Authors: Cathy Perkins
“Not necessarily.”
“There
is
no Professor Dunnavant at Prescott. Or any of the other names he used. I checked. Isn’t that how he works? He creates a bogus e-mail account.”
“And everyone who reads the newspapers knows it.”
She turned and stared out the window. Her eyes blinked rapidly.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I did. I called the police last week.”
Last week? And they’re just now following up?
He bit down the anger. The last thing she needed was more emotional turmoil. “Is this what you started to tell me on the phone last night?”
She nodded. “I was going to…”
“But other things got in the way.”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her composure wavered and her chin wobbled. Her hands rose and covered her mouth. “Make it stop,” she whispered. “Please, make it stop.”
It was the opening he’d ached for. He closed the two steps that separated them and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m so scared.”
Her body vibrated with fear. He felt the stifled sobs beneath the shuddering breaths and drew her closer. “It’ll be okay,” he crooned.
Lean on me,
he said silently through his body.
Let me share your burden, ease
your hurt.
Slowly, her tremors eased.
“I meant what I said in my note last night.”
Meg shifted, but spoke into his shoulder instead of pulling away. “What note?”
He didn’t answer right away. Part of his mind vowed to find the girl working the desk last night. “I know the difference between love and lust.”
Meg went completely still.
“I wish we had more time. To do things the way everybody else does. Dinners, movies, and hours of talking to each other about what’s important. I don’t want to rush you, but I need you to trust me.” He tightened his grip. “Anything I said last night that I shouldn’t, I’m sorry.”
Meg tensed. Finally, she sighed. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
He waited.
“It happened a long time ago.” Her forehead rolled against his shoulder. “His name was Steven. He said he loved me, that he wanted to marry me, but all he wanted was sex.”
He ignored the double stabs of jealousy and anger.
Damn, worse than a stranger, some punk kid did a number on her.
He forced himself into his professional mode. “If you want to talk about it, now, anytime, I want to listen.”
Again, she hesitated.
He slowly stroked her back.
Come on, Meg. Talk to me. I don’t know how much time we have before Frank walks through that door. Come on, sweetheart.
“I’m so tangled up right now. You. That.” She waved a vague hand at the door her computer and the officer had vanished through. Her head tilted, her gaze briefly meeting his. “That’s not why, you know.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
Her cheek rested against his shoulder. He dropped his lips to her hair, pressed a kiss against her temple. He could stand here forever if the other cops and the bad guys would just go away and leave them alone.
“I’m trying so hard to let go of the past. But I can’t go through it again. I lost everything. All I had left was my self-respect. If I let you use this passion against me, I won’t even have that.”
“I’m not trying to use you. This passion is amazing—it’s something to celebrate— but it’s only part of what I feel.”
Time passed. Mick felt the urgency with each ticking second. He might not get another chance at this if she didn’t open up. “What happened, Meg?”
Her spine straightened. Her head rose and she looked into his eyes. He kept his face still, but he wanted to smile. His Meg was back, standing up and taking responsibility. Handling it.
“I got pregnant, and Steven decided he didn’t love me after all. My parents announced they didn’t want me or my baby. So, you see, Mick, my experience with people who claim to love me isn’t very good.”
“Not everyone,” he said softly. “Lisa was over at the house last night defending you against God knows what. And I’m right in front of you, telling you how I feel.”
“I want to trust you, but I don’t know how.” She gave a wobbly smile. “Saying I trust you is harder for me than saying I could fall in love with you.”
Before he could say anything—
I love you. Trust me. Anything
—someone rapped sharply on the door and opened it. Meg leapt away. Within seconds, her shell was back in place. A man stopped just inside the door. His pistol and badge marked him as a Clinton detective. He looked from Meg to Mick and frowned. “Is this a bad time?”
“No. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Jack Martin. We need you downstairs when you finish here.” Martin gave Meg an appraising glance.
“Be right with you.” He turned to Meg. “Keep your windows closed and locked. Don’t leave the building alone for any reason.”
