Chasing Thunderbird

by J. Leigh Bailey

  My secondary reminder pinged, breaking up this new, different tension.

  “Later.” Ford ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Later we’ll have time to talk.”

  Since I agreed the timing could be better, I stood. Nudity wasn’t something I was usually casual about, but I didn’t want to draw attention to how awkward the moment was by, well, being awkward. Ford’s eyes left an almost physical sensation in their wake as they scanned my body. Luckily he turned away to leave the room before the arousal stirring in my gut could manifest in a more obvious way. A boner at this stage would just compound the morning-after awkwardness.

  Which reminded me. “Ford?” I asked before he’d gone more than a couple of steps into the hallway.

  He looked at me over his shoulder.

  “Uh, at school, we—” I gestured between us, really driving home the awkward. I was an adult, damn it. Adults could deal with their personal shit without stuttering. They could compartmentalize their romantic lives—though it might have been jumping the gun to term a single night with the man of my dreams as romance—and their professional ones. I licked my lips and tried again. “This can’t be… obvious… in the department.”

  He turned to face me fully, then strode back until he stood bare inches in front of me. “At school, I’ll keep my distance and defer to you, the same as I would to any professor in the department. But when we’re off campus, you’re mine.” He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and dragged me forward until I pressed against his chest. His head swooped down, and his mouth met mine in a carnal kiss that was not in the least deferential.

  “Okay,” I sighed into his mouth when oxygen became necessary and our lips parted. “I can live with that.”

  I turned and stumbled down the hall and into the bathroom. Maybe a shower—a very, very cold shower—would clear my head enough to focus on students, biology, and whatever these journal-stealing, possible snake-worshipping cultists, possible weapons-trafficking assassins could want with a geeky bird-watching professor.

  Chapter Eleven

  MY morning class went fine. It was one of the introductory classes I could teach in my sleep, which was a good thing since my brain was occupied elsewhere. In fact, my brain migrated between naked Ford in my bed and suspicious characters bothering my grandfather. I spent my office hours between my class and lunchtime on the phone with the BLM, working through the details for the migration project, something I needed to get ironed out soon. After lunch—which I probably would have forgotten about altogether if Ford hadn’t texted me an order to eat something—I spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing my grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s notes regarding the Arizona sighting. I’d long ago memorized the details, but maybe a new perspective—that being the existence of shifters—would bring to light some new datum I could use to fine-tune a renewed search.

  The enticing aroma of coffee pulled me from my work. I checked the time display on the bottom corner of my laptop. It was after four. “Ford? I thought you had to work.”

  Then I glanced up at the door and realized the coffee scent didn’t come from Ford. Matthew Jones stood at the threshold, carrying two cups of Starbucks coffee. The closest Starbucks was on the other side of the city. Buddy’s would have been closer. Some people were coffee snobs, though.

  “Oh, hey.” I closed my laptop and focused on him. He was still pretty, but after a night spent with Ford, Matthew had lost some of his shine. Not that I’d had any kind of a thing for him—I just appreciated his aesthetic—but now even that seemed to have dulled.

  “I thought you could use this.” Matthew offered me a cup.

  “Oh, ah, thanks.” I took the cup.

  “I wasn’t sure how you took it, so it’s black. But I have some cream and sugar.” He dug into his coat pocket and dumped a fistful of packets onto my desk. One of the little cream cups rolled over the edge. Matthew cursed, set his own coffee down, and chased after it. He returned it to the pile of and smiled sheepishly at me. It seemed a little off. He seemed a little off. Twitchy, maybe.

  “What can I do for you?” I took a minute to doctor my coffee. His dark blue eyes followed the process with disturbing closeness.

  He perched on the edge of my guest chair and folded his hands in his lap. His wool coat bunched around him. “Couple of things. First, I wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” So much had happened the day before, I wasn’t exactly sure what he referred to.

  “Your tires.”

