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  Suzanna tensed, feeling as if she was about to receive a blow.

  “Specifically, my team collects information on schools across the country and zeros in on those which have characteristics that could lead to an eruption of planned violence.”

  “Has my school been identified as one?” The thought made her stomach roil, and she clasped her hands together across her middle.

  “Yes.”

  Brenda let out a low whistle.

  Luke looked over at Suzanna and smiled sympathetically.

  Suzanna shook her head. “I know we have fights, and racial conflicts sometimes, but all schools do.” She thought a minute. “And of course kids have been affected by other school shootings around the country.”

  “We don’t concern ourselves with ordinary juvenile aggression. You’re right; your school is no different from any other institution of a similar size with similar demographics. And the kids were traumatized by mass shootings elsewhere. But other things have brought us to Fairholm.”

  “What?”

  “Several risk factors.”

  “What are they?” Brenda asked impatiently. Suzanna remembered that tone from college when she strung out a story or explanation.

  Joe addressed Suzanna. “We told you some of the truth at our first meeting. The suicide of Zach Riley last month started the whole thing. Do you remember the note he left?”

  “Yes.” How could she forget? The poignant, often funny missive had made her cry at night for weeks. “It had messages for some of the faculty and students.”

  “There was a threat against you mentioned in it.”

  “Oh, that. Lots of the kids would like to see me...what did it say, go down.”

  Moving to Ross’s desk, Joe drew a paper out of a briefcase he’d set there. He put on glasses from his pocket. “Specifically, it reads, ‘Mrs. Quinn, some people in this school want to see you go down and they say they’re going to make it happen. Watch out.’”

  She cocked her head.

  “The note warns you of a threat made against your life.”

  “Really? I thought it...” She glanced at her boss. “We talked about this, didn’t we, Ross? That maybe there was a sexual innuendo in the message.”

  Steepling his hands, the superintendent nodded to Stonehouse. “They don’t see it that way.”

  “How did they get the note, anyway?” Brenda asked.

  Stonehouse assumed control of the meeting, like a commander taking charge of a mission. “A while ago, our School Threat Assessment Team, which we call STAT, contacted superintendents across the country, explaining some of the risk factors that might indicate a threshold of concern.”

  At Suzanna’s questioning look, he explained, “A threshold of concern is evidence that an individual or group of individuals might be on a path to violent action.”

  Still stunned, Suzanna stared blankly at him.

  “Initially, we advised administrators to be cognizant of several factors. When we got in full swing, we asked the school districts to fill out forms, and notify us with updates, so we could keep a data bank on what was happening in each institution.” His faced turned even more sober. “We’ve come up with a list of red flags for all schools to watch for.”

  Suzanna frowned. “I’ve seen this kind of list in publications on school violence. The indicators were things like students who are picked on or bullied; students who feel isolated; students who’ve shown an unusual interest in violent TV and video games.”

  Ever the reporter, Brenda straightened. “Profiling isn’t reliable. The report on assassinations wasn’t beneficial because there wasn’t any one profile common to potential assassins.”

  Stonehouse began to pace. “You’re right. STAT isn’t based on profiling, or predicting, behavior in kids. Instead, it focuses on precluding violence, preventing it. We computer-analyze high schools that send us information.” He shot a glance at Ross. “Several indicators sent to us by Dr. Maloney brought us to your school. Two recently. They were what caused our...urgency.”

  The knowledge that all this activity had been going on behind her back, that Ross had put two agents in her school without telling her, angered Suzanna, but she struggled not to overreact. After Zach’s suicide, they couldn’t afford any more catastrophes. “All right, tell me the rest. But let me say that this whole undercover thing doesn’t sit right with me, and being kept in the dark about it is completely unacceptable.”

  A spark of admiration lit Stonehouse’s eyes. “Well, maybe I can change how you feel. First, as we said earlier, Riley’s note to you indicates a student or group of students has threatened you. Not overtly. But threats from violent offenders are rarely made directly. Shooters usually just tell other kids.”

