He had to escape from the corner he’d painted himself into before anyone else got hurt.

But how? The guy who was calling the shots had all the power.

Maybe there was a strategy he hadn’t thought of, though. Another brain working his predicament could be helpful. And men of the cloth had the equivalent of attorney/client privilege. Reverend Wilson wouldn’t call the cops on him.

Nevertheless . . . telling someone the whole story, admitting his faults and weaknesses and just how deep he was involved in an illicit activity, required courage. More than he’d been able to muster during his futile attempt to solicit a loan from a few friends without revealing the source of his money crisis.

He was still wrestling with his dilemma as he trudged to his car an hour later, at the end of the workday.

Carrying this burden alone was hard, and finding a way out elusive. Suz had always been his sounding board for any dilemmas he faced, but talking to her about this was out of the question. If she learned of the mess he’d gotten himself into, the six-month separation would become permanent and he’d be—

“Will! Hold on. I’ll walk out with you.”

As Reverend Wilson hailed him, Will paused in his trek toward the parking lot and turned back toward the main building.

The minister waved, offered his usual sunny smile, and picked up his pace until he drew close. “I stopped by the front desk to say hello when I arrived, but you weren’t there.”

“We’ve added foot patrols, day and night. I was tramping through the property.”

The minister’s demeanor grew more serious as he fell in beside him. “Yes, Richard told me about that and filled me in on yesterday’s attack. Increased security measures are wise in this crazy world we live in, but it’s a sad state of affairs.” He shook his head. “Even Ivy Hill isn’t immune from violence, despite its bucolic setting.”

“Nowhere is safe anymore.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” The minister laid a hand on his shoulder. “How goes it with your wife?”

The separation was the one personal piece of information he’d shared with the man, although he’d offered no details about what had prompted it to him or anyone else on campus.

“The six months we agreed to are almost up.”

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

Yeah. Their finances were in order now. The debts were paid off, and once she let him come home he’d stick to his promise and keep them out of debt—even if he’d taken a few detours to the dark side recently.

But she wouldn’t stay long if she got wind of his latest quandary.

“I hope so.”