The Risk (Kings of Linwood Academy 3)

But what does that mean for what Hollowell told me? If he was trying to maintain his cover as the helpful, concerned samaritan, it wouldn’t make sense for him to give me advice that was obviously bad.

I just don’t know if the advice he gave me was good. And I’m terrified that he could’ve laid some trap that I’ll fall into unwittingly if I do what he suggested.

But what he said made logical sense. My mom doesn’t look or act like a killer. She’s a gentle, sweet soul, and if Scott Parsons can’t do more to prove her innocence, he can at least highlight what a good person she is.

I scoot forward on my seat, lowering my voice a little—not that there’s anyone here to overhear besides the bored looking guard.

“Mom, I was thinking about your case. I know your public defender kinda sucks, but that just means you need to basically be your own lawyer.”

“Yeah.” Mom sighs, brushing a few flyaways out of her face. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. At least maybe I wouldn’t feel so helpless that way.”

“Tell Scott to shift the focus to your character,” I blurt before I can go around and around second guessing my choice any further. “Tell him to get people on the stand who will make you look good to the jury.”

Mom purses her lips, considering that.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll mention that to him.” The upbeat attitude she adopted since yesterday fades a little, and she swallows. Her voice is a little shaky when she speaks. “God, I’m really fucking nervous, Low. I’ll be in front of a jury in just a few months. I can’t believe it.”

My mom doesn’t swear much. She doesn’t mind when I do, but she tends to find gentler ways to express herself. So the fact that she’s cursing now tells me exactly how scared she is.

I rest my hand against the glass that separates us, wishing I could make it vanish into thin air, reach across the space, and hug her. “I know, Mom. Me too. But it’ll be okay. Like you said, have faith, right?”

She smiles, a wan, tired stretch of her lips. “Right.”

A few months. That’s how long until my mom sits in a courtroom before a judge and jury, total strangers who will decide her fate.

But I won’t let them.

As terrified as I am of what I learned yesterday, it’s slowly been dawning on me that I’m one step closer to getting my mom out of prison.

The kings and I spent weeks searching for the man in the black mask, and now we know who it is. I don’t know how to prove that my mom didn’t kill Iris, but if I can prove someone else did, I won’t have to.

I might have a target on my back now, but so does Judge fucking Hollowell.

And I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find some way to show the world what he did.

Mom and I talk for a while longer, and she makes me promise to go back to the doctor if my bruise doesn’t show steady signs of improvement. I know seeing me hurt or sick always brings up worries about my cancer returning, as if she has some kind of caregiver PTSD—hell, she probably does—so I don’t roll my eyes at her overprotectiveness.

Tears glisten in her eyes when I stand up to leave, and I see her blinking them back as we press our palms together.

I want to tell her to be strong, to promise I’ll fix this, to reassure her that I have a plan.

But I can’t say any of that. So I tell her the only thing I can think of that matters right now.

“I love you, Mom.”

6

School starts back up on Monday, and walking through the doors of Linwood Academy feels like walking into a Twilight Zone episode. How the fuck does everybody look so normal? How are kids talking about where they went for the holiday and the expensive gifts they got from their parents as if everything is perfectly fine?

Linc and River brought my stuff over to Dax and Chase’s house, and the five of us spent most of the weekend with our heads together, trying to figure out some way to prove Judge Hollowell was Iris’s real killer.

It won’t be fucking easy.

For one thing, we have to do it without letting him get wind of the fact that we’re onto him. And for another, we have no solid evidence yet.

I always maintained a vague hope that Linc had backup copies of the photos he deleted from his phone of the man in black, but nope. Deleting them was a split-second decision, and he didn’t have time to back anything up. He hadn’t done it before then because he didn’t want anyone finding out we even had the pictures, and more copies would only make that more likely.

Not that it matters much anyway. The pictures were clearly of a man, but without any glimpse of his face, no one would ever be able to tell that man was Alexander Hollowell.