A few seconds later, the phone on the desk buzzed and he rolled forward to answer it, his mind still wrestling with this new development. “Security.”

“Mr. Fischer?”

“Yes.”

“This is Richard Sheppard, Cate Sheppard’s father. I want to authorize an off-campus excursion for her this evening with a friend. Let me give you her date of birth and our security password.” He recited them.

Will searched the database.

They both matched.

“I have it noted, Mr. Sheppard.”

“Thanks for your help.”

As they said their goodbyes, a cab rolled through the gate at the entrance to the property.

His pulse picked up as he watched the feed from the security camera.

What should he do?

Zeke Sloan had said to follow all the instructions his contact gave him—but neither of them had anticipated this particular instruction.

Better call him.

Cell in hand, he fished out the man’s number and crossed to the window that offered an expansive view of the grounds and the circle drive.

The cab stopped in front of the dorm entrance, and Kayla emerged.

So did Cate Sheppard.

They were together.

Both girls were leaving campus for parts unknown?

His panic flared again, and he punched in Sloan’s number.

If he stopped them, and their departure was somehow related to the DEA investigation, the whole takedown operation could be blown. The perpetrators could escape.

Sloan wouldn’t want that.

The two girls got into the cab, and the vehicle rolled forward again.

Why wasn’t Sloan answering?

The cab picked up speed as it passed the entrance to the main building, and Will squinted at the license plate. His vision wasn’t as keen as it used to be, but he was able to decipher two of the numbers before the vehicle moved out of range.

Sloan’s phone rolled to voicemail.

Of all times for the man to be incommunicado.

He left a message, along with the numbers he’d been able to make out on the license plate.

As the cab disappeared around a bend toward the entrance gate, he returned to his desk.

Hopefully the two girls inside weren’t destined to vanish—as Stephanie and her boyfriend had.

But if that happened, the blame wouldn’t rest with him this go-round. He’d followed the instructions of law enforcement to the letter.

This guilt trip would belong to Zeke Sloan.

Zeke toweled his hair dry after a fast shower, threw on his clothes, and headed for the kitchen to scarf down a frozen dinner. As long as he’d had to swing by the condo to change out of his Ivy Hill teacher garb, why not take advantage of the opportunity to clean up and chow down? Who knew when he’d have a few minutes to do either again?

He pulled the nuked dinner out of the microwave, peeled back the clear film, and dug a fork out of the drawer.