The towel hanging on the rack was still damp, but other than that there was no sign of his intruder. Which left one of two places.
He paced silently down the hall to stand outside Dean’s office, cocking his head toward the door. Nothing. Nothing but silence so thick it made his ears buzz. He was reaching for the doorknob when a low murmur jerked him from his task.
Someone in the building, less than ten feet away. Somewhere behind the door that led to Jack’s domain.
Maybe he should’ve called for backup, but Parker and his sweetheart Lynn had just left the party, and while Jack knew his friend wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment before dropping everything, he could handle this one on his own.
As for Dean, the man was undoubtedly by this time buried deep in bed with at least two women. It required an emergency on par with a nuclear attack before Jack would dream of interrupting his evening.
He steadied his gun hand, then twisted the doorknob exactly right to avoid letting it squeak. He pushed on the wood, letting the heavy surface swing away from him. There were no curtains on his window, and outside the streetlights illuminated the area. Cool blue light shone in and revealed the entire room. Jack glanced quickly for his target.
His basketball hoop was mounted on one wall. A heavy bag hung in the corner. The rest of his kit was laid over an exercise bench beside the school lockers he’d found to store stuff in. To his right, directly below the window, was the leather couch he’d inherited from his dad, the only thing he’d gotten besides the Aston Martin.
And on the couch, where he definitely had not left anything, was a small bump covered with the blanket that usually hung over the back of the nearby chair. The blanket he’d picked up one wild weekend in Mexico on a road trip with Parker back when they were still in high school.
The size of the lump confirmed his guess that the vagabond visitor wouldn’t present too much danger, unless they were armed. And the way they were lying on the couch, facing toward the back, no way they could get off a shot if Jack incapacitated them first.
All his calculations took less than three seconds before he was across the room, landing on top of his uninvited guest. A grunt of pain escaped the stranger as Jack used his full weight to pin down his target and render him—or her—immobile.
His fingers easily circled delicate wrists—either a child or a woman—and he instinctively eased off to avoid causing any damage.
“Don’t move. Don’t do anything, or you’ll hurt yourself,” he warned.
The body under him wiggled, the motion barely registering on his bulk. The groaning escalated, turning into a string of creative and anatomically impossible curses. A feminine voice, definitely.
His suspicions were confirmed when she flipped her head, long black hair whipping past his face as she snapped her teeth at him. “Jack? What are you doing? Get the hell off me.”
A feminine voice, yes, but more than that, a familiar feminine voice. Jack was already scrambling to his feet as he responded. “Pepper? Is that you?”
She moaned as she rolled to her back. “God, I don’t know. What the hell time is it?”
“Oh-three-hundred.”
“Holy ravioli, are you pointing a gun at me? You maniac!”
Stifling a groan, he tucked the weapon in his waistband with the safety clicked on, then backed to the doorway and flipped on the overhead light. “Jesus, Pepper. Why on earth are you here?”
She’d pulled herself to a seated position, elbows resting on her knees, head cradled in her hands. She swayed as she sat there, and Jack rushed across the room to brace his hands on her shoulders and steady her. “You okay?”
Her shoulders lifted then relaxed as an enormous sigh escaped her. “Nobody was supposed to be here tonight.”
She steadfastly looked at the floor, and Jack’s suspicions rose. “Why didn’t you come to Lynn and Parker’s party? And when did you get back into town? And why are you—?”
Pepper lifted her head, and his questions vanished as a jolt of anger struck him hard in the gut.
Her right eye was partially closed, shades of blue and purple tinting the area all around it. A long, partially healed scratch ran from her cheek up into her hair. Hair that was obviously dyed, because when he’d seen her last she’d had her brilliant red locks piled high in a ponytail, her whole body vibrating with life and excitement.
Now she looked beaten and defeated, not at all like the energetic, enthusiastic pain in the ass he’d known while they were growing up.
“Who the hell did this to you?” Jack asked as he reached to cup her cheek gently. He traced his thumb over the cut.