Ivory Tower Page 4

  Then I saw the photograph. The image was grainy and the suspect’s face was turned sideways to the camera, but there was something unsettling about it. He had spiky dark hair and solid angular cheekbones. The caption identified him as Marc Daly, a graduate student. I didn’t think I had ever met anyone by that name, but he did look vaguely familiar. Taking another sip of my drink, I scrolled farther down. There was a second clipping from the same newspaper that must have run sometime after the first. It was a minor story — only a few paragraphs —noting that the suspect who had been held for questioning, had been released from custody. The reporter sought him out for comment, but he had disappeared with no trace. At the very bottom of the page was a message scrawled in Melissa’s untidy handwriting. “Pete??”

  Oh my God. Melissa hadn’t let it go. She’d been doing amateur sleuthing all this time to go with her pop psychology. I grabbed hold of my cell phone to call her, but as I was scrolling down my contacts list, I realized it was almost ten o’clock. And what would I have said to her? That I thought she was having a breakdown? Maybe it would be better to talk to Rob first.

  Not bothering to shut down the email program, I snapped my computer’s power button off. I couldn’t deal with anything else. I downed the rest of the bourbon, deposited the mug in the sink and headed for the bedroom. Tired and grumpy, I couldn’t be bothered with the niceties of tooth brushing and nightwear, so I simply tore off my work clothes, dumped them on the floor and climbed into bed for a good sulk that was ruined by the fast-acting effect of the bourbon which sent me straight to sleep.

  I awoke to a prickly sensation against my cheek followed by a pair of familiar lips searching for mine in the dark. I granted immediate access and was rewarded by the hard planes of his still-clothed body slipping under the covers beside me, hands reaching around my back to draw me close.

  “This is what a man likes to come home to,” he said as his tongue teased the shell of my ear, “a naked woman in his bed.” He rubbed his nose against mine and dipped in for another kiss. “Mmm. You taste of bourbon. Already liquored up. Saves me the trouble of getting you drunk so I can have my wicked way with you.”

  I pushed myself onto my elbows and regarded him in the moonlight. “Long flight?”

  “Worth it.” He was twining his hands into my hair, then down my naked back, sending tingles up my spine. I sighed.

  “How did it go with the Provost?”

  “Frustrating.”

  Pete’s body stilled against mine, his arms gripping my shoulders tightly, almost painfully. Not exactly the reaction I expected.

  “How so?” he asked

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I tried to wrap my arms around him but he pushed me away.

  “Tell me.” His voice had become insistent.

  “Okay.” I reached across to turn on the nightlight, bathing the room in a yellow glow that brought out an eerie glint in his eyes. Then I noticed the bottle of champagne and two flutes on the nightstand. I raised my eyebrows. “Are we celebrating something?”

  Smooth as ever, Pete reached for the bottle and unwrapped the cork with practiced ease. He popped it with a swift movement of his thumb and held it above one of the glasses to avoid spillage. The pouring took a few moments and I had the distinct feeling he was buying time before answering me. He finally said, “You tell me.”

  He passed me a glass and watched me sip in silence. Perched on the edge of the bed, he hadn’t made any further move to touch me. His fingers remained grasped tightly in his lap.

  “So what’s wrong?” He pinned me with those glinting eyes.

  “Nothing. It’s just … dean search stuff.”

  “Yes?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

  “Well, you know how Professor Maxwell was offered the job?” I asked. He nodded slowly. “Apparently there was an accident and they’re not sure what’s going to happen now.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t they have to give the job to … someone else?”

  “They don’t know if Professor Maxwell will be up to it.” I only realized after I spoke that Pete hadn’t asked for any details about the accident. “They’ve asked me if I would be prepared to step in as interim dean if Maxwell’s not recovered sufficiently by the beginning of the next school year. So it’s the same old story. Use the woman as a placeholder until you can find a man for the job.” Talking about it made the anger well up inside me again and I took a long draft of champagne.

  “What do you mean recovered?”

  “He was in a skiing accident. There’s some head trauma and they’re not sure of the prognosis.”

  “Dammit.” Pete rose to his feet and started pacing.

  “What’s wrong?” I wanted to stand up, to go to him. But he made me feel uneasy and I realized I was still naked. Feeling a little vulnerable, not to mention confused, I wrapped a sheet around myself before scrambling to my feet. “I know Maxwell’s not the nicest guy, but—”

  Pete turned to fix me with a ferocious look I hadn’t seen before, causing me to step back involuntarily. The backs of my knees bumped the side of the bed and I almost toppled backward. He raced over to catch my elbow and pulled me against him. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just …” Pete’s voice trailed off and my head started spinning. I was getting a horrible feeling about all this and I hoped to hell it was the mixture of champagne and bourbon and not something else.