  Right. My tires. He wouldn’t have known about the discovery of shifters, the ransacking of my house, or sexy times with Ford. Which left the tires. “Oh yeah. I’m fine. I appreciate your concern. The campus police are looking into it. The rest is up to insurance.”

  He bit his lip, then shot a glance at the closed door. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t want to mention it yesterday, not with the other guy around.”

  “Other guy?”

  “Yeah. Your TA.”

  “Ford Whitney?”

  His tongue darted out in a quick snakelike movement. “Yeah. How much do you know about him?”

  My brows drew together. What was he getting at? Had someone seen us at Buddy’s the other night and assumed something? “As well as I know anyone I’m working with here.” Except I didn’t know how anyone else here tasted or smelled, or how their broad body felt weighing me down into my mattress.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Of course. I’d prefer it.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t want to mention it last night, but I think he’s the one responsible for your tires.”

  I fell back in my seat. “You must be mistaken.” If Ford were the one who’d slashed my tires, why would he point out that they’d been slashed? Eventually I’d have figured out I was deluding myself with excuses about nails and sharp objects, but I’d been firmly planted in denial when he’d shown up. Besides, he’d had Donnie check out the scents. Not that I could share any of that with Matthew. “He’s a highly respected member of this department.”

  “Look, Dr. Coleman, you can’t trust him. I’ve heard some things that worry me. Things that should probably worry you.”

  “I don’t put much stock into gossip. I prefer to make my own opinions.”

  “I get that, I do.” His face was drawn in distress. “And normally I’d respect that. I mentioned I was in the Army, right?”

  “Yeah.” That was a bit of a detour off topic. But I liked it better than the current conversation.

  “Well, the Army teaches you a lot of different skills. One of which is observation and analysis. And, well, I picked up on a few things when I’ve seen him. You might call it instinct, or a vibe, but he’s always felt a little off to me.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “Not specifically. At first I just knew he was a TA who worked with you. Since I’d been hoping to work with you too, I checked him out. Then watched him on campus whenever I saw him.”

  “You were spying on my TA?” My cold tone told him exactly what I thought about that.

  “I was worried. He’s not what he seems.”

  Oh damn. If Ford had given away the existence of shifters, or at least that he was a shifter, there was going to be hell to pay. And, really, if I’d picked up the anomalies, it stood to reason someone trained by the military could as well. I needed to change the trajectory of this conversation, stat.

  I picked up the coffee he’d brought me, needing something to do with my hands. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation—”

  “He’s a drug dealer.”

  I almost dropped the coffee. Before I crushed the pressed paper cup, I put the drink down. “I’m sorry. Say again?” The idea of Ford—stoic, kind of grumpy Ford—as something as ridiculous as a drug dealer was, well, ridiculous. I supposed it was better a presumed drug dealer than a shape-shifting creature. Add to that, I was a little offended that Matthew thought I’d be gullible enough to believe his story.<
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  He ran his hand through his perfectly tousled curls, creating, if anything, a more sexily disheveled look. He aimed his jewel-bright eyes at me, earnestness welling in them like tears. “You have to have noticed the way people are strangely deferential to him? And then he’s always meeting people in secret. Small groups and huddled conversations.”

  Wow. Matthew really had been watching Ford. I, of course, knew why some people deferred so easily to Ford. A lot of it was the dominance—his literal and figurative alphaness—but some resulted from his too-beautiful-to-be-real appearance and his complete obliviousness to it. And the secret meetings and huddles? No doubt ramifications of the secret shifters-only plans and things they had to keep humans—what did shifters call the nonshifter population?—from overhearing.

  “That’s hardly suspicious behavior.”

  “I know I probably sound like a paranoid freak, but I’m really worried about you. He seems to have taken an unnatural interest in you.”

  His interest the night before hadn’t felt unnatural. I had to force back an inappropriate grin. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. He’s my assistant. Of course he’s going to spend time around me.”

