Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He cleared his throat. “Did it cross your mind, when you heard about the murder, that Mr. King might have been conducting business in the sauna that night?”

  This silence was answer enough. “Yeah,” Frank said finally, to his credit. “But I talked myself out of believing it. I mean, the middle of the night? And he was nude? Plus, if it was hot and steamy in there, the ink would have run, wouldn’t it? So I figured he was pulling an all-nighter like the rest of us. He presumably had to get the grades, too. Somebody was paying his tuition, right?”

  “He had parents,” Troy confirmed. Divorced, but both had kicked in to pay the bill. They presumably had expected passing grades at a minimum. Troy found himself hoping neither was alive to learn that their son had been killed because he’d gone into business as a blackmailer. “Mr. King didn’t ask you to come to the sauna, then?”

  “No, I’d made my December payment a week or two before. I think that was the time I went to his room.” This recollection came out as rueful.

  He proved willing to dredge his memory for the names of everyone he could remember seeing with King. Troy took a lot of notes. A part of him was relieved that Madison’s father’s name wasn’t on the list. One particularly interesting name was Gordon Haywood’s, the senator. Troy remembered again Haywood’s hasty departure once he had his time capsule contribution back in his hot little hand.

  “You going to have to tell anyone about my part?” Frank finally ventured.

  “Who would care, except maybe your sister or parents?” Troy asked. “It doesn’t sound as if you did anything that terrible.”

  “Only time I ever stole anything. I still don’t know what I was thinking. But, man, finding out someone had seen me and then getting blackmailed really worked to deter any repeat, I’ve got to tell you.”

  After he’d thanked Claybo and ended the call, Troy found himself chuckling low in his throat. Gee, gosh, maybe they should fit a halo on Mitch King’s memory. Could it be that all his victims had thereafter seen the light and lived virtuously?

  Guy Laclaire, for example, who set such uncompromisingly high standards for his young daughter and who was a man who believed in honesty with fervor. Had he, like Frank Claybo, learned his lesson from Mitchell King, the worm who was getting rich at everyone else’s expense?

  There was some irony there, Troy was sure.

  * * *

  HE WAS SO DAMN EAGER, driving to Madison’s house, Troy didn’t recognize himself. There wasn’t even any special reason; clearly, he wasn’t getting her into bed until this was all over. He was having dinner there. Full stop. But he felt as excited as he had as a kid on his way to the fair, or when he was eighteen and his parents had driven him to Seattle to leave him at the UW the first time. He was yearning to be there.

  Even more disturbing was realizing how much of a refuge Madison had become for him.

  Not until the evening he’d gone straight from his mother’s house to hers had he suspected how much Madison was coming to mean to him. Before that, he’d known he was sexually riveted by her, a fancy way of saying he wanted her more than he’d wanted a woman in a long time, if ever. He knew he liked her, that she was easy to talk to, that he was happy listening to her and felt unexpectedly protective. There were times when she was talking about her father or mother that he’d have given damn near anything to erase the more hurtful memories and make her feel secure in a way he sensed she never had.

  Loved. Madison had never believed herself to be loved—unshakably, bedrock-deep, no-matter-what loved.

  And yeah, the very word was unsettling. He’d had relationships that got pretty intense. But not once had Troy ever thought he was in love with one of them. He figured maybe that was because of his parents. In them, he’d seen love in action—the expression on their faces when they looked at each other, the brief touches, the care they took of each other. They occasionally squabbled; they never fought. He didn’t remember his parents ever raising their voices, either at each other or him. He’d never seen his father check out another woman, not even in that automatic way most men did.

  Troy had never consciously thought, That’s what I want. But he realized now he’d decided exactly that, probably when he was quite young.

  He needed a woman who would never bore him, who made him laugh. A woman he could trust, yeah, unshakably, bedrock-deep, to keep liking and loving him even through the tough times in their lives. On top of all that, there had to be an explosive attraction between them, the feeling when he touched her that only she would do, that he would never want to touch another woman.

