Torn

by Cynthia Eden

  Her breath came a little faster. “You mean Lucas,” she whispered. Five years—­and he still hadn’t let Kennedy go, not fully. But was that love? If he was holding on because he wanted to help her, because—­

  “He’s lying to us.” Wade’s soft voice barely reached her ears. “I don’t trust him.”

  What? He didn’t trust the man who’d hired them? That made zero sense to her. Why would Lucas hire them if he was hiding something?

  But she didn’t get to question Wade because Lucas was closing in. He’d put the phone back in his pocket and was striding toward them. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Connie wants to set up the appointment with the caterer.”

  Wade’s brows climbed. “A caterer . . . for your wedding?”

  The flush on Lucas’s cheeks deepened. “Connie doesn’t understand. She thinks that Kennedy is gone, but I . . . I have to be sure.”

  Now Wade whistled. “Does your fiancée know that you hired us?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  Wade seemed to absorb that new piece of info. Then he said, “Do you usually keep secrets from the women you’re planning to marry?”

  Lucas glanced away. “Only when I think those secrets might hurt them . . .”

  Wade was silent for a beat of time, then said, “Thanks for the information this morning. Dr. Palmer and I will keep you updated on anything we find, but should you need to contact us—­”

  “I’ve got your numbers,” Lucas said quickly.

  “And we’re staying in town,” Victoria added, rattling off the name of the B&B that LOST had booked for them. “If you think of anything else that might be able to help our case, please let us know.”

  Lucas nodded. “I—­I will. And thank you. Thank you for coming here.” His gaze turned distant. “Thank you for looking for my Kennedy.”

  Sympathy stirred within Victoria because she could hear the pain in his voice, but when she cut a quick glance at Wade, she saw him staring at Lucas with . . .

  Suspicion.

  “WHY WOULD HE lie to us?” Victoria demanded.

  Wade had wondered when she’d ask that question. They’d left Lucas behind—­less than an hour ago—­and were now on the campus of Worthington University. Kennedy had been a senior at Worthington when she vanished. He wanted to talk with some of the professors she’d had, see if they remembered anything about her.

  “Wade.” Victoria sounded annoyed. She reached out, locking her hand around his wrist. “Answer me. Why would he lie?”

  He looked down at her hand. She’d touched him. That was a good step. Maybe. “He’s already keeping secrets from the woman he’s about to marry. Doesn’t that tell you anything about the guy?”

  “He hired us!” They were just beneath the bell tower and no one else was around. “That tells me he wants to find Kennedy. He wants to get closure—­just like he said.”

  Closure was one thing. Lies were another. “He knows she was screwing around on him, Viki.”

  “Because of a few marks?” She pulled away and motioned dismissively with her hand. “Maybe those were just from her workout, maybe—­”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it.

  She glared at him. Victoria pushed up her glasses. Did she know that the glasses made her eyes look even darker? Sexier? Probably not.

  Her hair was up in a ponytail again today. He knew she meant the style to be no-­nonsense, but it just accentuated her high cheekbones and the elegant curves of her face. She didn’t have to ditch the glasses and let her hair down to be hot to him.

  She kind of . . . just was.

  “Wade . . .”

  She was also back to sounding annoyed with him.

  His hand lifted. She tensed. Still not past that, are we? One day, she wouldn’t tense when he reached for her.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he slowly pushed back the collar of her shirt. His fingers brushed over her soft skin, right along the base of her neck. “There’s a big difference,” he told her softly, “between the mark that comes from clothes rubbing against you and the mark that a lover makes.”

  Her lips parted.

  His fingers stroked over the faint mark he’d left on her skin. “I can look at this and tell it was made from my mouth.”

  She backed away from him.

  “And I’m betting,” he said, as his hand dropped to his side, “that when Lucas Branson saw the marks on Kennedy’s body, he knew another man had left them.”

  She touched her neck. “I didn’t even notice it!”

  Now she looked horrified.

  His lips twitched. “Don’t worry. Your shirt covers it. No one else will know.” Just me and you, baby. “But if you had another lover . . .” And that thought sure as hell pisses me off. “. . . he’d notice. He’d notice any marks left by my mouth or by my hands.”

  “Her hips,” Victoria said. “He said there were marks on her hips.”

  Wade nodded. “If she had bruising on her hips, it could have come from a lover holding tight during an, um, delicate moment.”

  “And that’s why you believe he was lying. You think he had to know about the other man.”

  “I believe he knew of him, but I don’t think Lucas knows who the guy was.” That was where they came in. “Another lover could be the key to finding her.”

  She paced away from him, to stand in the shadow of the tower. “You’re good at reading people.”

  “I’ve had to be, in my job.”

  “But are you ever wrong? Do they ever fool you?” She turned back toward him. “Is there anyone that you just can’t figure out?”

  “Yes.” He waited a beat. “You.”

  Her gaze quickly cut away from him. She sure seemed to be paying a whole lot of attention to that bell tower.

  But he wasn’t done. “You’ve got so many secrets surrounding you. Other people at LOST, they think that Sarah is the one with the dark past . . .”