  Matthew leaned forward. If he got any closer, he’d be draped over my desk. He lowered his voice into an intense whisper. “He has people spying on you.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, a move straight out of Tierney’s toolbox. Maybe Matthew was paranoid. Paranoia was a common symptom of PTSD, and Matthew was former military. We hadn’t talked about his experiences in the Army. He could very well be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. If that was the case, I was definitely in over my head. None of my education dealt with this. Was it better to talk against the paranoid delusions or to agree with him? Or maybe deflect and redirect the conversation?

  He sighed and slumped against the back of his chair. “Believe me, I know this sounds crazy, but I thought you deserved to know the truth.” He bit his lip, suddenly looking a little shy. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Just be careful, okay? Keep an eye on him. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  Oh wow. Did Matthew have feelings for me? Was that why he was worried about Ford? Did he view Ford as some kind of romantic threat?

  He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t the only reason I stopped by.”

  Thank goodness. “Yes?”

  “Since your car is currently out of commission, I figured you may need a ride home or something. Or, if you need anything, I’m more than willing to help.”

  “I’ve got it worked out,” I said, realizing that I really didn’t. I hadn’t touched base with the repair guy to see when I could pick up my car. If it wasn’t going to be available soon, I’d have to get a rental. Getting to the school this morning was fine; Ford dropped me off. I didn’t know what I would do tomorrow. I grabbed a sticky note from my drawer and made a notation. As soon as Matthew left, I’d text Ford for the number of the mechanic. I’d been so discombobulated yesterday that I’d let him deal with that aspect of things and hadn’t even paid attention to where my car was being towed to.

  Ford expected me to show up at Buddy’s tonight, which was a short walk, but my duplex was several miles away. No way was I walking that at night in winter.

  “Oh, okay.” He scanned my office. “So, there was another thing….” He bit his lip and flashed a shy smile. Lordy, it was like he had a whole agenda planned for our meeting this afternoon.

  I cocked my head. “Yes?” I expected him to ask about collaborating or mentoring with the thunderbird research. Honestly, that’s what I’d expected to talk about when he first showed up at my office door. I still hadn’t made up my mind to what extent, if any, I was willing to work with him.

  “I might be out of line, but I wanted to see if… to ask….” He closed his eyes, a self-deprecating grimace crossing his face. Suddenly it all felt very rehearsed. Every expression and gesture created for maximum impact. In fact, our whole discussion felt like an exercise in acting.

  Almost without thinking, I squared my body in my chair, bracing my feet in case I needed to jump up quickly. A fight-or-flight preparation that seemed out of place while sitting in my office. “Yes?” I kept my voice steady, mildly interested. I really had no reason for the sudden awareness creeping up my spine. But one of the things I’d learned over the years exploring rainforests and mountain ranges across the globe was to trust my instincts.

  Matthew chuckled charmingly, and the falseness grated. “Wow, I’m really making a hash out of this. You’d think I’ve never asked a guy out before.”

  Shock knocked the suspicion right out of me. “Excuse me? You’re asking me out?”

  He shifted in his seat. “Okay, yeah. I’m usually better at this. I swear.” He looked up at me from under lowered lashes. “I’m attracted to you. I hoped you’d be interested in going out somewhere with me. Maybe for drinks or something.”

  My brain struggled to form the right words. “Matthew—” I stopped to clear my throat. “That’s flattering, but I can’t. It’s a violation of the college’s code of conduct. Dating an undergrad could get me dismissed.” Guilt twisted in me, but it was mild. Ford was not, I reminded myself, an undergrad. And while dating a student—any student—was seriously frowned upon, there was a little more leeway with graduate students.

  “It’s not like I’m some teenager just out of high school. I’m older than you are.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking genuine and open.

  “Yeah, but it’s a slippery slope. And I’m a professor without tenure. I can’t risk it.”

  There. A slight tightening around his mouth and eyes. It was the first real sign that the rest of the scene had been carefully choreographed. “I see.” Then he forced the friendly, flirty mask back on his face. “I hope it’s okay that I’m a little disappointed.”

