddered. “A truck mowed the girl down. The sheriff’s investigating. It’s possible Onward’s involved.”
“What? My God! How?”
“That’s all I know. Dr. Sparks wants you to talk to the deputies and doctors and get the facts before the girl’s parents arrive—or Reverend Jimmy launches a new rant.”
“Okay.” She slipped her cell and car keys into her jacket pockets. “Call if there’s another emergency.”
As Riley reached the office entrance, Wolf barreled through the massive front door. He slammed into her. She buckled and slid halfway to the floor before he scooped her up. She felt his taut muscles, the rapid thud of his heart. A tangy scent of musk and lime confused her senses.
“We need to talk.” Wolf righted her. “It’s an emergency.”
Riley didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Get in line.