by Julie Miller
“How bad is it?”
“Just some bruised ribs. I got ’em bandaged up.”
“How?”
“I don’t have to report everything to you.”
The detective laughed. “You’re the only man I know of who can take a beating and still come out smelling sweet. Is she pretty?”
“She’s a knockout.” Josh didn’t bother to deny A.J.’s intuition about his nurse tonight. He didn’t bother to explain, either. “You gonna run those names for me?”
“You don’t kiss and tell, huh?”
A kiss? His body heated up all over again just thinking about the possibility of pressing Rachel Livesay’s sweet lips beneath his own. But she had a strict rule about not fraternizing with students. And he had a strict rule about keeping innocent parties out of harm’s way.
“Yo, Josh.” A.J.’s voice snapped him back to the issue at hand. “Forget the lady. How was the party?”
“It was a bust. They had marijuana in the back room, not meth.”
“Don’t sweat it. Ninety-nine percent of what we do is boring, setting up the groundwork for the big finish. Being there tonight should net you some contacts. At the very least, it legitimizes your cover as someone who’s looking to score some action.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. I’ll let you know when you really screw up.”
Josh shook his head at A.J.’s subtle laugh. “If you don’t, I’m sure Lieutenant Cutler will.”
“Speaking of which—Cutler’s been doing some research. He gave me another name for you to check out.” Josh heard A.J. thumbing through pages of his notebook. “Kevin Washburn. He’s an on-again, off-again freshman there. He’s been picked up twice for meth possession. You make friends with him and maybe he’ll lead you to his supplier.”
Josh wrote down Washburn’s dorm address and his home address in the ritzy K.C. suburb of Mission Hills, Kansas.
“Got it. He’s not in any of my classes, but I’ll find a way to make contact.” Josh tucked his notebook inside his jacket pocket. This next request was off-the-record. “And A.J.?”
“Yeah?”
“Do one more thing for me.”
“Name it.”
Josh took a moment to change lanes and head for his turnoff. “I want you to find out everything you can about a Professor Rachel Livesay. She’s in the Psych department.”
“Is she a suspect?”
“She’s the reason I got in the fight.”
“Madre Dios.” A long silence followed before A.J. spoke again. A warning simmered in the detective’s ultra-quiet voice. “You know you’re not supposed to get involved with anyone while you’re on a case. That puts them in danger, too.”
“What was I supposed to do? Stand by and let them go after a pregnant lady?”
“Was it a robbery? A rape attempt?”
The image of Brown and his buddies putting their hands on Rachel made him queasy. His heavy sigh fogged up the truck’s side window.
“Neither. But there was some serious intimidation going on.”
“Stay out of it, Josh.”
“Obviously, I can’t report my involvement tonight.” He wiped the window clear with the side of his fist, wishing he could see his way through his concerns about Rachel just as clearly. “But she needs to report what happened. If nothing else, get the guys’ names on public record to establish a pattern, in case it gets out of hand and winds up in court.”
“Let her report it, then,” A.J. advised. “We can keep your name out of the record.”
“She won’t do it. She doesn’t want the publicity, either.”
“Then, that’s her choice, man.”
Josh shook his head. “The guy who went after her is a power freak. I don’t think he’ll let it go. She’s not safe.”
“All right—”
He could hear different noises in the background now. A.J. was up and moving. Someone else’s good night’s sleep had been shot to hell.
“I’ll look into it. See what connections I can drum up. I’ll post someone to keep an eye on her if the situation warrants it.”
“It does.”
“We’ll see. I’ll take care of the professor. You get your head back in the game.” A.J.’s reprimand was as stern as any Josh had received from his brothers or Lieutenant Cutler. “You know, maybe that fight will work to your advantage. Prove you’re a real bad boy on campus. Folks who are in the market to do business seem naturally drawn to a man with that kind of attitude.”
“So if I can’t charm my way into the meth ring, I’ll just overwhelm them with my ‘manly man’ ways?”
“Something like that. Dealers can almost always use more muscle for protection.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“But Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes bad boys don’t like competition. Look at Randall Pittmon.”
Josh closed his eyes and briefly pictured A.J. going down with a bullet in his shoulder. He’d come too close to losing a good cop and a new friend back in that warehouse. “Watch your back.”
“Always.”
He disconnected the call, fully intending to keep an eye on Rachel Livesay’s beautiful back, as well.
“RACHEL! COME IN.” Dean William Jeffers stood up from behind his imposing cherry-wood desk and greeted Rachel at the door to his office, welcoming her with a hearty handshake. “How are you?”
She smiled at his fatherly manner. “Fine, thanks.”
Behind his wire-framed glasses, his pale-brown eyes squinted with concern. “My daughter is having her second child this April. Says she’s having a devil of a time with swollen ankles. You’d better sit. Feel free to put your feet up on the ottoman.”
He guided her to a Chippendale sofa and sat her down with the same care and caution he might use if she’d announced her water had broken and she was going into labor. She wondered if the delicate shadows under her eyes from the lack of a good night’s sleep worried him. Or maybe it was just his old-fashioned way to treat a pregnant woman, as if she were a fragile piece of glass.