  “It’s flattering, really. But it’s better that we don’t entertain the idea at all. Slippery slope, as I said.” There, that was professorish and noncommittal, right? I was afraid of what he’d do if I pissed him off, but the last thing I needed was to give this guy any false hope. Especially if my paranoia was uncalled for and he really did like me. Of course, if my paranoia was on track, it might be even more dangerous to leave that avenue even slightly open. So, yeah, a firm shutdown was the best approach.

  “I get it.” Matthew smiled and nodded to show his acceptance. Perfect choreography. He’d never be a great actor—his motions were too studied, too deliberate—but I’m not sure I’d have noticed it if it weren’t for all the weird coincidences surrounding me lately. They’d kept me a little more on edge than usual. “There was something else,” he added. He reached for the second cup of coffee he’d brought with him and took a sip.

  I’d never really thought about the instinctive copycat impulse of drinking beverages, but I realized when he took his sip, I automatically reached for the cup he’d brought for me. Like a sneeze or when someone glanced at their cell phone, you just followed suit. I wouldn’t have worried about it, but his eyes narrowed, and he followed the cup’s path from my desk to my mouth with a predatory intensity that reminded me of Tierney.

  Damn. Was Matthew a shifter too? Maybe that whole discussion about Ford was a ruse to figure out what I knew or thought I knew. Was it possible that his maybe-paranoid, maybe-jealous actions were a front?

  As my brain whirred with the possibilities, my grip went lax, and the cup I’d been holding crashed to the desk, exploding its contents over folders, papers, and my laptop. I leaped up and back, an instinctive move to avoid hot coffee on my lap. “Shit!” I whipped my laptop out of the liquid, brushing the dark droplets off the cover. I was glad I’d shut it when Matthew arrived. At the time I wanted to hide my notes from prying eyes, but it had been a stroke of luck. Once my computer was safely stored away from the hot puddle, I yanked open a desk drawer and grabbed a fistful of tissues to blot up the mess.

&nbs
p; Matthew had jumped to his feet too, but he stood there helplessly as I did the quick cleanup.

  “There’s a restroom a couple of doors down. Any chance you can run and grab some paper towels?” I shook a folder to keep the liquid from soaking in. It’d be stained, but the documents inside—lecture notes for my advanced ornithology class—would be fine.

  Matthew rushed to do my bidding while I cleaned up the folders I could. In a minute he was back with a wad of scratchy brown paper towels, and between the two of us we sopped up the worst of the puddles and salvaged the folders.

  I wiped the back of my arm across my forehead, a little sweaty from the rushed cleanup. “Whew. That was exciting.” I grinned at Matthew, who’d been oddly subdued during the activity. “I’m sorry I wasted the coffee you brought me, though. Can I pay you for it?” I reached for my shoulder bag to dig out my wallet.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” He gave me crooked smile. “Nothing else worked out as I’d planned. It shouldn’t surprise me that the coffee ended up being a bad idea too.”

  “If it’s any consolation,” I said, moving toward the door, hoping he’d take it as encouragement to head out, “I appreciate the thought. The coffee,” I clarified. The last thing I needed was him thinking either his accusations or his romantic pursuits were welcome. I headed for the hallway, ultimately aiming for the restroom. I needed to wash the smell of coffee off me. The seductive hint of coffee that had soaked into Ford’s skin was one thing. Wandering around in an overwhelming application of eau de java was something else.

  Matthew took the hint and followed me out. When I turned to the restroom, he set his course for the stairwell. Once the big metal door closed behind him, I took the first easy breath I’d managed since I’d noticed Matthew’s strange behavior.

  I rinsed my hands and arms under lukewarm water. The water on the third floor never seemed to get hot. I pushed the lever on the wall dispenser and found the reservoir holding the liquid hand soap was empty. Of course it was. I dried my not-quite-clean hands on more brown towels and thought about the slapstick melodrama that had taken place in my office.