Chosen by Desire (29 page)

“Will he be okay?” Carrie asked, watching him leave. She had the distinct impression she shouldn’t turn her back on him.

Leonora waved her hand. “He believed the position was guaranteed to be his. He didn’t like hearing that you were currently being favored by the board.”

Carrie sank into the chair he vacated, her usual seat across from the hanging swords. “I am?”

“Of course.” Leonora tapped her pen against her desk in rapid staccato. “Your claim has the department in a fervor. To have such a discovery about the Scrolls of Destiny linked to Berkeley’s History Department would garner the attention we need for extra funding. It’ll be quite the feather in our cap.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “About my thesis—”

“The department is so impressed and excited that they’re discussing offering you a tenured position.”

Carrie almost fell out of her chair. “Excuse me? I think I heard you say—”

“Yes, a tenured position.” A ghost of a smile hovered around Leonora’s mouth. “It’s quite the offer. I didn’t achieve tenure for eight years.”

“Wow.” She slumped against the seat back. The still pond of her mind erupted into a muddy whirlpool, her thoughts chaotic.

Tenure. Within her reach. She’d not only work for a top university but get to stay in the Bay Area. And she’d make a living doing what she was passionate about.

Except she’d have to betray two people she loved.

“This is an excellent opportunity for you, Carrie,” her advisor said solemnly. “I’m sure I don’t have to outline what this means.”

“No,” she said faintly. “Not at all.”

“Well, then.” Leonora continued the manic tapping of the pen. “Tell me about your progress with your thesis. The board would like to see a draft soon. With so much at stake, I’d like to make sure your proof is valid and that it substantiates your claims sufficiently, as well, so we should arrange to go over it.”

She thought about the scroll she’d tucked in her dresser at home. She’d planned on surrendering it to Max.

But that was before tenure. It sounded like she could pretty much write her own ticket if she produced her thesis—with the proof to support it.

It’d mean outing Max and Gabe. Maybe not directly, because she could cross-reference the Guardians Wei Lin gathered to help bring peace to Yongle’s kingdom with other historical documents that listed the key players. She bet she could find references of the Guardians of that time, proving there was reason to believe the scrolls were more than myth. But she’d have to show the genealogy to support her claim, and she wasn’t sure she could keep people from checking out the current Guardians.

Which meant she could kiss anything with Max goodbye.

But tenure…

“Carrie?” Leonora frowned at her. “You seem distressed. Perhaps we should have started the conversation with the reason you’ve returned from your fellowship a week early.”

She winced. “Ma—Mr. Prescott and I had some differences over the way the work was handled, and I decided it best if I tendered my resignation.”

Leonora dropped her pen and sat up so straight she looked inches taller. “What sort of differences?”

“Ones that have been resolved.” She toyed with the zipper on her bag. “He asked me to continue working for him, but I haven’t given him any answer.”

“He’s a very influential man. To have his name on your résumé would be quite a coup.”

“Yeah.” But at what price? And if she continued working for him, she’d have to give back the scroll. She couldn’t willingly deceive him. “I’m not sure. I think you were right. I had a hard time managing to find time to do my own work.”

“In any case, consider it.” The pen tapping resumed. “And your research?”

“I, uh, don’t have any of it with me.” She waited for a bolt of lightning to strike her. It didn’t happen, but that didn’t mean she relaxed any. “I didn’t expect you to have time to go over it today.”

“When can you bring it to me? I really should go over your documentation to make sure your dissertation is the strongest it can be.”

“I’d feel better pulling my thoughts together a little more first.”

Leonora’s lips pursed enough to let Carrie know she was displeased. But she said, “That’s fine. It’s your paper, after all. You know what’s at stake.”

Did she ever. She had to consciously relax her grip on the bag. “Thanks for being understanding, Leonora. I promise I’ll get the thesis into shape so we can go over it.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need assistance.” Leonora turned to her computer and began typing rapid-fire.

Recognizing she was dismissed, Carrie tiptoed out. She closed the door behind her with a soft click and walked down the hall. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Trevor until he was right in front of her.

“Geez.” She jumped back, hugging her new bag in front of her. “Trevor. You need to attach bells to your shoes or something.”

“Carrie,” he said in his slightly nasal, disapproving voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

He didn’t sound too thrilled about it. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. “I just returned a few days ago.”

“Earlier than expected, isn’t that so?”

She frowned. News got around the department quickly. “A little early,” she answered lightly, edging away.

“Bái H
must have realized he hired the wrong historian.”

Don’t lower yourself to his level.
The jerk. But she had to bite down on her lip to follow her own advice.

Trevor looked her up and down, his lip curling with distaste. “And I’m sure he realized quickly that you weren’t useful for anything else. Leonora and the board will realize you don’t have much to offer, too.”

