by Louise Clark
"She was jealous of Brittany's looks. Rochelle is good at her work, but she's not that attractive," Brad said, with the supreme indifference of a male who wasn't interested. "She thought Brittany focused too much on appearance and not enough on math equations."
"Sounds like a relationship with a lot of potential problems," Christy said. She smiled at Brad, inviting more confidences, even though she thought that Rochelle might have good reason for her dislike of the beautiful Brittany.
She must have succeeded, because Brad was nodding emphatically. All he said, though, was, "Brittany and I spend the most time here. The other two come and go. Between us we made it work."
Brad sounded like a man bragging about a relationship that wasn't. There was a wistful look in his eyes that said he wished he'd been more to Brittany than a co-worker who shared an office, particularly now, when deepening the relationship would never be possible. Christy knew she could work with both of those emotions. She pushed admiration into her voice and said, "I guess you know a lot about Brittany's comings and goings."
She wasn't surprised when Brad preened. "We were close. When Brittany needed help, she came to me."
Quinn, who was leaning against Rochelle's desk, said, "What kind of help did Brittany need?" His relaxed stance and position on the other side of the room was meant to be open and invite confidences. It worked.
Brad, whose focus had been on the much closer Christy, glanced at him. He straightened and thrust out his chest. "She'd ask me to fill in for her from time to time. I was happy to do it."
Brad's focus was chemistry. Brittany's had been math. How could Brad act as her stand-in in the rarified atmosphere of an academic community when they were not even in the same discipline? The skeptical question hovered on the tip of Christy's tongue, but she didn't voice it. She sensed that there was still more relevant information to be got from Neale and it would never come in a critical atmosphere.
"Did she do that a lot?" Quinn asked in that same casual, interested tone.
"Often enough. She had a busy life." Bradley shrugged. "I didn't mind helping her. She was generous and appreciative."
Quinn's brows rose. Christy guessed that he was thinking about Brittany as she had been at the IHTF Gala. Bitchy. Mean. Snarky. Generous she was not.
"Did you help her out the night Frank Jamieson died?" Quinn asked.
Silence fell after he asked the question. Neale stared at him, the open, grieving expression gone from his face, replaced by a cautious calculation. "Why do you ask?"
Quinn straightened and moved a few steps closer to Brad's desk. "Because Brittany Day provided Aaron DeBolt with an alibi for that night and I think that's why she was killed." Quinn's gaze bored into the other man's face. Brad didn't flinch. "I think the alibi was a lie and she was really here, working or teaching."
Brad began shaking his head before Quinn had finished speaking. "You're wrong. She was supposed to supervise the project lab that night. It's open twenty-four seven and there's always one of us there. We take turns and it was hers that night. She told me she wasn't feeling well and asked if I could cover for her. Of course, I said yes." He looked momentarily downcast as he realized he'd been played. Brittany hadn't been unwell. Her affidavit said she'd been having wild drug-fueled sex with Aaron DeBolt.
The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang, before it bounced back. They all jumped and Brad's expression swiftly turned from downcast to apprehensive to carefully blank as a tall, beautifully proportioned man sauntered into the room. He was wearing a leather jacket, open to show a tight T-shirt over toned abs and snug jeans that emphasized his lean hips. He moved to the desk beside Bradley's, one of the two by the windows, and tossed the backpack he carried on one shoulder onto it. Dark blue eyes under arched black brows scrutinized Quinn for a moment, then moved on to Christy.
When he smiled at her the smile was devastating. Wide, generous, friendly, it shone out of a handsome face that was as beautifully proportioned as his body. "I'm Lorne Cossi. Are you Brad's students?"
Christy was the one who replied. She took the lead because the gorgeous Lorne Cossi was staring right at her. His look was appreciative and all male and she figured he'd respond better to questions from her than from Quinn. "No, we're friends of Brittany Day's. We're here to find out about her EBU experience."
Bradley closed his laptop with a snap and shoved it into a backpack. "I'm going to the lab," he said, not looking at anyone.
"See you," Lorne said. His tone was dismissive, though the charming smile never wavered.
Christy looked from Lorne to Brad. Something was definitely going on between the two men. Brad couldn't wait to escape from the office and, although Lorne's expression was friendly, his eyes were cold as he tracked Brad's movements. She cocked a brow at Quinn, wondering if he was seeing the same bad blood between the two that she was. There was an opportunity here to mine the animosity, but she thought to do so they would have to separate.
Quinn's mouth tightened as he caught her look and interpreted it, then she saw him deliberately relax. He'd got her message and he'd play along, but he didn't like leaving her alone with Cossi. Still, he was prepared to do it.
