“—could get very, very hurt,” Steve finishes. “Got it?”
“I got it,” I say. “I’ll be there. But where’s here? The Tau Phi House?”
“Please,” Steve says, sounding bored. “We’re here, Heather. I think you know where.”
“Fischer Hall,” I say, my gaze going toward my living room windows, which look out at the back of the twenty-story building that is my place of work. It’s still early, by New York College residence hall standards, which means that most of the lights in the windows are blazing as the building’s occupants prepare to go out, apparently completely unaware that down on the first floor, in the closed and locked cafeteria, something unspeakable is about to take place.
Which is when I stop feeling cold, and start feeling angry. How dare they? Seriously. How dare they think they can get away with this again? Do they really believe I’m going to sit idly back and let them turn Fischer Hall into Death Dorm?
And okay, maybe it already is Death Dorm. But I’m not going to let it stay that way.
“Heather?” Steve’s voice is warm in my ear. It’s amazing how charming psychopathic killers can be, when they put their minds to it. “Are you still there?”
“Oh, I’m here,” I tell him. “And I’ll be right over.”
“Good,” Steve says, sounding pleased. “We’ll be looking forward to seeing you. Alone, like I said.”
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I’ll be alone.” Like I need any help kicking his skinny ass. Steve Winer is making an extremely bad decision, challenging me to a confrontation on my own turf. He might have been able to off a girl as tiny as Lindsay without getting caught, but if he thinks a girl like me is going to go down without a fight—a fight loud enough to bring the entire building banging on the cafeteria doors—he’s got another think coming.
But then again, he, like his brother, doesn’t strike me as the sharpest knife in the drawer.
“Good,” Steve says. “And remember. No cops. Or your boyfriend’s a dead man.”
I hear a thump, and then a scream. The scream comes from Gavin.
And I know that, stupid though he might be, Steve Winer isn’t someone to underestimate.
I slam down the receiver and spin around to see my dad sitting up, blinking groggily.
“Heather?” he says. “What’s the matter?”
“Something’s going down at the dorm,” I say, grabbing a piece of paper and writing a number on it. “I mean, residence hall. Something bad. I need you to call this person and tell him he needs to get over there as fast as possible. Tell him I’ll meet him in the caf. Tell him to bring backup.”
Dad squints down at the number. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Fischer Hall,” I say, grabbing my coat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Dad looks confused. “I don’t like this, Heather,” he says. “They don’t pay you enough for you to be hurrying over there in the dead of night like this.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, and I’m out the door.
The walk to Fischer Hall has never seemed so long. Even though I’m half running, it seems to take forever to get there. Partly because of the slick sidewalks I have to navigate, but also, I’m convinced, because of how hard my heart is hammering inside my chest. If they did anything to hurt Gavin…if they so much as bruised him—
I’m so intent on getting where I’m going that I don’t even see Reggie until I crash into him.
“Whoa, little lady,” he cries, as we collide. “Where would you be off to in such a hurry so late at night?”
“Geez, Reggie,” I say, struggling to catch my breath. “Don’t you ever go home?”
“Fridays are my best nights,” Reggie says. “Heather, what’s the matter? You’re white as—well, a white girl.”
“It’s those guys,” I pant. “The ones I told you about. They have one of my residents. In the caf. They’re going to hurt him if I don’t get there, fast—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Reggie has hold of both my arms and doesn’t seem eager to let go. “Are you serious? Heather, don’t you think you should call the police?”
“I did!” I have to windmill both my arms before I manage to break free of his grip. “My dad’s calling them. But someone has to get in there in the meantime—”
“Why does that someone have to be you?” Reggie wants to know.
But it’s too late. I’m already off and running again, my Timberlands pounding on the newly shoveled sidewalk, my heart pounding in my throat.
When I throw open the door to Fischer Hall, the mystery of how Doug and his fellow frat brothers—not to mention his real brother—got into the building to kill Lindsay without actually being signed in is cleared up the minute I walk through the door and see the security guard.
“You!” I cry. It’s the crusty old guard from the security desk in Waverly Hall.
“ID,” he says. He doesn’t even recognize me.
“You were at Waverly Hall last night,” I pant, pointing at him accusingly.
“Yeah,” Crusty Old Guard says, with a shrug. “That’s my regular spot. I fill in other places when there’s an opening. Like here, tonight. I need to see your ID before I can let you in.”
I’m flipping open my wallet to show him my staff identification. “I’m the assistant director of this building,” I say to him. “I know you let a bunch of Tau Phis in here tonight without making them sign in. Just like you did Monday night, when they killed someone.”
Crusty Old Guard—his name tag says Curtiss—grunts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says grumpily.
“Yeah,” I say. “Well, you’ll find out in a minute, believe me. In the meantime, I want you to phone up to the building director and tell him to head to the caf. And when the cops show up, send them there, too.”
“Cops?” Crusty Curtiss looks startled. “What—”
But I’m already running past him.
I don’t head for the main doors to the caf, though. I’m not about to go walking blindly into their trap—lame as it might be. Instead, I dash down the hall, past my office, then the student government’s office—closed and locked, as always—and finally past the dining manager’s office, to the back entrance to the kitchen. The door, as I’d known it would be, is locked.