“Well, it’s been nice talking with you,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t pick up on the sarcasm in her voice. “But I’ve got to go—”

“You won’t get it, you know.” He stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides.

Okay, now she was getting freaked out. The look in his eyes was just a little too psycho. She took a step back. “Won’t get what?”

“The position is mine. I’m not going to let you take what I’ve worked so hard to achieve.” He took another step forward.

She backed up again.
Trevor.
It never occurred to her that he could have anything to do with what had happened over the past weeks. Foolish on her part, because he had a lot to gain with her out of the picture.

Touching behind her, she felt the wall inches away. She had nowhere to retreat to. She casually looked down the hall, hoping someone would show up, but it was a Friday afternoon. Translation: the hall was deserted.

He wagged a finger in her face. “You think you can sashay in here with your perky cheerleader attitude and win everyone over into thinking that you’re something, but we both know what you are.”

She didn’t sashay. And she’d never been a cheerleader. “What am I?”

He leaned over her and hissed. “A slut who’ll sleep for what she wants.”

Whoa. She pressed flat against the wall. Blown away by his crazy enmity, she blinked, not knowing what to say.

Not that he gave her a chance to say anything. His long, Paganini finger poked at her nose. “If you think you’ve won, you should think again. I’m not going to let you take this from me. We both know I’m more deserving. The board will see it. I’ll make them see it.”

He spun on his heels and lurched off. At the end of the hall, he turned around and shot her one last venom-filled glare that chilled her to the core.

C
arrie sagged against the wall, a hand over her pounding heart. What the heck was
that?
She’d known he was off, but she never figured he was psycho. That little soliloquy of his was crazy.

Was he the one who’d terrorized her? He could have easily gotten her address from any number of people at the university, crank calls could be made from anywhere, and Santa Monica wasn’t far—it was an easy day trip flying. She needed to check to see if he’d taken any time off while she was gone, and if the days corresponded with the mugging or pier accident.

After his performance today, she couldn’t delude herself into thinking she was safe. If Trevor was the culprit, he’d come after her again—she had no doubt.

One thing she knew for sure: she shouldn’t hang out here. Rushing out of the building, she stepped out of the oppressive space and took a deep breath of tangy marine air, instantly feeling better. She breathed it in again and let it wash her clean from inside out.

Needing to be off the campus, she walked briskly to BART, avoiding the wooded path she normally walked. Just in case.

The trip back into the city was slow. Checking the time, she decided to take BART straight to the bar. Hopefully Gabe would be there. She needed to run what happened by someone. And tomorrow she was totally finding a self-defense class to take. She was done feeling defenseless.

Only when she got to the Pour House, it was Vivian on duty.

Disappointed, she turned around to leave and bounced straight off a hard body. “
Oof.
”

“Easy.” Large, blunt hands steadied her.

She looked up into the all-seeing gaze of Inspector Rick Ramirez. She practically wilted in relief, seeing his familiar face.

His expression never changed, but a subtle frown clouded his dark eyes. “You okay, Carrie? You look disturbed.”

“I’m fine, Inspector.” Better than fine now. You couldn’t get safer than with a cop.

“Rick.” He flashed a brief, crooked smile, accenting the smoldering Latino thing he had going on. “I’m off duty.”

It wasn’t unusual for him to hang out at the bar, because of Gabe—well, really because of her twisted brother Paul, who had disappeared after murdering her ex-boyfriend. Carrie knew Ramirez was waiting for Paul to contact Gabe, but she thought the cop had a small thing for her friend, too. “Gabe’s not here tonight.”

He glanced at the bar. “So I see. Care to join me?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Sure.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to two empty seats at the bar counter. She slid onto the left one and dropped her bag on the floor in front of her feet.

She watched Rick ease onto the other stool, taking his suit coat off and folding it neatly on his lap. Loosening his tie so it hung loosely around his neck, he unbuttoned his shirt and exhaled.

“Long day?” she asked.

“Started at four this morning with a double homicide.” He gestured to Vivian.

Carrie ignored the daggers Vivian mentally threw at her and squeezed his arm. “Are you okay?”

“I should be used to it.”

Despite his schooled expression, she could tell he wasn’t. She squeezed his arm again. “Well, that puts my day into perspective.”

He angled toward her, but before he could say anything Vivian was there leaning over the counter to show off her ample (and fake) cleavage. “Hello, Inspector.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. In all the months since Rick started coming here, he hadn’t given Vivian any indication that he was the least bit interested. Vivian was amazingly blind. And determined, given the way she was showing off her assets.

“A shot of Patrón and—” He lifted his eyebrow at her.

She didn’t normally drink—ironic since she was a bartender—but today warranted something strong. “Me, too.”