The Professor (5 page)

“A sports car.” Mick rubbed his hand over his cheek, considering the implications. “Any chance he got a plate? Or a make?”

“She. And God wasn’t feeling that benevolent.”

“Okay.” He smiled tiredly. “It’s the first decent lead we’ve had. Run with it. The lab should have something for us tomorrow on those tire casts. That’ll help.”

The session had gone longer than anyone expected. “It’s late, people. Let’s wrap it up.” Mick glanced around the table. “Y’all have press contacts. We need to keep the message out there the victims were stalked. Young women, especially college-aged ones, need to be careful.”

“See if you can get those Sexual Assault people involved.” Andersen rotated a
vague hand. “Get them to hand out stuff on campus. Date rape drugs, personal safety, that kind of shit.”

“You guys always put the responsibility back on the women,” Ward groused.

“We need to get the press off the sensationalism and focused on the women,” Frank said.

“Good luck,” Robbins muttered.

“The killer will be following the press coverage,” Frank said. “He needs his nose rubbed in them being people, not objects he can throw away.”

“Everybody use what you can,” Mick said. “We just have to keep digging.”

Three victims, and they were no closer to finding the killer than the day they started. The detectives packed their files and headed to the parking lot.

“You staying here tonight?” Frank tossed his case onto the backseat.

“Yeah,” Mick said. “I can stay at the Days Inn for what it costs me in gas to run up to Greenville and back. You got reasons to go. Say ‘hey’ to the wife and kids.”

“I sleep better in my own bed.”

Mick watched Frank lumber away and wished he had someone waiting for him, someone to make him forget about the case and death. To remember there was good in the world: life and laughter and innocence. Meg’s face immediately appeared. Of all the women in the sorority house, he’d noticed
her
the moment she walked in the door. Watching her, he’d felt like he already knew her, which made no sense. Obviously, the stress of this case had short-circuited his brain.

Sleep, he decided. He definitely needed sleep.

And to find this murderer.

Two hours later, he rolled over and punched his pillow a few times. The guy upstairs had finally quit pacing around and gone to bed. The motel was silent except for the air conditioner, which cycled at about eight-minute intervals.

Giving up on sleep, Mick rolled to his back, tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. What happened to him in that sorority house? He was minding his own business, avoiding eye contact with a couple of women, when Meg walked through the door.

Cold sweat had drenched him. His heart rate had doubled. He’d stared like a sixteen-year-old with his first crush. Then his eyes locked with hers and something hot, raw and primitive passed between them. From the expression on her face, the connection hit her with the same stunning force.

Her refusal to look at him afterward surprised him. Usually he read people easily, but Meg remained a mystery. Watching her giggle with her friend, he’d reminded himself she was young. Then she’d coolly tagged his “investigation” for the political farce it was.

He sorta admired that part.

When she walked out, he’d scrambled, figuring it was his opportunity to interview her.

He snorted. Who was he kidding? He’d wanted to know if that initial reaction was a fluke.

Groaning, he pulled his hands down his face. So what had he done? He’d spun her around, invaded her personal space and got lost in her eyes.

That was totally insane, almost as crazy as the overwhelming urge he’d had to kiss her. Damn, he’d nearly touched her. What had he been thinking? Clearly, he’d lost
it. When it came to vics, witnesses and suspects, “Don’t touch,” might as well be tattooed on a cop’s hands. You just didn’t do that. Not if you wanted to keep your job.

Meg Connelly was the last person he needed to hook up with. She looked older than the other sorority girls, but damn, she was still a college kid. He didn’t need the complication. He ought to keep his focus on finding this killer, on doing the job he loved, rather than chasing a dream woman.

A fantasy.

Abruptly, an impression of tumbling curls, laughing eyes and stunning sensuality slammed through him. Desire roared and he groaned again.

He had to find a way to see her.

Friday morning

Meg rolled out of bed early. Operating on autopilot, she straightened the sheets and fluffed the quilt, then padded over to her tiny kitchenette. As she reached for the coffeepot, she gave a bang-your-head-against-the-wall groan. No coffee.