  “You think someone told Zach?”

  “Yes. Or he overheard a student brag about it.”

  She frowned, truly pained by this revelation. “I wish he’d come to me. I had a good relationship with him.”

  “Kids don’t tell the target. They don’t tell adults at all.” Joe glanced meaningfully at Luke. “But they do tell other kids.”

  “Ah, so we have the cute Agent Ludzecky in place to win their confidences,” Brenda put in.

  Luke smiled and Stonehouse frowned.

  Suzanna was confused. “Are you sure about all this? My professional experience indicates that kids would tell their teachers, at least the ones they’re close to.”

  “That’s an erroneous assumption. I’ll give you a case in point. Evan Ramsey, a shooter in Alaska who killed his principal and a student, and wounded two others, told some of his classmates about his plans. The kids gathered on the library balcony to watch. When those who knew were asked why they didn’t tell an adult, they said it seemed like a betrayal. It didn’t seem right.”

  Horrified at the anecdote, Suzanna was silent.

  Her reaction seemed to unnerve him. “Look, Suzanna, our plan is based on research. The team collected information about past school shootings and the shooters themselves. Our study involved forty-one attackers who were current or recent students at the school targeted. We reviewed primary sources from law enforcement officials, mental health people, and school personnel. Each incident and each shooter were then reviewed by investigators from the Secret Service, social workers, independent psychologists, and educational experts. We compiled a file for each case. In addition, we conducted supplemental interviews with ten of the attackers to get their perspective on their decisions to engage in a school-based attack. Our findings are supported by that research.”

  Suzanna had had no idea of the report’s scope. “I’m impressed.”

  “As I said, your school has enough indicators to bring us here.” He returned to Ross’s desk and drew another paper out of his briefcase.

  “What are they?”

  “As I said, number one is that Zach’s note indicates a threat made against you.”

  All right, she’d concede that if the Secret Service said so.

  “You have the typical problems with teenage depressions and loss, but we came for other reasons. Though I expect to help there, too.” He scowled. “And with bullying. Some of the most recent eruptions of violence in schools have been due to bullying. And it’s a little-known fact that twelve students per year commit suicide because they’re bullied.”

  “But can’t we do that aboveboard—bring in regular counselors to help? Do we need the Secret Service to deal with these kids?”

  “You wouldn’t, if that’s all we found. But Riley’s note indicates a threat.” He held up the paper. “And then we found this.”

  Her heart began a slow gallop in her chest. “What is it?”

  He said quietly, “It’s a hit list. Or at least part of one.”

  Stunned, Suzanna gripped the arms of the chair. “There’s a hit list for my school?”

  “Goddamn!” Brenda breathed.

  Ross nodded. “It was turned over to us before we brought in the Secret Service. It’s the reason we acted qui
ckly. The owner of Pickles” —the local kids’ hangout— “discovered the paper. It appears to target the high school.”

  Briefly, Suzanna buried her head in her hands. Oh, my God. She allowed herself to feel bad for only a few moments, then she gathered every ounce of strength she had and faced Stonehouse. “Appears to?”

  Joe crossed to her and handed her the note. Brenda sidled in, and they read carefully. It was a photocopy of a ragged piece of paper. At the top was the word Kill. Underneath were uinn, ranzi, ingham, as well as several other partial names.

  “Are you sure this is a hit list?”

  “Our experts in Washington analyzed it. We were sure enough to move in.”

  Only an idiot would ignore something like this. Collecting herself, Suzanna sat up straighter. “All right, I can see why we’d be singled out by your task force.” She breathed deeply. “We need help. But do you have the right to just bulldoze your way into my building and do it with all this cloak-and-dagger?”

  Stonehouse bristled. “The government of the United States has the right to plan and execute covert operations for the safety of its population. Members of our team always go into the schools undercover and alert as few people as possible.” He added pointedly, “Besides, your top administration approved our plan.”