She needed to set him straight before he added health concerns to his list of reasons why she shouldn’t be named assistant dean. “That won’t be necessary. My doctor says everything is progressing healthily and normally.” She patted her stomach beneath the navy sweaterdress she wore. “This baby has been good as gold. She hasn’t affected my work at all.”
Not counting the first few weeks of morning sickness. Or the next few weeks of sudden, intense bouts of fatigue.
Or yesterday’s ominous threats from Daddy.
She closed down that train of thought and gave herself a bit of free press while reassuring her boss. “My article on post-partum depression and its effect on teenage mothers is scheduled for the next issue of the Journal of American Psychology. I’m hoping to track the same subjects as they enter their twenties and thirties.”
“Yes. That’s wonderful. Publish or perish and all that. Keep up the good work.” He waved aside her comments and sat in the wing chair opposite her. He unbuttoned his sport coat and adjusted his tie while he spoke. “You know I’ve never questioned your credentials, Rachel. And I appreciate that you’ve agreed to work right up to your delivery date. But your work performance and commitment to the college are not why I’ve called you here this morning.”
Impromptu meetings with the dean generally meant a crisis was brewing, or good news was ready to be shared. She sincerely hoped it was the latter.
It was too soon for Dr. Jeffers to have made his decision on the assistant dean’s position, though. Even if he had decided on his nominee, he had to get approval from a faculty committee first. Nervous anticipation vibrated through her, threatening to wake the baby who was napping contentedly against something besides her bladder for a change. “What’s up, then? You said it was important.”
“Well, I’ve been looking ahead at the rest of the semester—” A sharp knock at the door interrupted him
. He got up and hurried to the door, offering a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder as he crossed the room. “I’ve asked Curt Norwood to join us, if that’s all right.”
“Fine.” Curious as she might be about the reason for the meeting, she wasn’t about to protest. Dean Jeffers’ old-school charm and penchant for surprises masked his true personality. The former economics professor always had a plan. If he was up to something, he’d reveal it in his own way, in his own time. Besides, she and Curt were old friends from back in their graduate-school days in Kansas. When she’d interviewed for the position here at UMKC, he was already on the faculty and put in a good word for her.
She stood as Dean Jeffers opened the door. “Morning, Curt.”
“Rache.” Curt was a tall, lanky man—handsome in a washed-out sort of way, with soft hazel eyes that reflected considerable intelligence, and light-brown hair that he cropped short to minimize the twin points of his receding hairline and play up his sharply chiseled features.
He urged her to stay put when she would have risen, and sat beside her on the sofa. Rachel frowned at the mischievous smile lighting his eyes. He knew something. Though she remained in the dark about the reason she’d been summoned to the Dean’s Office before her morning counseling sessions, Curt knew what was up. She was the only person out of the loop here.
Her ex-husband had also kept secrets from her. He’d turned lying into an art form. And while William Jeffers and Curt Norwood weren’t lying to her, the effect of deliberately being kept uninformed was the same. She pressed her hands together in front of her and steamed.
“Someone needs to tell me what’s going on.” Dean Jeffers hiked his slacks up at the knees and sat across from her. Was she in trouble? Had he called in Curt to offer her some kind of moral support? Resentment turned to anxiety in the pit of her stomach, but she didn’t give it time to turn sour. “Dean?”
The college chief cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his forearms atop his knees. “Rachel, I know that your baby is due next month.”
She nodded. “March twentieth.”
“Yes. And as I said, I know you’ll work up to the last possible moment, but I need to think ahead about your replacement. You’ll be gone on maternity leave until the fall semester.”
Put on guard by his pacifying tone, Rachel scooted forward on the sofa. “I thought the plan was to reassign my clients temporarily, and have one of the graduate assistants step up to take over my classes.”
“Initially, yes.” The dean’s face crinkled with an excited grin and he looked over at Curt, whose expression could only be described as sheepishly apologetic.
Rachel looked from one man to the other. Her defensive posture gave way to annoyance. “What?”
Dean Jeffers sat up straight. “This is such a wonderful opportunity. And I really do have the best interests of the college at heart.”
Not the most promising lead-in to the mysterious announcement. “I never doubted that.”
“Curt has recommended a visiting PhD who could finish your semester and even teach over the summer session.”
The dean’s excitement would be contagious if she didn’t have such a bad feeling about whatever he was trying to tell her. “Who is it?”
Curt shifted to the edge of the sofa when the dean nodded to him. He angled himself toward Rachel and scooped her hands into his. Beneath the arch of one raised eyebrow, Curt’s eyes were asking for understanding. Rachel braced herself, hoping she could give it.
“Dr. Simon Livesay.”
For a moment, she simply stared at Curt. She looked down at their lightly clasped hands and studied them as if they were foreign objects. Then she blinked. She pulled her hands away, tucking her fingers into her palms. “Simon.”
She repeated the name out loud, testing the feel of it on her tongue. She hadn’t used it for so long. Her ex-husband’s name.
Surprise gave way to a slew of other emotions, everything from amusement to anger to disbelief.
“You want to hire my former husband to replace me?”
