Page 13 of Razor

I waste no time and head inside, going straight to a desk and noting the receptionist’s stunned expression.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“I’m here to see the principal.”

“Does she know?”

For some reason, I appreciate her question and disguise a smile.

“No, but she will be happy to meet me because it concerns Sunday Monroe.”

“I see.”

She studies me with a blank expression, and I’m impressed with her resolve because she shakes her head.

“Then perhaps you should call the principal first and make an appointment. There are strict rules where it concerns student safety.”

“Like the one where you allow two cars onto school property to abduct one of your students in plain sight.”

“That was out of our control.”

“But it was on school grounds. As soon as those students pass through those gates, they are your responsibility, so ma’am, if it’s not too much to ask, please tell the principal I am here to ask questions.”

She shakes her head as the cops head through the doors, and her relief is tangible as she addresses them.

“This man walked in with no appointment and is demanding to meet with the principal. He is asking about Sunday Monroe.”

One of the cops steps forward. “I see.” His tone is dismissive as he turns to me, saying firmly, “Please step outside, sir. You must follow the rules and make an appointment.”

“Must I?”

I turn and lean on the counter, folding my arms and glare at the two cops who are considerably smaller than me.

“Before I do, may I ask you to call your captain? I believe his name is Bradley Riverton. I would like to hear it from him.”

“Sir, the captain does not take calls. You must leave.”

With a sigh, I say over my shoulder to the woman, “Call the principal. Tell her I want a brief word in her office.”

Then I lift my phone and press the contacts, holding it to my ear as the call is answered immediately.

“Brad, it’s Razor. I believe Ryder King may have mentioned me.”

The cops shift on their feet, glancing between them, appearing mighty uncomfortable right now.

“Two of your men are preventing me from going about my business at the college. Perhaps you would like to take care of that.”

I hand the phone to the cop who did the talking and love how his face turns white and his lower lip quivers.

“I’m sorry, sir, of course. It was a misunderstanding.”

He swallows hard.

“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

As he cuts the call, he hands it back to me, and I direct my next sentence to the woman at the desk.

“Make the call, darlin’. If it’s not too much trouble.”