  “Her dad is a serial killer,” Victoria pointed out. “One who is still out there, and no one knows what he is doing or if he’ll strike again.”

  That thought had kept him up plenty. He knew exactly how dangerous Murphy Jacobs was. The guy hadn’t earned the name of Murphy the Monster for nothing.

  “And I think everyone at LOST has a dark past,” she continued quickly. “Isn’t that why we take the cases we do? Why we do the job?”

  Maybe. Or maybe there was more to it.

  Maybe some of them were trying to atone for the sins of the past.

  I know I am.

  “So you believe,” Victoria said, her gaze seemingly still on the tower, “that Lucas Branson is a liar, but not a killer?” She sighed and looked over her shoulder at him. “You don’t think he killed Kennedy, do you?”

  Killed her, then waited five years and hired them to find her? No, that didn’t make sense to him. “I just want to find out what else he’s holding back.” And until he did, Wade intended to tread very carefully around the other man.

  Victoria turned to fully face him. “To know him, we have to know Kennedy.” She straightened her shoulders. “And not just the bare facts. We already know those. At the time of her disappearance, Kennedy was twenty-­two years old, majoring in psychology. She was an avid runner, she worked as a waitress at a club just off-­campus, and she was planning to marry Lucas.” She tapped her chin in a considering manner. “On the surface, she seemed to have a perfect life.” The wind pulled a lock of Victoria’s hair free from her ponytail. “I’ve always thought the perfect lives were the ones that held the most jagged pieces.”

  Now that was interesting. “You don’t believe in perfection?”

  “No. Not in perfection. Not in happy endings.” Her lips flattened. “I spend far too much time with the dead for that.”

  And she was far too comfortable with them.

  But he didn
’t say that. Instead, Wade looked over to the right, focusing his gaze on the Life Sciences building. “I think it’s about time for the good doctor to see us now,” he murmured.

  Because they had an appointment in five minutes with Dr. Troy North. Dr. North was the acting head of the psychology department and he’d been Kennedy’s advisor when she was a student at Worthington. If anyone on campus could tell them about Kennedy, he should be their key.

  Victoria nodded curtly and turned to hurry down the steps that would take them away from the clock tower and toward the Life Sciences building. A little research had shown them that the psychology department was housed in that seemingly massive building. Wade followed her, and after a while he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “We aren’t going to talk about it, are we?”

  She froze. So did he. It was either freeze or barrel into her.

  “Wade . . .” Her spine was stiff. So was her whole body.

  He didn’t want her nervous, but he did want answers. “Just making sure I understand the rules.”

  She looked back at him. So lovely. But her eyes were filled with a sadness that he hated. Did she even realize that he could see her pain? “I think the rules are clear,” Victoria said, then turned away and kept walking.

  He didn’t follow, not immediately. I’m going to change the rules, baby. I’ll be changing everything.

  Because one night with her wasn’t nearly enough for him. Yes, he’d marked her.

  But she’d marked him, too. A mark that cut deep.

  “KENNEDY LANE?” Dr. Troy North leaned back in his leather chair. He exhaled on a rough sigh. “Now that’s a name that I haven’t heard in years.”

  Victoria perched on the edge of her seat. Wade was right beside her on the long, rather uncomfortable couch. Only he didn’t perch so much as sprawl. Dominate the space. He appeared completely at ease and in control, but then, Wade had probably done hundreds of interviews just like this one.

  I don’t know why he wanted me in the field.

  Usually, Wade just called her in when she was supposed to examine the dead or work in the lab to study evidence. Not to interview witnesses.

  Not that Dr. North was a witness—­not exactly.

  Her gaze darted to the wall behind him—­and all of his diplomas. A bachelor’s degree in psychology, a master’s degree, both from Northwestern University. A Ph.D. from Harvard. He had certainly spent a lot of time studying the inner workings of the human mind.

  He was like Sarah, she thought. Only a much harsher, male version. When he looked at her—­and the man kept glancing her way—­Victoria had the uncomfortable feeling he was trying to peer into her head. Or her soul.

  “Northwestern,” she murmured. “I’ve heard it’s a great school. I have a . . . friend who attended.” Though she didn’t think that Flynn Marshall really qualified as a friend. “Did you enjoy your time there?”

  Dr. North seemed caught off-­guard by her question, and that was exactly what she wanted. “I—­ Yes, I learned a great deal there. It was at Northwestern when I realized just how very interesting the human mind could be. Our motivations. Our desires. Our compulsions.”

  The way he said those words . . . it was just creepy.

  “Dr. North . . .” Wade began, his voice flat and calm. “What, exactly, was your relationship with Kennedy?”

  The doctor blinked. He had green eyes—­a light, almost icy shade. “I was her advisor. I helped her pick her classes each semester and I guided her research.” His stare became a bit distant. “She had enormous potential.” He rose from his chair and moved to a framed photograph on the wall. “She was our student of the year,” he said as he tapped the frame with his knuckles. “Such potential,” he murmured.

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she rose and moved closer to the photograph. It depicted Dr. North handing Kennedy Lane a plaque. She had a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

  So did Dr. North.

  “You two were close,” Victoria said as her gaze cut toward him.

