by Cindi Myers
Gwen barked a laugh, overcome with relief. “You want to hold hands?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking baffled by her response. “I know it might be uncomfortable for you, but it will help me keep you within reach.”
“It’ll make you feel better?” she asked, her smile growing. “You’ve been trying to ask me if you can hold my hand?”
He shrugged, finally joining her in the smile.
Gwen pulled her hands from her pockets and offered them both to him. She’d lost her gloves since her last trip to campus, and was glad on a number of levels for the warmth of his touch.
“I only need one,” he said, deliberating before making a choice. “Okay. This one.” He made a show of interlocking their fingers before moving forward.
Gwen bit into her lower lip as the familiar jolt of electricity coursed through her at his touch. Then she kept pace thinking of nothing else.
They moved swiftly to the Garber building where the bulk of psychology classes were held, and the lab where the short-lived hotline had once existed. Campus was less crowded today, probably thanks to a heavy morning rain. The skies had cleared substantially, but Gwen suspected the showers had changed more than a few folks’ overall plans for the day.
Lucas held the door at Garber Hall, and she hurried inside, pulling him along behind her.
They navigated the first floor to a set of closed office doors. Dr. Bloomsbury’s door was the last on Gwen’s left and standing open when they arrived.
“Come in,” Dr. Bloomsbury said, spotting them immediately and stretching onto her feet behind her desk. She seemed to have aged by more than just six years. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was all white now and worn in a short bob around her cheeks instead of waves over her shoulders. She was thinner, too, and appeared more exhausted than Gwen recalled. Still, she had a ready smile as she pulled the tortoiseshell glasses from her nose. She let them fall against her chest, suspended by a delicate golden chain. Her gaze darted to their joined hands, then back to their faces. “Detective Winchester. Ms. Kind. It’s lovely to see you both. Please take a seat.” She waved a hand at the set of open chairs opposite her, then lowered onto her chair, as well.
Lucas released Gwen’s hand and leaned forward in his seat, fixing Dr. Bloomsbury with his trademark cop stare. “Thank you for agreeing to see us. We have a few questions about the hotline project that took place approximately eight years ago. Do you recall it?”
Dr. Bloomsbury’s gaze shifted curiously to Gwen. “Yes. It’s where I met Ms. Kind.”
“Gwen,” Gwen interrupted with a cordial smile.
“Gwen,” the older woman agreed. She turned her attention back to Lucas, then matched his no-nonsense expression with one of her own. “What’s this about specifically? Your messages were brief and extremely vague.”
Gwen cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. Then, she told her story.
Dr. Bloomsbury made appropriate expressions as the tale unfolded. She offered Gwen a box of tissues when she’d finished.
“I’m okay,” Gwen assured her, “or I will be.” She added a rundown of the last few days’ events and how she suspected the hotline might’ve been where it all began, then waited for Dr. Bloomsbury’s response.
The older woman sat back in her chair. “I see.”
Lucas nodded approvingly at Gwen, and her insides fluttered.
Dr. Bloomsbury folded her hands on the desk between them. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. I’m sure it must be hard to go over it in detail like that. And given your timeline and experiences, I certainly understand why you’d come to me about this. But I don’t have any information on the callers from the helpline. Those calls were all made anonymously.”
“Maybe there’s something else you can tell us then,” Lucas suggested. “Anything will be more than we have to work with right now.”
She raised and dropped her shoulders. “I don’t even have details on the workers, thanks to the unexpected death of my laptop and a missing external memory device. I’d point you to Lewis, the grad student in charge back then, but he’s out of town right now. Chicago, I believe. Designing social experiments with grant money earned from his continued work here at Bellemont. A very talented young man.”
Gwen felt her knee begin to bob. “The student in charge of the hotline still works here?” she asked, wondering if maybe Lewis was the man who’d ruined her life.
“Several days a week,” she said. “He’s a teaching assistant, now pursuing his doctorate in psychology.”
Gwen shot Lucas a look.
His chin dipped infinitesimally. “Did you say you have a missing thumb drive?” he asked, attention fixed on the woman in front of them.
“Yes, unfortunately. I lost a lot of work that week. I remember because I was writing my own research paper for publication at the time, and I lost both copies nearly simultaneously. When it rains it pours, I suppose.”
Lucas patted the arms of his chair, expression thoughtful. “Maybe we aren’t looking for a caller,” he said. “Maybe we’re looking for a volunteer, or Lewis.”
Dr. Bloomsbury paled, but didn’t speak.
Lucas turned to Gwen, an idea clearly taking shape in his mind. “What if her computer had help crashing, and the thumb drive had help disappearing, because a hotline volunteer, or its designer, knew his name and contact information would be on the drive, linking him to you?”
Gwen’s bobbing knees froze briefly before taking off again, hard enough to shake her chair. “When were your things stolen?” she asked Dr. Bloomsbury.
“Not long after the hotline ended. Before the end of the same semester, if memory serves.”
“Before my first attack.” Gwen kneaded her hands on her lap, trying to recall the names and faces of men she’d worked with at the hotline.
