The scream cut through Riverside University’s evening air like shattered glass. Connor Hayes froze. His weathered fingers tightened around the radio clipped to his security uniform.
Thirty yards away, three massive hockey players circled a young woman like predators. Books exploded across the asphalt. Papers scattered in the autumn wind.
The girl hit the concrete hard. Connor’s combat instincts erupted. His boots pounded against the pavement as he charged forward, every muscle memory from Afghanistan flooding back.
Back off, now! His voice carried the authority of a man who’d faced real enemies. The attackers melted away like shadows, but when the auburn-haired girl looked up at him, Connor’s blood turned to ice. Those emerald eyes weren’t filled with gratitude or relief.
They held recognition, as if she’d been expecting him all along. The designer laptop clutched in her trembling hands, the pristine textbooks worth more than his monthly salary. Everything screamed wealth and privilege.
Yet something darker lurked beneath her polished surface. Something that whispered this wasn’t random at all. Connor extended his calloused hand to help her up, noting how she flinched slightly before accepting his assistance.
You hurt? He asked, his voice softer now, paternal instincts kicking in. The girl dusted off her expensive jeans with practiced grace, movements too refined for a typical college freshman. Thank you, she whispered, her voice carrying an accent that spoke of private tutors and finishing schools.
I’m fine. But she wasn’t fine. Connor could see it in the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes darted toward the dormitory buildings, as if calculating escape routes.
Those boys give you trouble before? Connor asked, gathering her scattered papers. Philosophy textbooks, advanced literature, impressive reading for someone barely out of high school. Her laptop screen displayed what looked like a business proposal, far too sophisticated for undergraduate coursework.
Sometimes, she admitted, avoiding his gaze, I’m different from the other students here. Different was an understatement. Everything about her screamed money and careful cultivation, yet here she was at a state university, apparently alone and vulnerable.
Connor had seen enough scared kids in his three years working campus security to recognize the signs. But this girl was different. The way she held herself, the quality of her clothing, even the way she spoke, it all suggested a background that didn’t match her current circumstances.
What’s your name? He asked gently. Zoe. She replied after a moment’s hesitation.
Just Zoe. No last name, no elaboration. Another red flag in Connor’s mental catalog? As he walked her toward the dormitories, Connor found himself studying her profile.
High cheekbones, perfect posture, an air of breeding that money couldn’t buy, only generations of privilege could create. Yet there was something fragile about her, something that reminded him of his own daughter Harper’s struggles with fitting in. You know.
He said carefully. If those boys bother you again, you can find me. Connor Hayes, Night Security, Radio Channel Seven.
Zoe nodded, then surprised him by asking, Do you have children, Mr. Hayes? The question caught him off guard. One daughter. Nineteen, just like you, I’d guess.
Something shifted in Zoe’s expression, a flash of longing so brief he almost missed it. She’s lucky, Zoe said quietly, having a father who protects people. There was weight behind those words, a story Connor sensed she wasn’t ready to tell…
Обсуждение закрыто.