“Damn it.”

Between the ridiculous meeting at the sorority house and letting that cop rattle her so badly, she’d forgotten all about going to the grocery store. She opened the cabinet and shuffled through the contents, hoping to unearth a tea bag. There were a dozen packages of Ramen noodles, five cans of soup, tomatoes, half a jar of peanut butter and random spaghetti sauce spices, but nothing containing caffeine.

She turned from the cabinet with a sigh. When she finally finished graduate school, she was never going to eat Ramen noodles again. Scholarships and a job had covered most of her undergraduate degree, but the student loans she’d needed to make ends meet kicked in as soon as she picked up her diploma. As a lowly associate at Douglass College, her salary barely covered the loan payments and the rent on her apartment.

Glancing at the clock, she did some quick mental calculations. She could walk to the store, buy coffee and bread, fix a sandwich and still make it to class on time. But she absolutely had to restock her cabinets this afternoon.

She pulled on clothes and locked the door behind her. Pausing only to check her mailbox—empty—she dashed across the foyer, opened the outer door and ran smack into Mick O’Shaughnessy.

She felt like a raindrop bouncing off a boulder. He didn’t move. She splattered. His hands gripped her arms, steadying her until she recovered her balance.

“Morning, Meg.” He smiled at her. “Do I dare say I was hoping to run into you?”

“Very funny.” She shook off his hands. Retreating a step, she crossed her arms and glared. She was not going to notice how warm and strong his body was. Or the way his eyes lit up two seconds before she flattened herself against him. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze dropped, just for a second, and she remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra. If he hadn’t figured it out during the full body contact, he knew it now. She dropped her arms and then wondered what to do with her hands.
Pockets…pockets would be helpful.

“I’d hoped to catch you before class. You didn’t give an actual statement last night.”

“No, Detective. I mean what are you doing
here
.” Her finger stabbed down, indicating her front porch.

His surprise showed. A faint blush tinted his cheeks. “It’s ‘Agent.’ Actually, I went by the sorority house. They told me your address.”

Meg gave him an assessing inspection. His clothes were casual today—khakis, long-sleeved polo shirt and loafers. A leather flight jacket draped his body like it had been custom-formed to his shoulders and chest. No one should have the right to look that good first thing in the morning. Most likely, he’d charmed her address out of whoever was working the desk at the Chi Zeta house. “Remind me to address security and personal privacy at the next chapter meeting.”

He laughed. “Let’s try this again. Morning, Meg.” He stuck out his hand. “Agent Mick O’Shaughnessy.”

Her gaze moved from his hand up his nice solid chest to the smile that was starting to fade, then tripped over his blue eyes. She took his outstretched hand, noticing the warmth that flowed from his fingers. Her brain flashed “danger” signs while her mouth said, “It’s not morning until I’ve had coffee.” Her lips turned up in spite of the voice in her head that yelled,
What are you doing?

“Is that where you’re headed?”

She tugged her hand free. “Actually…” If she told him she was going to the store to buy coffee grounds, he’d expect her to invite him in for a cup. No way was she letting him inside her apartment.

“I could use a cup too.” His face wore a hopeful expression.

Could she call them or what? “There’s a coffee shop over on the Strip.”

“What if we head over there?” He paused, looking a little uncertain. “Do you have time? I mean, we can do this later.”

She wasn’t interested, of course, but the bashful thing was working for her. Her head moved, a rueful shake. If a formal statement helped wrap up this ridiculous Didi incident so Mick could get back to his murder investigation, she might as well get it over with now. “This is fine.”

Barracuda’s was on Cumberland, the commercial strip about a mile away. They silently walked into the residential area that separated the stores from campus. Meg peeked at him, wondering what he really wanted. Mick looked completely relaxed, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket, but his eyes moved constantly. “Gonna be pretty today.”

The weather? He was actually talking about the
weather
?

