Chapter 54

Justice’s public relations office in the Mantua Academy’s administration building was a tiny room that should’ve held brooms and mops. It was an afterthought at the very end of the guidance counselor’s corridor. Right now, it felt two sizes too small. The room equivalent to had too much turkey and pie at Thanksgiving and now have to wear my stretchy pants.

Twenty-four hours after the attack, Justice’s office was a hive of activity. All this attention could go to a girl’s head.

Or straight to her trigger finger.

How had Momma ever thought that putting her in a situation where she had to be diplomatic and courteous to irate people was a good idea?

The phone kept ringing with furious and concerned parents—people used to ordering others about—and the administrative staff, including her siblings, came and went with their hair seemingly on fire.

And the media attention was out of control. She’d been answering phone calls and questions since five a.m. It was now almost six p.m. She’d felt less exposed during gynecological exams.

For forty years, the school had dictated how people saw it—an excellent but stuffy place to send your daughter. A place of diversity that gave scholarships to deserving children, a place that taught the brilliant Parish children, women who had become leaders and scholars and scientists and business people.

Now it had become the target of intense and blistering scrutiny.

Really not a good thing when a covert operation that housed the world’s most elite group of female vigilantes existed underfoot. Or had existed.

No one was going anywhere near the League until the authorities combing this place had left. For now, all necessary research would be done aboveground or at Gracie’s club. Momma and the academy’s principal had also decided to close the school early for the summer.

They’d analyze and increase security during the off-summer months.

Finals would be given online. They’d circled the wagons and battened the hatches. Necessary when the FBI was up their ass with questions and demands. They’d searched the entire grounds with a fine-tooth comb.

Justice shifted the list of numbers she had to call behind the list of online media journals to reach out to. Ugh, she sucked at this. Pretending to be a PR specialist, with her family under suspicion, the campus on lockdown, the possibility of another attack looming, a traitor among them, and there went the phone again.

She picked it up. “What?”

The person on the other end paused. “Tell me that’s not how you’re answering the phone.”

“This is my cell, Gracie. I can answer it any damn way I please. And just so you know, I am being extremely courteous to every idiot reporter who calls me.”

The landline on her desk rang. She glared at it, tucked her cell next to her ear, reached over, and unplugged the cord. What Gracie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “What do you want?”

“I want to know about this story in the paper. The one that suggests the school was attacked because of its support of the IPT. What the heck is that about?”

Justice thought of shutting the door, but spun her chair away from the office doorway instead. A split second later, she heard the secretary walk in with another pile of messages.

Justice waited. Gracie waited, understanding even though Justice had said nothing. She knew the drill. The swoosh of papers hitting the desk was followed by the swish of the woman exiting. She left behind a disgruntled scent trail of Tom Ford’s Velvet Orchid.

Justice waved away the perfume, lowered her voice. “You read the paper. What do you think it’s about?”

“I think we’re blaming our support of Sandesh and the IPT’s work in order to distract from the League and their operations.”

“We’re supporting the IPT. They are going up against some bad people. Those people might have struck the school in retaliation. And that is the FBI’s theory. Not mine.”

“Sure. But you jumped on it. You’re using Sandesh and the IPT. I thought you cared about this guy. Or was that a trick to convince him to join the League? Use him and his business to perpetuate our global interests while always having a scapegoat? Really, that’s low, even for Momma.”

Using? No. It had been Sandesh’s suggestion. He’d presented it, rather subtly, to the FBI. Sandesh had merely mentioned he had a history of confronting sex-slavers in Jordan. It was a good plan. If the FBI found any link to Walid, this would make the most sense. “Again, Gracie, the FBI thinks it might have something to do with Sandesh’s work in Jordan. Maybe militants.”

“Really. How interesting. Wonder when they’re going to claim credit.”

Whoa. Gracie was great at heavy sarcasm. And making a valid point. “I don’t have insight into the workings of terrorists.”

“Sure. Well, let me know if you decide to follow the message this bombing has conveyed.”

She sat forward, elbows on knees, head cocked to the right, phone clutched in a sweaty hand. “What message?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? This is Walid forcing us to keep our heads down. Stay in our school.”

Is that what had happened? It could be. Having the FBI and local law enforcement running around the school handicapped them. Limited access to intel and the specialized equipment belowground.

Gracie seemed to have drawn some interesting conclusions about Walid’s mind-set. “Why would he want to scare us into circling the horses?”

“I think this first attack is meant to clear out the school, so Walid can launch the real offensive. Reveal the League and take out those responsible for his brother’s death.”

Fuck. That made sense. The sound of an engine firing up and a car fasten-your-seat belt beep, beep, beep let Justice know Gracie had gotten into her car. “Hmm, good of you to provide Walid’s motivation and his future plans. Do you have a date and time you think he’d like me to go after him?”

“Nice, J. I’m not setting you up. Just because I lob a common-sense grenade, make some obvious connections, you practically accuse me of being the traitor—and, yeah, I figured that out too.”

“I’m not the one living at the club. I’m not the one who separated herself from the group. I’m not the one who mysteriously provided insights into Walid’s plan that are not obvious.”

I’m not the one who would love to see the League go down, so she could reconnect with her son. Maybe even rekindle an old romance.

Gracie let out a long breath. “You know, I think I like this new suspicious Justice. You can learn the lesson I learned long ago.”

“Which is?”

“Trust no one.”