  She frowned. “Always? You’ve done this before?”

  “Yes, in pairs, at five other schools, so far. All I can tell you is we’ve been successful in stopping the violence and that our operations were well-planned and well-executed maneuvers.”

  “You’ve been busy little beavers,” Brenda said.

  Suzanna ignored her. “I always thought kids just snapped when they committed violence like this. Is it always so planned?”

  “They don’t just snap,” Joe said, passion infusing his voice. “That’s a dangerous misconception. Shooters calculate everything. They pick their targets.” He paused, then went on just as heatedly. “Suzanna, if we’re in there with you, if we see the kids are on a route to violence, we can roadblock any actions they might take and get them help. Hopefully, before anybody is hurt.”

  Suzanna’s insides grew cold. A hit list, even scraps of one, was heavy stuff. Yet subversive activity in her building was anathema to her. “I hate this kind of thing,” she said, the conflict stirring inside her. “But I can see that we need help.” Her eyes narrowed on the superintendent. “Not that I agree it’s ethically right. And, for God’s sake, Ross, this is my building. If I’m in danger, if kids are in danger, I should have known about it.”

  Joe and Ross exchanged another look. Ross said, “Because of your philosophy of openness with the staff, of total honesty with the kids, we thought you might balk. And after the hit list, the agents had to get in here fast. We were afraid you’d delay it.”

  That didn’t convince her. Stonehouse watched her, then said, almost gently, “The Secret Service also knows about your background, Suzanna. About your father.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? I’ve never told anyone about that.”

  “What’s he talking about, Suzanna?” Ross asked.

  She could feel the color leech from her face. She simply stared at Stonehouse. He stared back.

  “Suzanna, are you all right?” Brenda gripped her arm.

  Finally, she nodded, thinking about her strict but hardworking father who’d been a victim of the government’s watchdog mentality. “I’m fine.” Shakily, she stood and moved behind the chair. “I don’t want to discuss this.”

  Stonehouse said nothing.

  Luke spoke. “I’m sorry, Suzanna. I know this is a horrible invasion of privacy.”

  She ignored him, kept her back to all of them for a moment.

  “Why hasn’t the media covered your work after you leave each school?” Brenda, bless her heart, changed the subject.

  Stonehouse was silent a while longer. Then he answered Brenda. “Because it’s completely covert and must remain that way. To keep this hushed up, after we leave a town where we went undercover, we have no contact whatsoever with the people in the school.” His voice became steely. “As I said earlier, secrecy is a requirement, Ms. Way. The whole situation cannot leak out. It cannot be revealed, or our operation will be shut down.”

  “Are you trying to quell freedom of the press, Stonehouse?”

  “No, I’m telling you that you will not reveal this information to anyone unless you want to be responsible for endangering hundreds of students in Fairholm High School.”

  Brenda said, “Pretty heavy artillery.”

  “I’ve got bigger guns.” He said the words almost apologetically. “Josh Quinn is a student in that school. Often it’s the popular kids and teachers who are the targets. Especially ones involved in things like Student Court, ones who make unpopular decisions.”

  Suzanna spun around. “Oh, my God!”

  “We can’t protect kids like Josh, or teachers like Kelsey Cunningham, unless we can get into their schools. If our operation becomes public, we’re shut down.” Joe cleared his throat. “It’s vital that this be completely secret. Only selected personnel from each school know about the undercover work. So Suzanna, no one else, including your assistant principals and your teachers, can be let in on this.” He faced Brenda. “And you, Ms. Way, may not write about it.”

  Again, Suzanna was stunned into silence.

  He raised his chin. “As far as everyone’s concerned, I’m the district’s new crisis counselor, employed by Fairholm Central Schools, housed at the secondary building.” He glanced at Luke. “And this is my incorrigible nephew.”

  “You’re here to nail the kids,” Brenda said.

  “I am a trained psychologist. The degrees are real. I like to think I can do some good for the kids and students, as well as preclude the violence.”