  Pete had been in Salt Lake City, and Maxwell’s accident was at Park City—less than an hour away. And hadn’t Pete been in Seattle around the time Congressmen Cody passed away? And the New York trip. Hadn’t Professor Adams’s wife suddenly succumbed to some medical problem in New York? And then there was the newspaper clipping. My body went rigid.

  Maybe if I killed off all the guys, we’d finally hire a woman.

  My own words from only a few months ago.

  “What’s the matter, babe?” Pete’s arms tensed around me and I was struck by his sheer strength when I tried to pull away.

  “It’s been an unsettling day,” I said as I finally managed to extricate myself from his grip. I sat on the edge of the bed, scanning the room for something to use as a weapon in case I needed one.

  This was crazy. This was Pete. My boyfriend. Not some serial killer. Okay, so I had thought the Seattle trip was a little strange and I was pretty sure he hadn’t told me about it before I told him about the Congressman. But anyone could go to New York. It was a big city. And I hadn’t even known Maxwell had gone skiing until the Provost told me. How could Pete have known?

  Of course he could have known. I would have known too if I’d been paying attention. Maxwell always blasted his personal business all over his Facebook page. He posted half of it on Wikipedia if it was even vaguely work-related. He was all publicity, all the time. Of course Pete could have found out where he was. It would have been easy. But could Pete have done something so terrible?

  I gazed at his face, eyes glinting yellow like a predator, but still as a statue, regarding me warily. My breath caught in my throat. With one stride, he stood before me, blocking my view of anything else in the room. He dropped to his knees and I jerked back, but he caught my forearms and, securing my wrists in one hand, wrapped the other around my waist. Then he dropped his face into my lap. His breathing was ragged when he finally spoke. “Oh, Evie, don’t you see? I just want you to be happy.”

  What had he done?

  Trying desperately to buy some time, I reached for his chin and tilted his face so I could see his eyes. I gently levered him up until we were nose to nose. There was something in his expression—something almost inhuman. But I kept my grip firm on his chin. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in and brushed his lips ever so tentatively over mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the champagne bottle on the nightstand, directly behind him.

  Cautiously,
I returned his kiss. His body relaxed as he pressed harder against me, probing my lips with his tongue. That was all the incentive I needed. so the tips of my fingers could reach the bottle. He moaned and wove his fingers into my hair, giving me the perfect opportunity to loop my fingers around its neck. The kiss turned almost painful as I raised the bottle behind his head. The angle wasn’t perfect, but it would give me enough force to slow him down so I could grab my cellphone and lock myself in the bathroom.

  And then what?

  I raised my arm to strike, fingers almost numb from my grip around the bottle. But I couldn’t move. My nipples were hardening against him. This was turning me on. No! I had to stop him. I couldn’t want him. Not anymore. Not now. But this was Pete. The only man who could give me what I wanted, who wanted to give me what I needed.

  I had to call the police. But what would happen then? I would find myself embroiled in a murder scandal.

  If I killed off all the guys…

  My own words. I had the interim deanship. And the permanent position could be …

  No, I couldn’t think like that.

  Could I?

  Of course I could. I had before. I had forged that data to make the department look better ; to make me look better. But they had found me out. If I’d been one of the boys they would have turned a blind eye, but when I tried it, it was the kiss of death for my career. Was Pete my answer to the boys’ club? My ace in the hole?

  My resolve was crumbling as he urged me back on to the mattress with his powerful arms, straddling me. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the bottle in my hand. Locking his beautiful scary eyes with mine, he pried it away, holding it close to my face, his lips thinning into a grim line. We glared at each other and then he raised it over my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, every muscle tensing.

  Silence. No movement at all. It was as if time stopped.

  Finally, I squinted one eye open and saw Pete’s features, arranged in that predatory glare, hovering above me. When he could see that I was watching him again, he deliberately drew the bottle to his lips and took a deep drink.

  “To your health and happiness.” His words rang out in the silent night. “And a long successful career.”

  After a beat, he replaced the bottle on the nightstand, snapped off the light, and positioned himself over me. He cupped my face with his hands, his grip like a vice. It felt dangerous, and wrong.

  And oh so right.

  I wondered what would happen if I accepted him ? Knowing all this, what that would make me?

  Permanent dean.

  They couldn’t afford a failed search. There was no one left. They’d have no choice.

  “Pete?” I was trembling against him. It took great effort to control my voice.

  “Mm-hmm?” He rubbed the pads of his thumbs roughly across my cheeks, brushing away tears I didn’t realize I had shed.

  “They’re going to medivac Maxwell to the university hospital later this week.” My teeth were chattering and not from the cold. I almost didn’t know why I was telling him this. Almost. I swallowed and closed my eyes. How much did I want this?

  My voice became suddenly stronger, challenging, “I mean, if you want to send him a get well gift.” I felt my own lips curve up and locked my eyes with my lover’s. “Maybe we could pick out something nice? Together.”

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