She nodded, her face empty of expression.
He reached in his pocket. “Take this.” He extended a cell phone in her direction.
She shook her head. “I can’t accept that.”
He waved the phone.
Damn Martin for showing up now.
He’d needed more time alone with her. With Martin in the room, he had to be a cop. “Department policy. It’s a prepaid phone. We issue them to people in a crisis situation. Let me know if you run low on minutes.”
“The police do this?”
“All the time. Call somebody,” he added in a low tone. “I don’t want you alone.”
“They’ll all be in here the second you leave.” She waved at the surrounding building, including her neighbors and the Chi Zetas.
“I’m not talking about people in here being curious. I mean somebody for support.”
For an instant, her mask slipped, and a frightened kid looked at him.
There is no one,
those eyes said. Then it was gone. “Thank you for coming,” she said formally, and extended her hand. “You said there’ll be a patrol car out front?”
He looked at the fingers thrust in his direction as if she’d lost her mind, then closed his own around them. “Absolutely. An officer will escort you to work in the morning.”
“Well, then. I’ll be fine.”
It was either the bravest or the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.
“You have my card. Feel free to call me, anytime, for any reason.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Agent,” he whispered and she gave him the ghost of a smile.
Martin made no effort to hide his disapproval as they clattered down the stairs. Mick really didn’t care what the man thought.
One sharp look expressed Frank’s opinion, but Meg’s feelings mattered more. A part of him was still upstairs with her, keeping the monsters at bay. His partner needed him focused, not distracted by personal issues, but Frank also clearly thought Mick was a fool for putting himself in a dicey position in the first place.
The students had been evicted from the foyer, but the patrol officers were talking to a group on the front lawn. Martin turned as Mick joined the men standing beside the front door. Frank had the impatient posture that said he wanted to leave. A smirk crossed Martin’s face. Before the detective could utter a word, Mick spoke. “Why in the hell did it take you a week to follow up on those e-mails? You better be damn glad nothing happened to her.”
“A week?” Frank asked in a startled tone.
“She called and reported the e-mails.” Mick glared at the local detective.
Martin shifted, on the defensive now. “A patrol officer came out and got her statement the next day. There was some confusion over the weekend.”
The Clinton detective lifted a shoulder like he was downplaying the mistake. “The patrol officer wrote it up as a routine complaint. I already chewed his ass. The girl called back today. Said she’d gotten more messages that scared her. We got over here as soon as we knew.” Martin caught Mick’s eye. “’Course, you move pretty fast too.”
Mick returned the glare, still seething over the screwup.
Frank broke the tense silence. “We need to hit the road.”
“Why?” The problem was here, now.
“We got a lead. When we didn’t find the Camaro in the car database—” Frank glanced at Martin, giving him the two-second back story, “— I set up a DMV watch on new registrations.”
Frank refocused on Mick. “Your hunch paid off. A guy from the DMV just called. A professor in Spartanburg just registered his car—a black ’88 Chevy Camaro. The North Carolina tag expired.”
“What else do we know?” Mick asked.
“Guy’s been at Agnes Scot a little over a year. Detective Ward called the school he moved from. The department head tap-danced, but finally admitted there’d been rumors about involvement with some students.”
“Involvement?”
“That’s all he’d say. Ward put in a call to the local PD to see if anybody filed charges.”
“And?”
“She hasn’t heard back.”
“Everything squared away here?” Mick’s question included Martin and the security guard hovering just beyond them. “Patrol car’s set up for the night?”
“Tolliver will stay here until the next shift relieves him,” Martin said. “We’ll put somebody behind the building too. I’ll follow up on her statement unless you plan to handle that too.”
Mick ignored the implied criticism. “We have the e-mails. She didn’t mention any other stalking. Ask her about that when you take her statement. The loaner computer has a tracking program on it.”
At Martin’s questioning expression, he added, “We actually want this asshole to contact her—with us monitoring it, so we know what he’s up to.”
“I’ve heard about those programs.”