  Ross put in quickly, “And he’s a law enforcement official. Besides being here to ferret out information from parents and kids, Suzanna, he can protect you. Your life has been threatened. You need somebody to stay close.”

  Her gaze whipped to Stonehouse. “You’re going to play Big Brother with my kids and teachers, and be my watchdog?”

  He didn’t take the Orwellian reference well. His jaw hardened. “We’d hoped you’d go along willingly. This is important.”

  She stood, straightened her suit jacket, and faced the superintendent. “Ross, I disapprove of this spying on my staff and students. But” —she held up the papers— “I can see that we need help. Even from the government. I’ll cooperate with what you want to do, but I’ll also go on record that I think this is a violation of personal rights and the First Amendment. And it’s against everything I’ve preached to my kids and staff about openness and honesty and democracy for five years.” She glanced at Joe, remembering his words. It’s the popular kids, and teachers... She thought of her son, and of Kelsey Cunningham. “I just wish there were some other way to do it as effectively as undercover work.”

  Joe said, “There’s no other way, Suzanna. You’re going to have to let go of your principles to protect your kids, your staff.” He waited a moment, then added, “And your son.”

  Chapter Six

  Shivering, Brenda drew her cashmere sweater close around her shoulders, blew smoke from her cigarette into Suzanna’s backyard and counted her blessings. Could anything be more fitting than this? It was as if some journalistic deity had bestowed a second chance on the prodigal son, Or, in this case, the prodigal daughter.

  “Brend, come back in. I need to talk about this.” Sounding like she used to when she’d nag Brenda to come off the roof at college, where Brenda snuck cigarettes, Suzanna stood in the doorway of the kitchen and beckoned her inside. The woman still looked exquisitely groomed and attired at ten o’clock at night. Sometimes, it was hard to be best friends with Ms. Perfect.

  “Hold your horses, I got an addiction.”

  “One you’ve conquered many times.”

  Taking a last drag and stubbing the cigarette out in Suzanna’s geranium box, she headed ba
ck into the Quinn domain.

  “I made minestrone for dinner earlier.” Suzanna leaned against the granite counter. Up close, her friend’s face revealed mauve smudges beneath her eyes. Brenda regretted her earlier unkind thought about being perfect. If anyone knew how Suzanna took things to heart, it was Brenda. “Want some?”

  “No. I need some coffee. High-test, if you have it.” Sitting down at the butcher block table, Brenda drew in a deep breath. A potpourri of homey smells—coffee, Italian spices, and bread dough—filled the air. “Fine kettle of fish, isn’t it?”

  Suzanna shook her head, dislodging the knot that she usually wore at the back of her neck. Frustrated, she pulled out the tie, and let her hair fall to her shoulders. “I can’t believe it.”

  Brenda reached up and fingered her own short, auburn locks. Suzanna had shampoo commercial hair. It was thick and heavy, but the color was what snagged the eye. The unusual shade reminded Brenda of the wheat fields where she grew up in Idaho—a steely blond that sparkled in the track lighting over the counter.

  Suzanna sighed as she poured coffee. “It sounds like a B movie, doesn’t it?”

  Which Brenda could turn into a number-one bestseller, given enough information and the balls to go public. She just nodded to her friend.

  Suzanna carried the mugs of coffee to the table and sank onto the chair. “Not only am I furious, but I’m scared, Brend. My school, in danger?” Her brown eyes widened, and the moisture glistening in them turned them liquid with whiskey brightness. “And a hit list? It’s incredible.”

  Loving the woman like a sister, even though she did play Pollyanna too often, Brenda reached out and grasped Suzanna’s hand. “Hey, Suz, you know all schools are in danger these days, given what’s happened at places like Columbine and Sandy Hook.” She cocked her head. “I’ve seen this thing about hit lists, too, in the media. Kids do it as a prank. Or to let off steam. Even when they’re serious, the lists aren’t necessarily acted on.”