Making the Grade (The Model Spy #2)

Chapter 6 - Scars

I avoided glancing at Zach and Agent Rosewood for the good part of an hour and focused instead on the case files, going over pictures and eyewitness accounts and biographies. My mind was occupied for the most part. But as Max swept all the papers into a pile and the waiter took away our empty glasses, I couldn’t help but look across the room and notice that the booth previously occupied by Zach and Agent Rosewood was empty.

“When we were looking over the files, did you notice anything strange?” Max asked me as we made our way out of the club and onto the deserted street.

I glanced at my watch. Quarter after midnight. “Strange? You mean beside that fact that three students were found dead in an elite boarding school?” I added sarcastically.

“That’s just the thing, though,” Max said. “You say this boarding school is elite, yet the majority of students come from middle-class households. St. Margaret’s is lauded because it makes a top of the line education accessible to students who normally wouldn’t be able to afford attending such a school. Yet I noticed one similarity between two of three victims.” Max paused thoughtfully. “Two were the children of wealthy businessmen. Millionaires.”

“But the third?” I asked.

Max shook his head. “The last student to be found dead, Tommy, he wasn’t wealthy or famous. Like 97% of St. Margaret’s students, he was a normal boy from a middle-class family.”

“So let’s say this was murder,” I began slowly, “and wealth did have something to do with it, Tommy was targeted for a completely different reason-” I stopped midsentence as footsteps approached us from behind.  

“Hey!”

Max and I both turned around.

A man in a hooded sweatshirt came up to us, his face hidden in the shadows. Another man was suddenly visible below a nearby streetlamp. He too was dressed in dark clothing. He was watching silently. I found myself drawing closer to Max and eyeing the deserted street. I felt my spy instincts kicking in, my heart starting to pound, my feet ready to take off at any moment.

Max’s hand found its place on my back. He felt it too. When something was amiss, the atmosphere changed, the air became thicker, the silence deafening. “Can I help you?” he asked politely, yet I heard the wariness in his voice. I wondered how discreetly I could slip his stun-gun out of his pocket.

The man, sounding out of breath, stood in front of us. His chest rose and fell beneath the sweatshirt. Perhaps one or two feet separated him from us. I could now see the man’s face. He was very young and I felt like I had seen him before…

He wouldn’t answer Max’s question. Instead he silently stared at the two of us.

“Well,” Max said, guiding me along quickly, “good night.”

Suddenly the man’s arms were around Max’s neck as he grabbed ahold of him and threw him to the hard cement. Max kicked and pried at him, the two boys rolling around, struggling. The man sat on Max’s stomach and gave him a hard blow to the lower jaw.

I jumped into action, throwing my arms around the man’s back and pulling him away. “Let him go!” I cried. “Help!” I shouted, my pleas bouncing off of the buildings and into the night, going unanswered. I dug my nails into the man, trying as hard as I could to pry him away from Max.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me into the air. The other man, the one who had been beneath the streetlamp only seconds before, had ahold of me. “Max!” I screamed, though I knew perfectly well Max was in no position to help me.

“Run, Laura!” he shouted before being silenced once more by a rain of fists.

I struggled in the arms of my captor, flailing my limbs around, writhing until I was free. He dropped me to the sidewalk and I felt my legs scrape against the rugged cement. I frantically lifted myself up, feeling the burning on my skin and the warm, sticky blood make its way down my knees.