Jules did. Romeo hesitated. His eyes darted to Sandesh. After a second of some internal debate, he complied. Kid was strung tight.
The nannies had done their best, getting them all into one room and trying to calm them, but they needed family. And Justice was the only family here over eighteen. Her mother had gone to meet with the police. Leland was handling internal, shutting things down to keep off the authorities’ radar, assessing damage. Tony and Bridget had gone to the dorms to handle the situation there. Who knew where the Troublemakers had gone?
She assumed they’d left to investigate, figuring the girls in the main house were being trained for combat and being groomed by the League, so they could deal. She got that. The dorm kids had been sent by their families to an elite boarding school. They knew nothing about covert ops and should be treated with kid gloves.
But seeing her sisters huddled by the fire while the tougher of them stood guard, she couldn’t help but be overcome with memories. And anger.
Walid was going down.
The clink of fireplace tools shoved into the iron stand was followed by the sobs of five-year-old Bella. She launched herself at Sandesh. Her tiny, trembling arms latched on to his legs.
Sandesh hoisted her up. “It’s okay.”
She buried her face in his shoulder. He turned to the rest of the family. “If you can all sit and listen, I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Damn. The man was perfect. Or at least knew the perfect thing to say. Bella squirmed out of his arms. She padded across the room and joined the others around the fire.
Romeo sat by the fireplace tools. Jules stood behind him.
When everyone was absolutely still and quiet, Sandesh said, “First, I want you to know that you are safe.” Justice felt her heart loosen and lurch toward him. Drawn instinctively to his strength and kindness.
Not only had he recognized that they’d needed a mission or goal to get them settled, he’d also realized that more than anything, they needed to be assured of their safety. He was good.
“The police have arrived. They are checking every inch of the grounds. Beyond that, the security at this school is top-notch. And all the campus staff are on alert.” Justice raised her eyebrows at this, and he winked at her. Yep, not a stupid man. “In addition, the school is on lockdown. New measures are being put in place to make sure this type of attack doesn’t happen again.”
“Who attacked us?” Rome asked.
Sandesh spread his hands wide. “We don’t know that yet. We know someone flew a few personal drones over the school and dropped small explosive devices at the gym, tennis courts, and on the gatehouse, which was empty at the time. Falling debris injured one of the guards.”
“It doesn’t sound like they were trying to hurt anyone,” Rome said. “If they’d wanted to hurt people, they’d have dropped the explosives somewhere with people. Not the school gym. Or the tennis courts.”
Jules pinned her lower lip beneath her teeth, then released. “Do you know what kind of ordnance they used? Timed? Or did it go off when it hit?”
Good question. It had gone off when it hit.
“How did they get past the cameras?” Jules said. “There are only a few places—”
Sandesh turned surprised eyes on the twins. Because, yeah, the kids had practically pointed out that it was an inside job. Who else would know the hidden camera layout?
Jules and Romeo exchanged a look. Juliet’s face reddened. She’d realized what she’d suggested. She didn’t try to overcorrect, either with rambling or embarrassed explanation. She stayed silent and let the warm blood rush into her cheeks. Smart. Sometimes talking made things worse.
Justice patted Sandesh’s arm, felt his coiled bicep. Somehow, that strength comforted her. Huh, must be some sort of primal response. She’d have to excise that.
Sandesh bent to her ear. “I have an idea. A way to help with PR.”
“I’m not sure all the PR in the world will be able to fix this.”
He opened his mouth to expand when one of the staff came into the room. “The police are looking for you, Ms. Parish. And you, Mr. Ross.”
Great. Time to lie her ass off.
Chapter 54
Justice’s public relations office in the Mantua Academy’s administration building was a tiny room that should’ve held brooms and mops. It was an afterthought at the very end of the guidance counselor’s corridor. Right now, it felt two sizes too small. The room equivalent to had too much turkey and pie at Thanksgiving and now have to wear my stretchy pants.
Twenty-four hours after the attack, Justice’s office was a hive of activity. All this attention could go to a girl’s head.
Or straight to her trigger finger.
