I considered waiting until later. I’d have more time to search if I started at the beginning of the next class. But I was pretty sure Grassi’s next period was open, and who knew if he ate lunch down here or not?
It was now or never.
I exerted inward pressure to force the door open, applying counterpressure with my other hand in hopes of masking the sound.
Millimeter by millimeter, the wood separated from the metal lock. Yielding under my hand.
The splintering crack as the wood finally gave wasn’t loud, but still I froze. Waiting to see if anyone heard.
When the hall remained quiet, I pushed the door open and hurried inside.
Scanning . . .
A quick visual survey revealed a desk with attached drawers. A desk chair behind and two upholstered chairs in front. An industrial file cabinet in the corner. And a fake potted plant on a rectangular stand.
The desktop computer sat in plain view. As good a place as any to start. Machine to machine, we’d talk.
As I powered it on, I heard the warm-up hum of the components and realized the computer was a good five years old. Images of the high-tech equipment in Grassi’s classroom flashed to mind, and I frowned. His dated desktop seemed out of character.
When the screen pulled up without password protection, I knew the search would be futile. But still I whipped through the few assorted files until I was absolutely sure.
Nothing of use on this relic. Time to move on.
As I rose from the chair and opened a desk drawer, a thought hit me. When I’d peeked into Grassi’s classroom, I’d caught a glimpse of his laptop bag. So his laptop wasn’t even here, I realized. Probably not his cell phone, either. My hope at finding evidence connecting him to Holland—or the testing on the grant kids—was shrinking by the second. Still, I had to see this through.
Then my auditory sensors picked up a sound.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Footsteps. Heading down the south stairs.
I whirled, my gaze catching on the splintered wood around the lock. One look at that, and anyone would guess forced entry.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The footsteps were now on the basement floor. Headed this way.
Human threat detected: 40 ft.
I slipped over to the door and eased it against the wall in hopes that a casual passerby might not notice the damage.
Human threat: 20 ft.
I slipped to the far side of the desk and crouched down. Urging the person to keep on walking.
10 ft.
5 ft.
The footsteps stopped just outside the doorway. I prepared to subdue the intruder and move on.
But the person didn’t step over the threshold. Instead, I heard a rustling sound, and Hunter was in the doorway, his anxious expression fading when he spotted me. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he hurried inside.
“Samuel sent me to help you search,” he whispered. “He’s keeping lookout for Grassi upstairs. . . .” He stopped when he spotted the mangled door.
I knew just what he was thinking.
“I destroyed property, okay? That doesn’t mean I’m dangerous, Hunter. It means I’m scared, and in a rush. Using my abilities the best way I can.” It was so frustrating to see myself through his eyes. Even after everything that had happened, he thought I was unpredictable and deadly, when I was actually in the middle of a rescue operation. When would this ever stop?
“Could you take a look inside the file cabinet?” I asked him coldly. At least he could give me a hand here. So far, this search was a waste.
I scooted to the side so that Hunter could slip past me, but my taut nerves crackled when he placed a hand on my arm.
“Hey,” he said, prompting me to look up.
“I saw those kids last night,” he said softly. “I saw them acting normal, in classes, and I saw them again in that room. . . . I just . . .”
He released me and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If they can stick chips in regular kids, make them see things that aren’t there and do things they wouldn’t normally do . . . I was too quick to blame you for what happened at Quinn’s. To Peyton.”
I wasted a couple of seconds staring at him, then I gave him a quick nod. At one time, those words would have meant everything to me, back when I needed his acceptance to make me feel good. Now, they were just words.
Redemption didn’t always lie in the forgiveness and approval of