But it
was
going to be gorgeous. The sun had cleared the tree line, catching the tops of the maples. They glowed with color that graduated from fiery red, through Day-Glo orange to demure yellow. The lower branches still supported green leaves, but they were a muted yellow-green rather than the emerald shade of summer. She squinted against the light. She should’ve brought sunglasses. She snorted softly—like she’d planned any of this.

Mick glanced at her, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Going for cool self-containment rather than merely cold, she pulled her arms across her chest. She should’ve brought a coat, but she’d thought she was only dashing to the store. She’d pulled a sweatshirt over her camisole. Her breasts bounced as she walked. Hopefully the bulky sweatshirt hid their movement.

At least she’d brushed her hair. Makeup hadn’t been on her agenda. She couldn’t bring back a mental picture of the two seconds spent in front of the bathroom mirror while she dragged her brush through the unruly mess. Given the way her luck was going, she probably had raccoon eyes or a giant zit on her face.

What difference did it make? Mick wasn’t there to see her. Things were strictly business between them. Twenty more questions so Didi’s daddy would get off the police department’s collective back.

“Is Meg short for Margaret?”

Her attention snapped back to Mick. “Yeah. And Mick’s short for what? Michael?”

“That and the whole Irish thing.” He shrugged. “It stuck somewhere along the
way.”

“Irish? That sounds more Boston or New York than South Carolina. Of course, there were lots of Scotch-Irish settlers in the Upstate—my family settled there in the early 1700s—but most tended to have Anglo names.” She stopped, her face flaming with embarrassment. She sounded like a blathering idiot. Or a total dork.

“’Fraid we were more recent immigrants. My grandfather came over after World War II. My family’s down in Conway.”

“You left the beach to come up here?”

“I worked there for a while, but I wanted more than traffic tickets and drunk-and-disorderly tourists. At SLED, I work cases across the Upstate, usually ones that cross jurisdictional lines.”

“Do you like what you do?” she asked with genuine interest.

“Most of the time.” A shadow crossed his face before he changed the subject. “So you’re a teacher.”

“More front desk information?”

A self-satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is it right?”

“Graduate assistant. I teach some classes.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Until I finish my master’s.”

“Seems like my college instructors were ancient experts who spent most of their time somewhere else.”

They crossed the street and turned right, past a huge Victorian that had been converted to student apartments. Before he could dig for more information, Meg asked, “Where’d you go to school?”

“North Carolina. Chapel Hill.”

Her mouth nearly fell open. “It’s hard to get into UNC from out of state.” Expensive too. She’d been accepted by the university, but hadn’t been able to afford it.

Mick shrugged noncommittally.

She mentally raised his probable IQ a few points. “I didn’t know you had to go to college to be a cop.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “So you think we’s just a bunch of igner’t rednecks?”

She blushed and stammered, “Th-that’s not what I meant.”

He laughed and pulled her into a quick sideways hug. Yesterday’s simmering desire surged through her and she stiffened. He’d already dropped his arm, apparently unruffled, but the fine hairs on her body had risen like tiny antennae, tracking this new, dangerous threat. She hugged herself tighter and concentrated on steadying her breathing. She refused to be attracted to the man. She was only here for the coffee. That was it—caffeine. Period. End of sentence. They were almost to Cumberland. Barracuda’s was less than five minutes away.

“You have to have a degree to get anywhere, anymore,” he said. “Some people are hired with only a high school diploma. You can generally tell which ones at the Academy.”

“The Academy?” This was better. Nice, safe conversation put some distance between them. Without looking, she knew he’d put his hands in his pockets and gone back to scanning his surroundings. She wondered if it was a cop thing.

“Criminal Justice Academy. Basic’s a nine-week cram course in procedures, rules. Police stuff. Are you cold?” he asked abruptly.

Surely he couldn’t see her taut nipples through her sweatshirt. The combination of Mick, the camisole’s soft fabric caressing her sensitive skin and more Mick, was driving her wild. She snuck a surreptitious glance at her chest. Her clenched arms, that was what he noticed. She forced herself to relax. “Not really.”

