Like two teenage lovers who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time . . . an innocent schoolgirl who happened to enjoy taking walks in risky locations . . . an undercover agent in their midst.

Wolf straightened his shoulders and grasped the door handle. He had commitments to keep, people to see.

But later this afternoon, alone in his living room, he’d spend a quiet hour rethinking his strategy—which might have to include handing over the reins of his organization and disappearing before he’d quite reached his monetary goal.

He was close, though.

And cutting back a tad on the lifestyle he’d planned was a small price to pay if it saved him from a far more austere existence.

Like the kind he’d have in prison.

“Mr. Evans—do you have a minute?” Cate paused on the threshold of the guidance counselor’s office on Tuesday morning, tone tremulous, story ready.

If he was giving students marijuana, she was going to get herself on his list. Today.

And if he’d had anything to do with Stephanie’s disappearance, she would ferret that out too.

“Sure. Come on in.” He motioned to the chair across his desk.

She blinked to call attention to her teary eyes—courtesy of the drops she’d put in moments ago—pulled out a tissue, and swiped at her lashes as she sat. “Sorry. I didn’t have a great weekend.”

“You and your father clashed?” He circled the desk and dropped into the chair beside her, radiating empathy.

“Yeah. So what else is new? He is, like, totally out of touch with my life. I mean, he yelled at me for taking a walk in the woods, when he’s the one who said I should get more exercise. Like this is my fault?” She waved a hand over the staples in her head.

“Is it possible he was just upset about what happened? Sometimes people overreact if they’re stressed.”

Cate put on her best pout face. “I should have figured you’d side with him. All adults stick together.” She reached for her backpack. Playing the walk-out card was a risk—but she had to accelerate whatever timetable he was on.

Thank heaven he put out a hand to stop her.

“Wait. I’m on your side. Believe me. As a counselor, my primary concern is the students. Why don’t you tell me more about what happened this weekend?”

She hesitated, as if debating whether to continue, then released the strap of the backpack. “It wasn’t fun. And I was hurting. I finally took the pain pills, but they made me sick. I couldn’t even eat the room service food Dad ordered. And I had nightmares both nights.”

“About the attack?”