Dean Jeffers raised his hands in front of him, placating her in tone and gesture. “Temporarily. The position, of course, will remain yours in the fall. But if he’s available, it would be a wonderful coup for the college. And Curt thinks he’s interested in a short-term assignment. The private practice the two of you shared had a sterling reputation. That’s why we snatched you up, after all. Your research was solid, innovative—the success rate of your clientele was phenomenal.” He swept his hands through the air in a wide gesture, asking her to see the big picture the way he did. “I’m calling him this afternoon with an offer.”
Rachel looked from one man to the other, feeling cornered. She’d cleaned up after Simon time and again, righting the devastation that—whether intentional or not—seemed to follow in his wake. Was this an opportunity to forestall his hiring? Ages ago she’d learned to shield her heart from Simon’s infidelities. She’d even salvaged a reputable portion of their joint practice so that she could continue a successful solo career.
In the years since their divorce she’d come to look on Simon as a mistake of youthful thinking. She’d once loved him with all her heart, but had quickly discovered it was too painful to love that way. Over the years she’d learned to hold something back, until she’d trained herself not to feel much of anything at all.
Maybe that was why having a baby suddenly had become so important. She needed to love someone unconditionally. She wanted to trust that her love would be accepted. Valued. Necessary.
Could Simon Livesay wreak havoc on her life a second time around? Did he still have the power to hurt her, even though she’d moved on with her life? Would his return ruin the self-sufficient independence she’d worked so hard to achieve? Or was this a chance to prove to herself that Simon no longer had influence over her life?
She wasn’t sure what Dean Jeffers wanted from her. “Are you asking for my approval? Is this a background check?”
He shook his head. “I simply wanted to notify you about what the committee was planning. And to see if maybe you could give us an inside track.”
“To hiring Simon?” Was he for real? She’d do a lot for her school, even more to support the dean. But this? Sarcasm bubbled up in her throat, raising the pitch of her voice and sending her hands dancing through the air in front of her. “You want me to sweet-talk him into saying yes to your offer? I hardly think that I’m—”
Curt laid a calming hand on her arm. “Dean, maybe you’d better let me handle this.”
“Fine.” The dean stood, clearly relieved to be passing this task off to someone else. “Just remember, Rachel.” He strolled toward the door, signaling an end to his involvement in the meeting. “No matter what your relationship might be on a personal level, as a professional, Simon Livesay has few peers his equal.”
As the dean opened the door, Curt slid his hand to the small of Rachel’s back to help her up from the couch. “I’ll discuss the same pros and cons with her that we did, Bill.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you both soon.”
Curt was having private discussions with the dean? Calling him Bill? Smoothing things over with her?
Suspicion oozed from every pore. She pulled away from Curt’s friendly touch and hurried out the door ahead of him. Once the door clicked shut behind them, she whirled around. “You’re doing the dean’s dirty work now? Are you trying to earn points toward the promotion?” she accused in a hushed voice.
He scanned the office to check that the attention of the two secretaries was diverted before bending toward her. “I’m trying to spare your feelings.”
Then, his technique needed work. “By recommending Simon as my replacement?”
Curt’s eyes narrowed to warning slits, sending a different message from that of the cajoling smile on his lips. “Why don’t we discuss this over a cup of coffee instead of in the middle of the Dean’s Office.”
“I don’t drink coffee anymore.”
“Humor me.” His hazel eyes softened to match his smile. “For old times’ sake?”
Rachel threw up her hands, fully intending to drop the conversation until she’d figured out whether this was resentment or anger or hurt she was feeling. But her stomach grumbled with an unmistakable cue. Between the baby’s needs and Curt’s winsome smile, her emotional indignation faded. She touched her stomach as the baby stirred. “I could use some more breakfast.”
“My treat,” he offered, his smile firmly back in place. “I’ll even drive.”
He’d have to, Rachel remembered with a sudden rush of awareness. She’d taken a cab to work this morning. She hadn’t even reached the parking lot where her car was parked before receiving the summons from Dean Jeffers on her cell phone. Then she’d gotten so caught up in her mixed-up feelings over the dean’s new plan that she’d forgotten about her car.
Josh Tanner had promised to fix her tire for her this morning. But she hadn’t given him her keys. She hadn’t trusted him enough. She didn’t want to trust him.
But independence was one thing. Rudeness was another. She should look up his number and try to call him. Thank him for his offer but tell him she would just contact a wrecker herself.
Thinking back to the young man’s promise triggered a cascade of uneasy emotions. The sense of danger that emanated from his broad shoulders had made her feel at once nervous—and protected. He’d shielded her from the danger of last night’s attack, but he’d gone beyond the tough, take-charge persona who had emerged from the shadows and had transformed into a stubborn, solicitous, sexy man.
She’d tended his wounds. He’d filled her condo and her head with images of confident masculinity softened with just the right tinge of humor and humanity. His stunning blue eyes had sought her out time and again—flirting, questioning, reassuring. And when he’d held her, they’d gone a deep, intense cerulean that had probed deep inside her woman’s heart, giving her ideas about falling into his arms. About spearing her fingers through his short, golden hair and tugging his mouth down to hers.