  One of his shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug. “I suppose we were.”

  She didn’t think there was any “suppose” about it. The doctor was tall, fit, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He was also attractive, in a somewhat cold, hard way.

  His blond hair was cut very precisely, falling away from his high forehead. His suit was top-­of-­the-­line and his shoes gleamed as if they’d been freshly polished.

  He felt like old money. Power. But there was something else about him . . .

  “Are you close with all your students?” Wade asked. He hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. He still looked way too comfortable. Way too casual.

  She knew his pose was a lie.

  “I try to be,” Dr. North said as he headed back around his desk. He didn’t sit, though. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I want to guide them. Help them.”

  “And you . . . helped . . . Kennedy?” Wade studied him with a neutral expression.

  “Kennedy needed very little help. She was incredibly driven. She was going places. I’d written her a letter of recommendation for graduate school just before—­” He broke off. “Well, before she went missing.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand . . . why are you all looking for Kennedy now?” And he reached forward, picking up the card that Wade had handed him when they first entered his office. It was a card Dr. North had only given a cursory glance before placing it on his desk earlier. “Last Option Search Team?” He peered over at Wade. “That’s what your questions are about? You’re still searching for her? After all this time?”

  “We’ve been hired to look into her disappearance.” Wade rose to his feet and closed in on his prey. “As I said when I arrived, Dr. Palmer and I have just a few questions.”

  “About Kennedy . . .” Dr. North said.

  “Actually . . .” Wade smiled at him. It wasn’t an overly friendly smile. “Our questions are about you and Kennedy.”

  The other man blinked. He even took a step back.

  Victoria eyed him with more interest. She really enjoyed watching Wade work.

  “Were you intimately involved with Kennedy Lane?” Wade queried.

  “I . . . I was her advisor!”

  “Were you sleeping with her?”

  Dr. North sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t have to answer that question.”

  “Well, that kind of is an answer.” Wade ran his fingers over the edge of the desk. “You say her name like it’s some kind of caress. You keep her picture on your wall—­”

  “Because she won a prestigious award from the school!”

  “Psychology student of the year. I got that.” Wade glanced toward the wall. “So why aren’t any other winners up there? Why just her? I mean, surely, in five years, there have been other winners.”

  Dr. North didn’t answer.

  “I’ll tell you why . . .” Wade said with an inclination of his head. “Because you were involved with her. I think you were lovers.”

  Dr. North didn’t flush. Instead, he went almost deathly pale.

  “You were,” Wade pushed. “Weren’t you?”

  Well, well, Wade certainly worked fast. In town for just a few hours, and he already knew the identity of Kennedy’s secret lover.

  Victoria had to admit it, she was impressed. Wade was good. So good that she thought she might learn a few things from his interview techniques. So this is what fieldwork is really like.

  “One time,” Dr. North finally rasped. “We slept together once.”

  Wade shook his head, and she could see the disgust on his face. “You never mentioned that fact to the cops, did you? You kept it secret.”

  “I would have lost my job! I’m not supposed to have a sexual relationship with a student! I had to keep silent, I—­”

  “
You didn’t want to look guilty,” Wade charged. “That’s why you didn’t say a word. You didn’t want to be labeled suspect number one because the woman you’d been sleeping with vanished. A woman who could have destroyed your career if she said the wrong word to the wrong person.”

  That sure sounded like a motive to Victoria.

  Dr. North yanked a hand through his hair. Not so perfect now. “It’s not what you think! I had nothing to do with her disappearance! Nothing!”

  Wade didn’t look convinced. Victoria understood his suspicion.

  “She wasn’t going to marry him,” Dr. North suddenly announced. “She was breaking it off with Lucas. She told me that. Kennedy wanted grad school. She didn’t want to settle down with that kid—­she had plans.”

  Now this was interesting. Victoria crept closer to him.

  “She had plans,” Dr. North said again, shaking his head. “So many plans . . .” His sigh was sad. And then . . . then he turned his stare on Victoria.

  And his gaze sharpened. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as his eyes seemed to bore into her. “But I just realized . . . I think we’ve met before.”

  What? “No, no, I don’t think we have.” Her denial was adamant. She would’ve remembered him.

  But he cocked his head to the side as he studied her. “Doctor . . . ? Are you also a doctor of psychology?”

  A brittle laugh escaped Victoria at that question. “Hardly. I’m a forensic anthropologist.” She was also an M.D., though she didn’t think it was relevant for him to know that information.

  He stared blankly at her.

  Wade straightened to his full height and moved his body just a bit, positioning himself between Dr. North and Victoria. “She’s a doctor of the dead.”

  “The . . . dead?”

  “Yeah, buddy, that’s what I said.” Wade definitely sounded annoyed. “Now, how about we keep talking about Kennedy. You remember her, right? The woman you just admitted sleeping with? The woman who had such plans—­”

  “But I—­” Dr. North seemed to be floundering. And he’d moved so that he could stare directly at Victoria once more. “I know we’ve met.”

  Wade snapped his fingers in front of the other man. “Could you focus? I mean, hell, do you just have a compulsion to hit on every beautiful woman you see? Is that one of your issues?”