One of his assistants, a young man named Cory, who’d only worked at the academy for a few months, noticed the way Derek’s eyes kept following her. “Everything all right, boss?” Cory asked, zipping up a gear bag. “Fine,” Derek said a little too quickly. “Just thinking.” Cory glanced across the gym toward Emily, then back at Derek, uncertain what exactly there was to think about. He’d seen his boss do this before at other events, other towns, fixate on some small moment that bruised his ego, then spend the rest of the night trying to even the score. Cory never said anything about it. It wasn’t his place. But he’d started to notice quietly that the nicest version of Derek Vance only ever came out in front of a crowd.
There was something about the way she moved. Efficient, balanced, nothing wasted. He told himself it was nothing. But somewhere underneath that thought, a smaller, uglier one was already forming. The kind of thought that men like Derek couldn’t help but reach for when their pride had been bruised even slightly. He was going to find a way to get that moment back in front of a bigger crowd this time. Somewhere the whole room could see it. Somewhere she couldn’t just smile politely and walk away. He had no idea, of course, what he was about to unravel by trying.
Near the back of the gym, Walt leaned toward Margaret, keeping his voice low. “I want you to do something for me,” he said. “What’s that?” “Keep an eye on that girl tonight. Something about her doesn’t add up.” Margaret studied her husband’s face. Thirty-one years of marriage had taught her to recognize that particular look. The one that meant he wasn’t going to let something go, even if he couldn’t yet explain why. “You think she’s in some kind of trouble?” Margaret asked. Walt shook his head slowly, watching Emily disappear into the storage closet with the folding table. “No,” he said. “I think that man up there is about to find himself in some kind of trouble, and I don’t think he’s got the first idea it’s coming.”
Margaret glanced toward the stage where Derek was already laughing with a cluster of admirers, signing a pamphlet for an elderly woman who’d just signed up for a membership package. “How do you figure that?” she asked. Walt was quiet for a moment, turning something over in his mind the way he used to turn over a case file. Looking for the piece that would make the rest of it make sense. “Because I’ve met men like him before,” he said. “Loud, confident, always looking for someone smaller to make themselves look bigger.” He glanced once more toward the storage closet. “And I’ve met people like her, too,” he added. “Quiet ones, the kind who never say a word about what they can do because they’ve never needed to prove it to anybody.”