He already had his jacket off. Reaching around her, he draped it over her shoulders. “I should have offered sooner. That sweatshirt can’t be warm enough.”

His hands lingered on her shoulders. Her traitorous body tingled. She kept her gaze fastened on his chest and tugged at the coat’s edges, closing the jacket.

Dropping his hands, he stepped back, took a deep breath and smiled. “Better?”

The coat carried a heady mixture of scents: leather, his aftershave, and the subtle base note that was Mick. She fought the urge to bury her face in the collar. The jacket was still warm from his body, and her stomach gave a funny twist as the warmth spread lower. “I’m fine, really.”

She raised her hands, ready to return the coat.

“We’re almost there. I don’t want you frozen
and
caffeine-deprived.”

Barracuda’s was just beyond Andy’s Deli. Mick held the door, politely waiting for her to enter.

A few students huddled over coffee and their books in the booths at the back. Otherwise, the store was empty. Meg opened her pocketbook, wondering how much cash she had on her, but Mick said, “I got it.”

He stepped up to the counter without waiting for her response.

Meg started to argue, but the woman behind the counter tossed her hair and smiled, giving Mick the full treatment. “What can I do for you?” she purred.

He appeared oblivious, which Meg already knew was an act. He was the most
aware
man she’d ever met. “Two lattes, grande, low fat. And two scones.”

He turned to Meg. “Uhm.” For the first time that morning, he looked truly flustered. “I’m sorry. That just came out, like I already knew what you wanted.”

A beat passed as she considered the implications of his statement. “That’s exactly right.”

Without further comment, she walked to a table near the front plateglass windows. Sunlight bathed the space, warming it. Shrugging off Mick’s jacket, she placed it on the chair opposite her. He arrived moments later, carrying their breakfast. She sipped the strong coffee, then closed her eyes and lifted her face to absorb the sunlight.

“What do you teach?”

Ah, the safety of banality.
She opened her eyes. “Mostly basic finance courses. Statistics.”

“Is that your master’s area?”

“Partly.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Care to expand on that?”

“I’m not deliberately being difficult.”

“Really?” he drawled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She felt warmth again climb her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed this much since she was seventeen and Steven teased her. She brutally severed that line of thought. She absolutely refused to even think that man’s name. “I double-majored in undergrad, history and finance, so I’m taking graduate level courses in both areas. One of the few benefits of teaching is that the college waives my tuition for the classes. Once I
graduate, though, I need a real job, a career. That’s the finance part. The history’s just because I find it interesting.”

She felt back in control. Caffeine, wonder drug. She took another hit. “What’d you major in?”

“History,” he said dryly.

She couldn’t help herself; she giggled. He grinned at her. The giggles turned into a full-belly laugh and he chuckled, as well. Finally, Meg subsided and wiped her eyes. “I don’t know why that hit me as being so funny. It really isn’t.”

“Sure it is. You have a great laugh, by the way.”

Meg lifted her cup in a salute and drank deeply. What was her problem? Mick was a nice guy. He was smart and had a sense of humor, both of which she found attractive. And he was no slouch in the looks department. Besides, after today, she’d never see him again. She was an idiot, overreacting like she always did if a guy looked too closely.

He pulled out a notebook. “I actually do need a statement about the fountain incident.”

The written statement didn’t take long.

Meg swirled the remnants of her latte. “Did you always plan to be a cop?”

“No.”

Another shadow crossed his face. She was vaguely surprised he let his emotions show. She’d seen what she called his cop face: wary, closed off, giving nothing away.

“I planned to go to law school.”

She heard the wistful note. Dreams deferred. She knew about that. “Why didn’t you go on to law school? There are student loans…” She trailed off as his face closed down. Maybe he wasn’t accepted, or his folks had a thing about debt. “Never mind. I understand. Things happen.”

“I’d been accepted, but my father died unexpectedly. My mom needed help with my brothers and sister and the family land.” He stared out the window. The lines around his eyes tightened, and she wondered what time and place he saw. Finally, he sighed, then faced her directly. “He was killed. Mom fell apart.”