As she finished, he maintained the concerned demeanor that had been his stock in trade for decades in his day job.

But this was worse than a disaster.

Kayla remembered his end of the conversation with Razor almost word for word.

And how much had she shared about what she’d heard—and her suspicions—with the roommate who’d advised her to speak with him?

She peeked up at him, waiting for him to respond. It was clear from her expectant look that she was eager to have him explain away what she yearned to believe was an innocent exchange.

He wanted to accommodate her. Wanted to call up the smooth eloquence that usually came to him with no effort.

But fear was muddling his mind.

Get your brain in gear, Tyrone. Whatever you say next is critical.

Despite the panic simmering below his placid façade, he coerced the left side of his brain to engage.

“Now that you’ve refreshed my memory, I do recall that conversation, Kayla. Mostly because it was freezing out there.” He forced up the corners of his lips to lighten the atmosphere, then adopted a more sober demeanor as he began to spin his yarn. “I was talking with one of the clients from my drug rehab center. The man has potential, but he’s in trouble with the law, which upset me. I’d managed to get him a delivery job—in fact, he has a pickup here this week—so having issues with law enforcement isn’t ideal.”

Kayla was watching him. Searching his face. From all indications, she bought the story he was fabricating.

“What about Stephanie?”

The gears in his brain revved into warp speed.

“I’d mentioned to him once that a girl here had gone missing—and speculated she may have put herself in a bad situation. I reminded him of that to encourage him not to be foolish. To keep his nose clean.”

“And the inside guy?”

“I was reassuring him I’d keep my promise to talk to the security people here. He was concerned he’d be hassled by law enforcement during his delivery, and I wanted him to know that once he was on school grounds, he wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Not a bad off-the-cuff explanation—but there were definite holes if Kayla thought through his story.

She fiddled with the edge of her sweater. “I guess that explains it.”

But she didn’t seem entirely convinced.

And she wasn’t making eye contact.

Already she must be identifying the flaws in his account.

The dress shirt under his suit jacket began to stick to his back, and he flexed his shoulders to loosen the damp fabric.

He could plug the gaps if he had a minute to think. Kayla would be receptive to any further clarifications he offered.

But what if she wasn’t the only one wondering about his conversation on the terrace?