How had Momma ever thought that putting her in a situation where she had to be diplomatic and courteous to irate people was a good idea?
The phone kept ringing with furious and concerned parents—people used to ordering others about—and the administrative staff, including her siblings, came and went with their hair seemingly on fire.
And the media attention was out of control. She’d been answering phone calls and questions since five a.m. It was now almost six p.m. She’d felt less exposed during gynecological exams.
For forty years, the school had dictated how people saw it—an excellent but stuffy place to send your daughter. A place of diversity that gave scholarships to deserving children, a place that taught the brilliant Parish children, women who had become leaders and scholars and scientists and business people.
Now it had become the target of intense and blistering scrutiny.
Really not a good thing when a covert operation that housed the world’s most elite group of female vigilantes existed underfoot. Or had existed.
No one was going anywhere near the League until the authorities combing this place had left. For now, all necessary research would be done aboveground or at Gracie’s club. Momma and the academy’s principal had also decided to close the school early for the summer.
They’d analyze and increase security during the off-summer months.
Finals would be given online. They’d circled the wagons and battened the hatches. Necessary when the FBI was up their ass with questions and demands. They’d searched the entire grounds with a fine-tooth comb.
Justice shifted the list of numbers she had to call behind the list of online media journals to reach out to. Ugh, she sucked at this. Pretending to be a PR specialist, with her family under suspicion, the campus on lockdown, the possibility of another attack looming, a traitor among them, and there went the phone again.
She picked it up. “What?”
The person on the other end paused. “Tell me that’s not how you’re answering the phone.”
“This is my cell, Gracie. I can answer it any damn way I please. And just so you know, I am being extremely courteous to every idiot reporter who calls me.”
The landline on her desk rang. She glared at it, tucked her cell next to her ear, reached over, and unplugged the cord. What Gracie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “What do you want?”
“I want to know about this story in the paper. The one that suggests the school was attacked because of its support of the IPT. What the heck is that about?”
Justice thought of shutting the door, but spun her chair away from the office doorway instead. A split second later, she heard the secretary walk in with another pile of messages.
Justice waited. Gracie waited, understanding even though Justice had said nothing. She knew the drill. The swoosh of papers hitting the desk was followed by the swish of the woman exiting. She left behind a disgruntled scent trail of Tom Ford’s Velvet Orchid.
Justice waved away th
e perfume, lowered her voice. “You read the paper. What do you think it’s about?”
“I think we’re blaming our support of Sandesh and the IPT’s work in order to distract from the League and their operations.”
“We’re supporting the IPT. They are going up against some bad people. Those people might have struck the school in retaliation. And that is the FBI’s theory. Not mine.”
“Sure. But you jumped on it. You’re using Sandesh and the IPT. I thought you cared about this guy. Or was that a trick to convince him to join the League? Use him and his business to perpetuate our global interests while always having a scapegoat? Really, that’s low, even for Momma.”
Using? No. It had been Sandesh’s suggestion. He’d presented it, rather subtly, to the FBI. Sandesh had merely mentioned he had a history of confronting sex-slavers in Jordan. It was a good plan. If the FBI found any link to Walid, this would make the most sense. “Again, Gracie, the FBI thinks it might have something to do with Sandesh’s work in Jordan. Maybe militants.”
“Really. How interesting. Wonder when they’re going to claim credit.”
Whoa. Gracie was great at heavy sarcasm. And making a valid point. “I don’t have insight into the workings of terrorists.”
“Sure. Well, let me know if you decide to follow the message this bombing has conveyed.”
She sat forward, elbows on knees, head cocked to the right, phone clutched in a sweaty hand. “What message?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? This is Walid forcing us to keep our heads down. Stay in our school.”
Is that what had happened? It could be. Having the FBI and local law enforcement running around the school handicapped them. Limited access to intel and the specialized equipment belowground.
Gracie seemed to have drawn some interesting conclusions about Walid’s mind-set. “Why would he want to scare us into circling the horses?”
“I think this first attack is meant to clear out the school, so Walid can launch the real offensive. Reveal the League and take out those responsible for his brother’s death.”