He needed to check the new security footage at the school, but he was already certain of what he would find: Franklin, breaking into Olive’s classroom, and likely not alone. This would have been a test, Levon thought. The Reapers wanted Franklin to prove his loyalty by betraying Olive—and, if the boy had any of the affection for Olive that Levon thought he did, Franklin had likely agreed in an effort to scare Olive into ending all interference with the gang—interference that could get her hurt, or worse.
But Levon was getting ahead of himself. He was giving the boy a noble motive, when the reality was that his opinion of Franklin had been colored all along by Olive’s high regard for the boy. Levon needed to focus now, and treat this as he would any other crime scene.
And any other threat.
Levon pocketed the note and rose. Coupled with the footage Clint had sent him earlier, it should be enough for the cops to issue a warrant for Franklin Monroe. He replaced Olive’s assignments where he had found them. Then he placed a call on his way out the door.
“Principal James?” he said as he got back into his car. “It’s Levon. I’m calling about Olive. I need you to meet me at the Harper’s Forge police station so I can fill you in on an event that transpired earlier today... yes, everyone’s safe.” His throat constricted, as if he still couldn’t wrap his own head around the fact that danger had passed over them all for now and left them almost entirely unharmed. For now. “But I want things to stay that way. And that means letting you know that, for the foreseeable future, it’s unsafe for Olive Owen to return to school.”
* * *
Olive slept fitfully. She hadn’t even expected that much. But when she awoke, the bedroom was dark, and she was disoriented. It took her twice the usual amount of time to remember where she was.
And whose bed she was in.
Recognition would have been easier if she could locate the man who kept her captive, body and soul, while boasting of only the best intentions.
Levon was nowhere to be found when she collected herself and left the bedroom. As Olive sat in the living room and gazed around the darkened apartment, an unfamiliar sense of loneliness resonated deep within her. It made her vastly uncomfortable; too uncomfortable to sit still, despite a pregnant woman’s inherent inclination to be off her feet. Olive rose again and turned on every light in the main room, the kitchen. Then she sat back down.
Her mood had not improved. She longed for Levon. Why, oh why had she shut herself away in the bedroom so quickly? She had been tired, sure, but mostly it had been frustration that drove her from his arms: frustration at being unable to come up with a clever solution to the problem at school, and frustration with herself. It was apparent she might have given valuable information away to the wrong person, or people. Information that could imperil the case they had worked so hard on.
Maybe that was also partly why she had a hard time looking at Levon. Where once he had treated her as a partner, he now appeared to be treating her as a liability. It was possible she had screwed up, but she still thought she was right to have told that mother what she knew about the threat the gang represented. And even if she did screw up, it was one mistake! It wasn’t worth throwing out his esteem of her entirely!
But she was jumping to conclusions now. Breathe, Olive, she instructed herself. She didn’t care whether her heart led over her head or vice versa; but if she let her hormones lead, all was lost. She was as susceptible as any other pregnant woman to acting on estrogen if she wasn’t careful.
Olive got up and wandered the illuminated space. She decided to shut a few of the lights off; and as she did so, she tried to take in every detail of Levon’s apartment with new eyes. She had brought a stack of scientific journals with her; the blanket she was knitting; heck, even her houseplant. She kept conveniently forgetting to pick up the shampoo she usually used just because she enjoyed smelling like Levon, but her pink razor was perched on the side of his tub, and her toothbrush inhabited the same cup as his.
But Levon had to stay portable. It was his job. He might be called to up and leave tomorrow, and it would take him less than five minutes to pack his life away and be on his way. Who was to say he hadn’t done so already while she slept...?
Her laptop chimed from the kitchen counter, nearly startling her out of her wits. It chimed again in a pattern, and Olive hastened over to her computer. She sat down, and answered the Skype call from her parents.
“Hi honey!” her mother’s enthusiastic greeting came in a few minutes after the pixelated image formed on the screen. Bill and Jill Owen traveled the globe working for various non-profits, offering up their mighty intellects and well-researched opinions to countless organizations that struggled to make countries in the Third World more habitable and more humane. At present, they were taking a break from saving mankind to volunteer their parental concern while she told them about the investigation.
Olive smiled despite herself, and leaned in as close as possible. “Hi, Mom. Is that blob of color beside you Dad?”
“Speaking of blobs!”
