“I could fix the line,” Valerie offered quietly, reaching for the index card.

Wyler pulled the card away from her hand.

Out in the school parking lot, autumn sun glinted off the windshields of the yellow buses lined up in a row.

I was unlocking my truck when the sharp click of dress shoes rang out on the concrete behind me.

Lieutenant Wyler came up to the driver’s door with a black aluminum clipboard pressed to his ribs.

“Master Chief Merrick,” he called, his voice sharp and carrying across the empty pickup lane.