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my test. I should get partial credit on four problems.”
    Kelly Templeton always thought she should get partial credit. Rarely did Jenna agree. “Tell you what, Kelly. You come by Monday morning and we’ll talk. Right now, I’m in a rush.”
    “But Monday morning I have a cheerleading meeting.”
    “I can talk at lunch on Monday, then. Just not now.” She softened her refusal with a smile. “You got a ninety-two, Kelly. How much more partial credit can you expect?”
    “Eight more points,” Kelly muttered, then tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. “All right, Dr. Marshall. Monday at lunch.” She veered off toward the lockers without a goodbye.
    “Kelly?” Jenna called and Kelly looked back, impatience on her young face. “Be careful, okay? Miss Ryan just told me there’s a second missing girl.”
    Kelly’s eyes grew large. “Oh, wow. Which school?” “DuVal.”
    Kelly bit her lip. “That’s close. I know kids at DuVal.” Then a beat later her expression brightened as she shook off the worry as only a teenager could. “See ya, Dr. Marshall.”
    And watching her flounce away, Jenna turned for the lobby at a quick clip on aching feet, wishing she had a tenth of the sixteen-year-old girl’s energy.
    “Dr. Marshall, may I speak with you for a moment?” Jenna skidded to a stop, this time at the sound of the principal’s voice, wincing when her ankle wobbled in her damn high heels. Last time she’d go shopping with Casey, she thought irritably, resisting the urge to hop on one foot and massage her ankle. Drawing in a breath to slow her racing pulse, she turned to find Dr. Blackman standing near the office door, his expression grim. Distaste instantly bubbled up at the sight of him. He was an overtly political man and . . . sleazy.
    “I’m late for a parent conference, Dr. Blackman. Can I meet you when I’m finished?” By that point it would be after five on a Friday. Blackman would be long gone by then, sitting on the front bleacher of the football game scheduled to begin in less than an hour.
    “This can’t wait, Dr. Marshall,” he answered, his voice glacial. “Come with me, please.” And without waiting for her response, he turned crisply on his heel.
    Jenna searched the front lobby. No one resembling a parent waited, so she bit back her annoyance and followed Blackman into his office, hoping whatever was so cataclysmically important would also be short.
    A man waited in Blackman’s office, staring out the window with his back to them. He was huge, his shoulders at least two feet wide. A black fedora covered his head, a black overcoat draped over one arm. Jenna raised a brow at the sight of the coat. It was brisk for fall in North Carolina, but the coat was surely overkill. Then he turned and Jenna’s heart stopped for the briefest of instants at the expression in his narrowed black eyes, the clench of his square jaw. His very body seemed to vibrate although he stood perfectly still.
    He was angry. He was angry with
her
. And she was sure she’d never met the man before.
    Dr. Blackman closed the door. “Dr. Marshall, this is Mr. Lutz. I take it you’ve met before?”
    Oh, God,
Jenna thought, her pulse scrambling now. Lutz. The father of the star quarterback of the high school team. The star quarterback who’d be warming the bench until he brought his grade in her science class up to at least a
C
. It was school policy, she thought a little frantically as her brain reacted to her last conversation with Mr. Lutz. He’d been furious that she’d given his son’s last test a failing grade. He’d called her foul names. She’d shaken for a full hour after hanging up the phone. He was staring at her now from beneath the brim of the fedora, his eyes oddly gleaming.
    He thinks he’s won,
Jenna thought, a spurt of anger supplanting the fear.
He thinks he’s got me cowed. He’ll think again.
“We’ve spoken on the telephone, briefly,” she said, gratified her voice was cool and