Lucas straightened. “Can you make a list of all the male hotline volunteers? First name, last name, nicknames. Whatever you can recall. And we’ll need Lewis’s contact information, as well.”
The professor’s gaze narrowed in concentration. “I’ll do my best to recall the male volunteers, but it’s been a long while.”
“We understand,” he assured. “Anything you can remember will be a great help. We can always contact the men you remember and ask them for additional names if you forget any.”
“I think that’s a guarantee,” she said, pulling a pen from a mug on her desk and beginning a list on a sticky note. “I haven’t thought of that hotline in years, but there were only about two dozen helpers and most were women, so the list of men is short.” She scribbled words on paper, looking away for a few seconds from time to time.
A few minutes later, she passed a note to Lucas, then checked her watch. “These are the names I remember. I’m sorry it’s not inclusive, and I hate to run off, but I have a class in a few minutes, and I need to set up my presentation before everyone arrives.” She closed her laptop and loaded it into her bag while Gwen and Lucas rose from their chairs.
“Thank you for your time,” Gwen said.
Lucas offered Dr. Bloomsbury his business card. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Of course,” she said, accepting the card, and trading him for one of her own. “Now you have mine, as well.”
She turned to Gwen with an odd expression. “I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but I’m proud of you.”
“Me?” Gwen asked, wondering who the woman might actually be thinking of. Surely not Gwen, a college dropout and virtual recluse being openly stalked.
“Yes, you,” Dr. Bloomsbury said with a grin. “You are a strong and dedicated young woman. You’ve endured the unthinkable, yet here you stand, searching for justice. Not everyone can do that. Bounce back after a personal tragedy. Those sorts of experiences usually have a way of defining us, but it seems you’ve decided to define yourself
.”
Gwen smiled. “I have. Thank you.”
Dr. Bloomsbury nodded and took a step before turning back. “If I remember correctly, you were great on that hotline. Maybe someday, when you’re ready and this is behind you, you’ll consider working with others who’ve been through tough things like you. Maybe you can help them define themselves, as well.”
She checked her watch again, then hurried away.
Gwen turned toward the exit, cheeks warm with pride.
Lucas slipped his hand over hers and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m proud of you, too, you know.”
She smacked her lips, feeling lighter than she had in a while. “Don’t try to copy.”
He laughed.
At the end of the hall, Lucas held the door for Gwen to exit and an arriving professor to enter.
The man stopped short of the door and placed a hand on his hip beneath his dress coat. “Lucas Winchester?”
Lucas released the door, shaking the man’s hand instead.
Gwen took the sticky note from his free hand and reviewed the names while the men talked.
“Someone told me you became a cop,” the older man said. “I couldn’t believe it. You loved architecture so much.”
“Still do,” Lucas said, and the conversation moved quickly between them while Gwen examined the list.
The paper felt infinitely heavier than it was, and terrifyingly fragile in the growing winds. The small, thin sheet of paper with its minimal strokes of ink could contain the name of the man who nearly killed her twice. Nearly abducted her once. And had followed her for eight years.
A low ache formed in her stomach and rose high into her chest. The familiar sensation of someone unseen climbed the back of her neck like witch fingers. She turned to search for signs of an onlooker. She scanned the faces of people nearby, on the paths and on the lawns. None of them were looking her way.
She returned her attention to the paper, pressing a cold palm to the back of her neck. Stopping the prickles. She read each name slowly, then tried to picture their faces. Had she even met them all?
Then another face came to mind, and she tried to match his image to one of the names on her page, but couldn’t. None of these names were his, but something told her his name was important.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gwen waited impatiently for the men to part ways, then explained to Lucas about the other male student she remembered from the hotline. “We only met a couple of times. He was there for training, and I worked with him once. Otherwise I only saw him around campus, and not often. I assumed he dropped out.”
“Can you remember his name?”
“No, but he was tall with dark hair and glasses. Definitely the loner type. He said he joined the hotline to meet people, just like I did.” She took a moment to consider that. “Is it strange that lonely students were the ones who responded to the ad to answer calls at a loneliness hotline?” Presumably the kids who weren’t lonely had better things to do, but still.
Lucas snorted. “I’ll bet Lewis the grad student had a great time analyzing that.”
Gwen frowned. “I hope we weren’t the experiment.”
“The callers could have been other grad students,” Lucas suggested, further exploring the notion.
“That’d be awful. And deceitful.”
“It would be disconcerting,” Lucas agreed, “but legal, depending on the wording of the contract participants signed. If you only agreed to take part in his project without specifics and qualifications, he could have done whatever he wanted within that context. It’d actually be better for us if the students answering calls were his subjects. At least then we’d have information on each of you.”
That was true, Gwen supposed, but she couldn’t help cringing over what she might’ve said on the questionnaire or during the interview. “Maybe we should contact Lewis in Chicago and ask him about it. He should have the name of the other guy I remember, too. If I describe him, it might jog his memory.”
Lucas agreed, and they headed back inside. “I’ll have my team run a background check on Lewis while we’re at it.”
She breathed easier. “Good.”
After a full scan of the building, peeking in every door that wasn’t locked, and finding a half dozen classes in session, but no signs of Dr. Bloomsbury, they admitted defeat.