“If this is our guy—” he nodded at Frank, meaning the Spartanburg teacher, “— maybe we can wrap this whole thing up tonight.”
“What do you want us to do?” the security guard said.
Don’t fuck things up
, almost came out of Mick’s mouth.
“Do your regular patrol,” Martin said. “Chief Norris will have all the units swing through campus tonight.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Frank said to Martin.
Frank followed Mick down the stairs to the car. The trip up I-26 was silent until they reached the Walnut Grove exit. Picking up US 221, they angled cross-country to enter Spartanburg from the south.
“What’s going on, Mick?”
Frank’s question was neutral, but he tensed anyway. If he admitted he was involved with Meg, procedure could force him off the case. “What do you mean?”
A minute passed. They barreled through the dark countryside. Traffic was light. Only an occasional security lamp above the entrance to a plumbing distributor or body shop broke the blackness. Frank sighed. “I’ve waited four years to see you more than casually interested in someone. Now this.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“She’s too young for you. Damn, it’s like you dating Jennifer.” Frank scowled through the windshield, refusing to look at him.
“Your daughter is a senior in high school. Meg’s a college instructor.”
“She’s still young. And you met her during the investigation.”
He rolled his eyes. “That fountain thing was total bullshit and you know it. What is your problem?”
“How you met is not the point,” Frank said flatly. “Your relationship with Meg Connelly is the problem. I’m not blind.”
“What is it you think you see?” He was starting to get angry. Except for Martin walking in and seeing Meg in his arms, he’d been discreet. She was scared. What was he supposed to do? Stand there like a stone?
“I see a cop who’s losing his objectivity.” Frank paused. “I see a friend who’s going to get hurt.”
“Then you’re seeing things.”
“Shit, Mick. Nobody can be in the same room with you two and believe that. A switch turns on. You light up like a football field on Friday night. It’s not just me knowing you so well. First thing, Tolliver asked about it when he came downstairs.”
Mick said nothing. They flashed through the crumbling collection of buildings that formed Roebuck.
“You need some separation from this case. Damn it!” Frank’s fist pounded the steering wheel. “You
know
it’s inappropriate. I was there that night. I saw you get hit by lightning. And she wouldn’t give you the time of day. But things have changed. She’s the target now. Right now, she needs to feel safe, and you’re conveniently right there.”
“It’s not like that.”
Meg isn’t using me. And I’m sure as hell not just using her.
“Then tell me how it is. We’ve both seen it happen to other guys. Y’all get all hot and heavy. Everything’s just peachy. Then one of you wakes up one morning and it’s over. Either she’s hurt or you’re hurt and everybody’s sorry it happened.”
“It’s not like that,” he stubbornly insisted.
“Christ,” Frank muttered.
They passed in silence through the blue-collar neighborhoods on the south side of Spartanburg.
“Have you said anything?” he finally asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to give you a chance to get your head screwed on straight. But you have to end it. You can’t be objective when it’s personal. You can’t do your job.”
He said nothing. What could he say? He’d fallen in love? He already knew his judgment was cloudy when it came to Meg. But that didn’t impact his ability to find the Professor.
“If it gets out, you know the shit’ll hit the fan. It’ll embarrass the team. Cap’n will
pull you off the investigation.”
That was Mick’s one fear. “I get the message,” he snapped.
US 221 became Church Street and Frank hung a right on West Henry. The houses moved upscale as they entered Converse Heights, the downtown residential area bordering the college. Frank slowed and parked in front of a stone-trimmed cottage. He stared through the windshield for a moment. “I need you, partner. You need your head clear. The Professor’s building up to something. If this is him, he isn’t going to roll over.”
“Then let’s stop the bastard before he does it.” Mick said in a voice that defied any further discussion.
The Spartanburg professor was ready to lawyer up. He’d answered the first questions when Ward and her partner showed up at his house. Yes, he taught at Agnes Scot and yes, that gave him privileges at other schools. Yes, he owned a black 1988 Camaro with a red interior.