No matter how concerned Richard was about the victims, he had to be viewing the incidents from a recruitment perspective too. Repeated mayhem at the school wouldn’t help enrollment—and a large student body paid for all those high-end furnishings in the office area and the top-tier salaries of the staff.

“A run of bad luck. Nothing that reflects badly on Ivy Hill.” Other than Noah Evans’s indiscreet activities, if Cate’s text about getting together today meant the man had actually offered her marijuana.

“Worrisome, nonetheless. If you want to go home early, let me know. That won’t be a problem.”

“Thanks. But what I could use most at the moment is a hefty dose of caffeine.” He motioned toward his office.

“I won’t hold you up. I’m glad you weren’t hurt—and take it easy today.”

“Thanks. I will.”

As the president pivoted and hurried back toward the administrative suite, Zeke entered his office, dropped his briefcase on the desk, and set about brewing his coffee.

“Excuse me . . . Mr. Martinez?”

Zeke swung around.

Eduardo Garcia stood on the threshold of his office.

His pulse picked up. “Good morning, Eduardo.” After the man’s perceptive comment about his Spanish inflection, he stuck with English.

“I don’t mean to intrude . . . but I wondered if I could talk with you for a few minutes.” Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead.

Zeke went from yellow to red alert—though he maintained a casual air. “Sure. I have forty minutes until my first class. Come on in.”

The man complied—and closed the door behind him.

Another indication this wasn’t a casual visit.

Zeke pushed the button on the coffeemaker. “Would you like coffee? It will be ready in a few minutes.”

“No, thank you.”

He took one of the two chairs in front of his desk and motioned to the other one. “Please—make yourself comfortable.”

After a brief hesitation, the man sighed—and sat. “I have not been comfortable for many months.”

“Why is that?”

Eduardo linked his fingers and stared at his hands. “I know you are a federal agent.”

Crossing an ankle over his knee, Zeke kept his tone conversational. “Why do you think that?”

“Last night, I heard my brother-in-law speak with a man behind our house. He said he tried to . . . that he tried to kill a Fed. A man named Martinez.” Eduardo looked at him, his eyes leeching anguish—and fear. “That is when I knew I could no longer remain silent.”

Eduardo’s story fit with what the agents covering Miguel had observed.

Could this be their long-awaited break?

“Why are you coming to me now?”

“Because even though I am afraid, I cannot be a part of anything that hurts people.”

“Why are you afraid?”