Gwen’s shoulders slumped as they moved back outside. “I guess when she said she had a class to get to, I assumed it would be inside Garber Hall. She could be presenting anywhere on campus. Or off campus for all we know.”
“We’ll call,” Lucas said. “I’ll leave a voice mail and send an email to follow up again. I live close enough to campus that we can get back here anytime she’s available. Or honestly, if she can think of this guy’s name, or wants to talk more about the hotline project, she can tell me by phone or email.”
Gwen suppressed a sigh, disappointed to have to wait, yet again, before getting the information she wanted. She hated not knowing if something was a useful lead or just a random idea that went nowhere. “I could never be a detective. I have no patience, and everything feels so important. Not at all like things to be waited on.”
“It’s not for everyone,” Lucas agreed. “Unlike food. Which is definitely for everyone. Hungry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Always.”
“Good. Me, too.” Lucas turned in the direction of the campus food court. “We never made it over to the student center last time we were here. Maybe we can do that now, and grab some lunch while we’re there. Maybe a hot drink to keep us warm on the walk back to my truck.”
“I like how you think, Detective Winchester.” She smiled and offered him her hand.
He accepted.
They moved casually across campus, taking in the sights and sounds of homecoming week. Energy crackled in the air, despite the morning rain and reduced number of visitors. The Bellemont student body was unfazed. The school’s spirit and pride were everywhere, from the banners and pendants to the occasional painted face and chest of a hooting male. Signs had been staked into the ground and erected at crossroads announcing the big game. Only two days away now.
Hopefully the nut terrorizing Gwen didn’t have any grand attack planned to commemorate the fifth anniversary of their first violent encounter. The unexpected thought tightened every muscle in her body and caused her steps to stutter.
“You okay?” Lucas asked, noticing instantly.
“Fine.” They could talk more about the gruesome possibility later. Her newfound bravery was waning, and she hoped some food and caffeine would give her the pick-me-up she needed.
Lucas traced lazy circles against her hand with his thumb as they moved deeper into campus and her timelines became more entangled. Her traitorous body responded immediately, confused and elated. He’d always done that. Made the circles. And they’d always excited her. She’d imagined the gentle caresses as tiny messages shared by only them. A secret code for she was his. And he was hers.
She gave herself a mental shake. That was another time, and these circles meant nothing. They were habit, or muscle memory, at best. Something he did with every woman whose hand he held at worst.
She dared a glance in his direction and found him looking her way. Her cheeks flared, certain he could read her mind.
“It’s strange being on campus together again like this, huh?” he asked, lifting their joined hands slightly and smiling.
Yep. Reading her mind as suspected. “I promised myself I’d never come back here. Now, this is my second trip in three days. I never expected to see you again, and I’m sleeping in your bed.” The heat in her cheeks spread to her neck and chest. “You know what I mean. Everything about this week has been unexpected and weird.”
He turned away with a single nod.
“But it’s nice,” she said. “Being with you again. Not the o
ther stuff.”
“You don’t like my bed,” he asked, a teasing glimmer in his eye.
She smiled. “You know what I mean. Your bed is fine.” A little empty without you in it but... The train of thought brought her mind to a full halt. Did she want him in bed with her? For what?
A parade of images began immediately. Lying with him, beneath the covers. His warm hand stroking hair from her face, his gentle lips pressing kisses to her cheeks, nose and eyelids, whispering sweet promises into her ear as he left a trail of caresses from her earlobe to her collarbone.
She sucked in a breath, feeling her body come alert with the fantasy. It’d been years since she’d considered anything so intimate. She’d avoided the thoughts, afraid they would bring memories of the attack with them. But they hadn’t. Now, on a campus she’d avoided, in broad daylight, a few tiny circles drawn on her hand had kick-started her sex drive? Okay, maybe those long-dormant feelings weren’t exactly a revving engine, but Lucas had definitely turned the key. She knew the fantasies couldn’t lead anywhere. Imagining a man’s touch and receiving it were two very different things. Besides, she had scars. Inside and out. Too many for even someone as wonderful as Lucas Winchester to overlook. And he shouldn’t have to.
He pulled the student center door open for her, then followed her inside. “You’ve gotten very quiet.”
“Just thinking,” she admitted with a smile, unsure how they’d crossed campus so quickly.
He gave her a curious look, but didn’t press the issue.
She longed to hug him for what he was doing to her. For the first time in too long, she was beginning to feel alive. Maybe her fantasies would never be anything more, but they were still major progress in her overall healing, and she appreciated the breakthrough Lucas had brought her more than he would ever know.
They ate bad chow mein from the food court and watched students through nostalgic eyes. Had she and Lucas really been that carefree not so long ago? She’d asked herself the same question on a regular basis since starting over in New Plymouth. Everything about her life there had always felt surreal. She’d assumed it was a side effect from her trauma, that she simply hadn’t engaged with her world in emotional ways. Looking back, however, she wondered if perhaps the carefully created facade had never really fooled her. And maybe somewhere deep down she’d known it couldn’t last. That she’d have to face the ugliness eventually, if she wanted to truly be happy.
