As she stowed her phone in a side pocket, the edge of a piece of paper tucked in another compartment caught her eye.

She pulled it out, hoisted the backpack into position, and opened the folded sheet.

Library. 4:30. Bring Spanish textbook.

No signature—but the cryptic note didn’t require one.

Zeke had pulled an impressive sleight-of-hand trick to get this in her backpack without anyone noticing.

So much for the after-school hike she’d planned around the property.

She continued toward the cafeteria, appetite vanishing as the looming meeting with the man she’d once expected to marry sent a shaft of tension spiraling through her.

Whatever his story—personal or professional—it was imperative she remember why she was here and do nothing to threaten her cover. If she let Zeke’s presence distract her, she could make mistakes. Assuming there were links to foul play within these walls, a slip of any kind could put both her investigation—and herself—at risk.

Ivy Hill might be cushier than her last gig, but she couldn’t discount the possibility of danger.

Because the more time that passed, the less chance the two missing teens would surface unscathed. More likely, they’d come to a bad end.

And if someone was willing to kill two innocent young people for motives yet to be determined, that same someone wouldn’t hesitate to kill an undercover detective who got in the way—or got too close to the truth.

So no matter what Zeke had to say, she’d keep her emotions to herself and make it clear that as far as she was concerned, the teacher/student role play that had allowed them to infiltrate this institution was the only thing they had in common.

He could do his job, she would do hers—and they’d steer clear of each other as much as possible in the process.

End of story.

Wolf ducked into a doorway, pulled out his latest burner phone, and turned up the collar of his coat against the icy wind.

The day he could leave this kind of weather behind forever couldn’t come too soon.

And with his nest egg growing rapidly, he didn’t have long to wait. The minute he hit his target number he was heading for sun, sand, and surf.

Until then, however, he had a business to manage.

He tapped in Razor’s number, scanning the trash-littered alleys, empty storefronts, broken-out windows.

As neighborhoods went, this one ranked high on the most-dangerous list. No wonder the patrol officers were SWAT team members.

But no one would bother him. He was well known here, and even the few who might risk doing him harm if he was wandering around at night would leave him alone in the middle of the day.

Fear of retribution was a powerful safety net—and he had many allies.

“What’s crackin’, man?”