  With Madison, it was all there.

  Her face was beautiful to him, from her gently rounded chin to the forehead that was high and had a curve that struck him as childlike. The tiny dimple beside her mouth, Troy found irresistible. She had a cute nose with a small bump on the bridge, fine-textured skin with a golden tone and those warm, melting eyes. Damn, he loved her hair, from the hint of a widow’s peak to the soft new hairs that tickled his mouth at her nape.

  Even thinking about her lush body was enough to arouse him.

  But needing a woman on a level that had nothing to do with sex—that was something he’d never experienced before.

  A man should want the woman he was falling in love with. And Troy had been okay with the desire to keep her safe and happy. He guessed that fit with his nature, although he’d never analyzed himself that way before. When he did now, he discovered he held some probably old-fashioned beliefs about a man being ready to stand between his family and the world in all its violence and cruelty. Some of that was a natural offshoot of being a cop.

  He wanted her to turn to him with good news and bad, to share a laugh, for comfort. For everything. Because she needed him.

  The part he hadn’t expected was his need to turn to her. He had this hunger to talk over every problem with her, personal and work-related. To bounce ideas off her, to share the weird shit he saw and the funny moments. She never seemed to leave his head, which was more than a little disconcerting.

  And he had to face the fact that, after only two weeks, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  What he had no idea of was whether she felt anything close to the same for him. He thought she did...but he also thought what she felt scared her. Troy understood why that would be so. He had the advantage of having grown up knowing he was loved, and with the ever-present example of his parents’ love for each other. If Madison felt with anything like the intensity he did, she probably couldn’t begin to understand it. Or maybe she did, but didn’t trust what she felt or that he could feel the same.

  They had some major obstacles facing them, and he had a bad feeling they couldn’t begin to overcome any of them until the elephant wasn’t lumbering along at their side anymore: until he could be certain Laclaire hadn’t committed a brutal murder. Until both could know that he wouldn’t have to arrest her father.

  Troy didn’t see that happening real soon, given his ever-growing list of suspects. He could spend months interviewing every student who’d attended Wakefield College back then, and never arrive at an answer.

  Then what? he asked himself bleakly. Would the uncertainty eat at Madison’s relationship with her dad...and with him? Or could they put it behind them?

  Could he accept having a father-in-law he seriously suspected of having murdered someone?

  And...what if Madison had to choose between the father who had been her only security, and this guy she’d only met a few weeks before?

  Troy didn’t even like to think about that last question.

  He pulled into her driveway, set the emergency brake and silenced the engine.

  Disconcerted, he discovered that his brooding hadn’t in any way lessened his eagerness to see her.

  * * *

  TO MADISON, TROY’S MOOD seemed strange. Was it because she’d put the brakes on their physical relationship? But he’d seemed to understand, so she had trouble believing that now he was sulking. Then it occurr
ed to her that, given his job, he must have some really bad days.

  She finally set down her fork and propped her elbows on the table. “Did something happen today?”

  “Something?”

  “A horrible, bloody car accident? A child was murdered? Or...?” Her imagination failed her. She was disconcerted to find she half hoped his mood had to do with something unrelated to her. She crossed her fingers under the table. I don’t want anyone to have suffered or died. Really.

  Troy laughed, his body language loosening. “None of the above. So far, my lieutenant has dropped me from the rotation and is letting me focus a hundred percent on the King investigation. I’ve been lucky. He won’t be able to do that forever.”

  “You seem withdrawn tonight,” she observed.

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled, but she couldn’t help noticing that his eyes were still shadowed. “I’m getting somewhere, and it hit me on the way over here that every bit of new information opens yet more avenues. We’re talking literally hundreds of people I may have to interview.” He shrugged. “It’s big. Made even bigger by the intervening years, the fact that those people have spread out across the country and even the world.”

