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We finally pull up to the school. It’s all I can do not to gape in awe.
It’s one of those high-security, intricate wrought-iron gated institutions that looks like a cross between a manor and a luxury spa but decorated with rainbow handprints and crayons.
You know, the kind of school I used to drive past without a glance because there’s no way in hell I’d ever be able to afford the tuition.
We’re sitting in a long line of cars waiting to pass through the security checkpoint. Guards in police-looking uniforms with grim, serious expressions check their clipboards against IDs the parents hold out for them.
I blow out a sigh. At least this means Martin can’t just traipse in and grab Willow. Demyen would never put him in the paperwork as a contact, not even for emergencies.
My heart suddenly squeezes at the realization that Demyen himself is probably the emergency contact listed in the school’s records.
We’re only four cars behind now and Willow can’t stop wiggling in her seat. Demyen flashes her a grin. “Excited?”
“Did you see the playground?” She points over his shoulder to a fenced area between two of the buildings. “It’s huge!”
One car to go now. My stomach twists.
Breathe. It’s just like any other day.
Demyen pulls us up to the checkpoint and nods at the guard. “Morning.”
The guard peers at us through his aviator sunglasses, then looks at his clipboard. “Name?”
“Zakrevsky.”
I knew it. And now that my uterus knows it, there’s no stopping the sudden rush of heat through my body.Focus, woman. My God.
Again, the guard slowly stares at us, then the clipboard. Something crackles on his radio and he switches it to his earpiece. Then frowns. “I’m gonna need to see your license. Both of you.”
The heat is doused by an icy feeling. Something isn’t right. We didn’t see any of the vehicles in front of us show two cards or take this long to check a piece of paper.
Demyen acts unfazed, but I hear the slight downshift in his voice. “One second, lemme grab those for you.”
“And while you’re at it, go ahead and roll down the back window.”
I freeze. So does Demyen, who was mid-reach for the glovebox. He looks at me and I give him the same expression.
Something is definitely wrong.
He slowly eases back to his window and sighs. “Sure. Here…”
I watch him press the button for Willow’s window, but it doesn’t go down. He does it again, but still nothing.
And that’s when I realize—he’s pressing the “Up” button.On purpose.But there’s no way for the guard to clearly see that.
“Damn. Just bought this thing, too.” Demyen acts realaw-shucksfrustrated as he sighs. “Sorry, man. I’m gonna need to take this in and get that fixed.”
The guard grunts but nods. “Okay. Go ahead and pull over to that section with the dashed lines. Someone will meet you for orientation.”
“Thank you!” I try not to sound overly cheerful. My heart is throbbing in my throat.
Demyen rolls his window back up and grips the steering wheel. We’re still stuck in the line of cars dropping off kids and trying to find parking, so we inch our way toward the section the guard indicated.
“I don’t like this,” he mutters.
“Yeah.” I scan the crowd, looking for any clear signs of trouble. Like Martin waving his badge, or worse—my father wavinghisbadge.
Then sirens pierce the air.
