“Well, that’s probably our fault,” the vice president said, speaking up, her voice apologetic. She finally made eye contact with Taryn. “The figures you were sent have since been updated to reflect…other measures we’re instituting to address this issue.”
“Other measures?” Taryn asked woodenly.
“Yes,” the president said, sitting up taller in his chair. “We’ve decided to place armed guards in each of the area high schools, and that has a pretty high price tag. After what happened at Blue Heights High up north, we don’t want to take any chances.”
Taryn’s lips parted, all the words wanting to come out, but none forming. They were saying no. They were saying no. She fought to gather her composure. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think this needs to be an either-or situation. However, we need to go further back to solve this problem—a systematic approach—not a stopgap measure. We need to help kids before they turn into killers. Trying to stop them after is important, too, but…then we still have killers. The research shows—”
The president lifted a hand, cutting her off. “You’ve explained what the research shows, Dr. Landry. And believe me, I find it very commendable that you’re working on this, considering what you’ve been through. I think your program has a lot of merit, but I’m responsible for using citizens’ tax dollars in the most efficient and effective way possible. I’ve talked to a number of our community members, and they feel better about armed guards. That’s a visible action and presence. This program is…complicated to explain and expensive. I’m sorry, but we can’t implement it at this time.”
“We are really sorry,” the vice president added, looking sympathetic but obviously unable to change anything.
“An armed guard wouldn’t have saved us,” Taryn blurted. “That wouldn’t have saved any of us. We had a security guy at prom. He was killed because those boys didn’t care if they died. I know why they didn’t care. They could’ve been helped. We need to intervene before these kids get to that point, or this is going to keep happening.”
One of the trustees frowned and looked away. “Shall we vote?”
“No,” Taryn protested. “You can’t… No.” She knew she was out of order, but she couldn’t help her reaction. She wanted to run up there and plead for them to listen, to clap her hands in front of their faces and tell them to wake the hell up and hear her. But her feet were rooted to the floor, her entire body trembling.
Taryn felt a presence behind her. She looked back and found her three friends standing there. They stepped up next to her. She expected them to gather her up and lead her away before she embarrassed herself further, but instead, they surrounded her, a united front facing the board. Kincaid put her arm around Taryn’s waist and said loud enough for the microphone to pick it up, “Let them say no to us all. My name is Kincaid Breslin. Survivor. Long Acre.”
Liv shifted, tipping her chin up. “My name is Olivia Arias. Survivor. Long Acre.”
Rebecca moved to Taryn’s other side and took her hand, squeezing it. “My name is Rebecca Lindt. Wounded survivor. Long Acre.”
Taryn’s vision went cloudy with tears. The board members shifted their gazes downward or away. The vice president was the only one left watching the four of them. After a moment, she looked down in defeat. She couldn’t help.
The vote started. It was like a tiny stab to Taryn’s gut every time a vote was cast.
Taryn got one yes vote from the VP. Everyone else was a nay.
Her program, a decade of work, was dead on arrival.
She closed her eyes.
I’m sorry, Nia. I’m so sorry.
Chapter
Eleven
Shaw sat in his office Friday after a session, drinking water and staring at his open laptop, debating. He didn’t need to look. It wasn’t his business. His fingers hovered over the trackpad. Shut it down. Instead, he clicked onto the local school-board site.
Rivers had moved Taryn’s next session to one of the female trainers they’d recently hired and had an excuse all lined up for when she arrived tonight. Shaw now had the night off and would be leaving before Taryn arrived, but he couldn’t stop wondering how things had turned out for Taryn with her presentation. He found his way to the recordings of the school-board meetings and clicked. The first part of the meeting was pretty dry, and he skimmed past all of that until he saw Taryn’s face on the screen.
He hated how his body instantly responded to the sight of her—like a crackle of static electricity over his nerve endings. She looked so different from how she’d looked in his arms the other night when she was sweaty and undone and hungry with need. Now she was back to being the proper professor—pale-gray suit with a dark-blue blouse, black-rimmed glasses, and confident eyes. Dr. Landry. A woman on a mission. Hot as hell, still. His fingers ached to undo every button on that blouse and work his way down her body nice and slow until he made her toes curl.
Fuck.
Stop.
When it came to Taryn, his mind was like a determined dog who kept breaking off leash and running into traffic, completely oblivious to the danger. He reeled in his baser thoughts and shoved them down. He needed to remember who this woman was, what she’d suffered because of his family, and why he was watching this in the first place. Because he would never see her again and wouldn’t get to ask.
Taryn was talking, so he turned up the volume. He could barely watch her presentation, the grim statistics, and the references to Long Acre. He almost stopped the video when his brother’s face flashed on the screen along with a row of other killers. Seeing Joseph’s photo, particularly the yearbook one all the news outlets had latched on to, was like having two knives stab him at once—the pain of losing the brother he once knew and loved and the devastation of knowing what Joseph had become. The only thing that kept Shaw watching was the compelling way Taryn was presenting her program. He’d already sensed it from being around her, but this confirmed his impression. The woman was brilliant. And driven. And fucking brave.
He couldn’t see the members of the board because the camera was trained on Taryn, but he could only imagine the intent expressions they had to be wearing. However, when the presentation ended, Shaw didn’t hear the applause he expected.
Instead, there was silence in the room and growing tension in Taryn’s stance. Shaw watched in shock as Taryn was shut down with just a f
ew words. Watched the disbelief in her gaze. Then her anger came out, her voice like a flaming arrow shot across the bow.