  “You’re feeling daunted,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s it.” His eyes met hers. “I’d have liked to clear your dad right away.”

  “So you never had to show anyone else what your father wrote.”

  He grunted. His jaw muscles knotted. “And so your father would quit standing between us, glaring at me and staring reproachfully at you.”

  Madison blinked at the image. “Is that what he’s doing?” she asked after a minute.

  “In my head.”

  “In mine...” She had to stop; she closed her eyes, then opened them again, unable to be less than honest with Troy. “In mine he’s looking angry and scared at the same time.” She hesitated again. “The way he sounds,” she said, even more softly. “And then I think I’m betraying him, and I picture his face when he finds out.”

  Troy swore and started to push back his chair. “I shouldn’t have raised the subject.”

  “No.” She held up her hand and even smiled. “Don’t be silly. Sit down and eat. I’m fine. I just...have my moments.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  She traced the condensation on her glass. “You think Dad is between us.”

  He put down his fork again. “I guess I do.”

  Why was she even poking at this? She’d been the one to tell him to slow down because of the complications. “I’m not, um, real quick to leap into bed with a guy, anyway.”

  He looked at her gravely. “Is that what I am? A guy?”

  Shame heated her cheeks. “You know you’re more than that. And it’s not that I’m blaming you for having to investigate Dad. I understand you do, okay?”

  “I offered before, but if your involvement is getting to you, I can track people down another way.”

  “And I said no.” She jutted her chin at him to be sure he knew how determined she was. “I meant it.”

  Troy smiled faintly. “Okay.” This conversation hadn’t reduced the shadows in his eyes at all. “We’ll get through this.”

  She wanted to, with startling desperation. Troy was different. How she felt about him was different. Which made him frightening, too, but she longed to find out where a relationship with him would take her. Being haunted by her father—the ghost of past, present and future, she thought with a twinge of humor—was definitely getting in her way.

  “Dad hasn’t called again,” she blurted.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You haven’t told me if you ever got in touch with Frank Claybo’s sister.”

  He had. What’s more, he’d talked with Frank, who had been, well, frank about having been blackmailed. Appalled, she listened as Troy told her about the ledger and Frank’s suspicion that there had been multiple victims.

  “Then...if Dad was being blackmailed, it means he wasn’t the only one.”

  “That’s what it means.”

  Apprehension squeezed her throat. “Did...did he have any idea who any of the other people were?” Her voice had come out too high and squeaky.

  “He gave me a list of students he’d seen talking to Frank. I doubt he remembered everyone—think about how many years have passed!—but I suspect he was pissed enough to be paying close attention.” Troy frowned at the expression on her face. “Your dad isn’t on the list, Madison. Don’t look at me like that.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was proud of herself for her ability to curve her mouth into an almost reassuring smile. “I have serious daddy issues, don’t I?”

  Troy grunted a laugh. “You and me both. You’d think we’d have outgrown it, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not so sure you have issues. You’ve been disillusioned, which is different.” She stood and picked up dirty dishes with both hands. “Coffee? I picked up cookies at the bakery today, too.”

  His smile verged on rakish. “I haven’t outgrown cookies.”

  When she returned with the plate of cookies, Madison continued as if she had never left off. “You’re really angry at your dad, aren’t you?”

  Lines deepened on his face, although he wasn’t exactly frowning. “You think I shouldn’t be?”

  “I don’t have an opinion. I suppose I’m being nosy.”

  His eyes warmed. “I want you to be nosy where I’m concerned.”

  Breathing was suddenly a challenge. “I want you to be curious about me, too,” she finally managed to say.

  “Good.” He said it the way he always did, with solid satisfaction. Possibly a hint of smugness, which she found she didn’t mind.

  As she watched, he added cream to his coffee. She’d noticed before that he drank it black in the morning. Only in the evening did he dilute it.

  “Does your stomach bother you?” she asked, nodding at the small jug of cream in his hand.

  He glanced down. “Ah...yeah. Sometimes. Mostly when I go to bed.”

  “You probably shouldn’t drink coffee at all in the evening. I wished you’d told me. I could have made herbal tea.”

  Troy grinned, a vivid flash of humor. “Please don’t. I might have to start making my excuses the minute I finish the last bite of dinner.”

  Madison chuckled. “Oh, fine.” She dumped plenty of cream and sugar in her own coffee. Truthfully, she didn’t drink it in the evening at all when she was alone.

  “Back to Dad,” he said abruptly. “I keep wondering why this whole thing has rattled my perception of him so much. I haven’t totally figured it out yet.” Troy’s face and voice both had tightened. “Maybe I’m afraid I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. I always felt lucky. I don’t know many guys who are really close to their fathers. I guess I thought I was privileged, and now I have to wonder if that relationship went as deep as I thought it did.”

  “Has it occurred to you,” she said gently, “that he never told you because he was ashamed? Because measuring up in your eyes really mattered to him?”

  He ground his teeth together. “If he was ashamed, why the hell didn’t he do the right thing?” Troy asked, sounding angry again. “Tell me that.” He closed his eyes. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry, Madison. It’s not your fault. And you’re right, that is a possibility. But it’s one that means Dad wasn’t the man I believed him to be.”

  The shadow of her own father seemed to fall over her. She was chilled enough to pull her arms close in to her sides. “Are you so sure? You’ve also described a man who was completely loyal to the people he loved. Maybe he was to friends, too. He sounded as if he considered my father to be a good friend. Your dad’s certainty got shaken and he typed up that witness statement, but maybe as soon as the time capsule was closed up he realized he’d been an idiot and that he believed in my father. The ability to be that kind of friend is admirable, too, isn’t it?”

  He considered her for a minute that stretched into two. Those furrows still aged hi
s face, but somehow made him no less sexy. Madison had the sudden, panicky realization that, if anything, a troubled Troy trying to untangle a complicated emotional dilemma was even more appealing than the straightforward man she’d first met, the one who’d gone into instant hunting mode where she was concerned. He was a lot more complex than he’d first seemed, which also gave her hope that he wouldn’t decide she was a flake because of all her confusion and give up on her.

  “Yeah,” Troy said gruffly. “You’re right. I’d find that picture of him a lot more convincing, though, if he and your dad had stayed friends, at least until the end of the school year.”

  “Do you know that they didn’t reconcile?” she challenged.

  He stared at her, his expression sharply arrested. “No,” he said slowly, “I guess I don’t. But when did that happen? The time capsule was closed up and put in the building—when?—in April. Months after the murder. Plus, I’m going on the fact that Dad told Mom about what he’d seen and written. It sounded like it ate at him. You know?”

  “Maybe what ate at him was having put that stupid, impulsive thing in the one place he couldn’t recover it from.”

  “You really think they got to be buddies again in the last month and half, two months before graduation?”

  “The capsule was put in the foundation in April, but what if it was closed up earlier than that? Construction on Cheadle Hall might have gotten delayed.”

  “You’re reaching,” Troy said flatly.

  She sat stubbornly silent.

  Troy let out a gusty sigh and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m being a jackass. You’re right. There are a lot of possible answers. The truth is, I keep remembering all these talks Dad and I had. In law enforcement and banking both, you sometimes stumble on this mushy, gray territory. Dad would be frustrated because the bank would come down like a hammer on some poor schmuck who was running late on his loan payments under pitiable circumstances, but then give second, third and fourth chances to someone else who had the right family or political connections. It can be hard to arrest someone you sympathize with, or see the resources of the department focus on one crime while another one—say, the murder of some poor black woman or a homeless guy—gets short shrift. Not that long before he died, Dad and I sat out on the patio in the dark and hashed out some of those issues. Right versus practicalities. And now I’m thinking, had he put out of his mind that he saw your dad that night? Or was it always simmering inside him?”