He looked at Brad. "Why don't I walk over to the lab with you?" he said. "I've got a couple more questions and I'd like to see the lab setup."
Bradley nodded abruptly. "Sure." He slung the backpack over his shoulder, then, head down, he hustled out the door.
Quinn followed, leaving Christy alone with the outrageously handsome Lorne Cossi.
* * *
"So you're a friend of Brit's," Lorne Cossi said. He looked her over, from the top of her head to her feet. His gaze lingered too long on her breasts and then—disconcertingly—on her groin for her comfort and when his gaze drifted back to her face there was something unnerving in the depths of his dark blue eyes. "Frankly, you don't seem her type."
Christy flushed. She'd met guys like Cossi before. Arrogant, self-absorbed jerks who assumed every female in sight was a sexual plaything there for a man's enjoyment. "And what was her 'type'?"
Cossi smiled slowly. It wasn't a nice smile. "Silly women who'll do anything for a lay. Especially if they can get high at the same time." He cocked his head. "You now, you look disturbingly sober."
Christy figured he'd meant that as an insult. She thought it was actually a compliment, given who it came from. Resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, she leaned back against Bradley Neale's desk and stared Lorne Cossi in the eyes. "If you bothered to listen, you'd find that people act out of 'type' all the time."
Cossi raised his brows. There was a contemptuous curl to his upper lip that said he didn't like backtalk from uppity women.
Christy allowed herself a small smile. "Take Brittany, for example. Here she was, EBU grad student, privileged daughter of a wealthy Calgary family, and a party girl with the likes of Aaron DeBolt, a man whose reputation doesn't bear scrutiny. Now tell me, Mr. Cossi, what exactly was Brittany's 'type'?"
His eyes lit with temper for a moment, then he too leaned back against a desk. He shoved his hands in his pockets before he said mildly, "Brittany Day was a nasty little tease who came on to every man she met."
"Including you?"
"Including me."
"Did you take her up on her offer?" Christy could hardly believe she'd asked that, but she thought that if she didn't it would tell Lorne Cossi that she was afraid of him and then who knew what would happen? As long as he believed she was immune to him, she figured she was safe. If he knew she was vulnerable, she was quite sure he would pounce.
His mouth quirked up into a very real smile and he laughed. "What do you think?"
"I think you did." Deep breath, Christy. Deep breath.
"And you'd be right." He straightened. Took a step forward.
Christy didn't move. But she wanted to. Oh, how much she wanted to.
"If a sexy piece like Brittany Day offers me her body, who am I to refuse?"
Ano
ther step. At this rate he'd cross the small space in another couple of moments and he'd be right in front of her. In her space. Intimidating her. Maybe even taking it further. The desire to flee was strong.
She glared at him. But she straightened too, sending him a message. "That's pretty cold."
He shrugged, but he stopped. "There was something dark in Brit and she pulled it out in other people too. She liked Ecstasy and Meth. She tried to get me hooked on the stuff."
"Did she?"
This time he shook his head. "No. No way am I polluting my brain with that kind of junk."
The answer sounded honest to Christy's ears. Lorne Cossi was a PhD student. He probably had aspirations of entering the academic world as a professor. Frying his brain wouldn't help him achieve his goal.
"Have you shared this office space with Brittany since she started at EBU?"
The question didn't fit with the previous ones. Cossi eyed her thoughtfully and paused to think before he answered. Why? It wasn't a hard question. It was a yes or no answer.
"Yes," he said, finally. "Rochelle and I set up the office the year we both began. Brad came next, then Brittany."
"It's a small space. An easy place for everyday habits to become irritating. Tempers tend to flare when people have to share limited resources."
His expression hardened and anger glinted in his eyes. "Are you accusing me of Brit's murder?"
Was she? Until he reacted with such heat she hadn't actually thought of it. She shrugged, but didn't confirm or deny.
Lorne Cossi chose to take her shrug as acknowledgement. His temper flared hotter. "Brittany Day was a lazy bitch who used her body and her family connections to smooth her path. She was entitled and manipulative. Worse, from my point of view, she wasn't even all that good as a mathematician."
"Then why was she here?" Christy wasn't sure she believed Cossi, though he sounded genuinely annoyed.
He flung himself away, turning toward the window. "Jesus Christ! Don't you get it?" he said. "She was sleeping with our fearless leader, the good Dr. Peiling. Why else?"
Chapter 6
"He gave me the creeps," Christy said as Quinn was chauffeuring her from the EBU campus to the closest Skytrain station. He'd wanted to drive her back to Burnaby, then return to meet with Rochelle Dasovic, but Christy had told him she was fine using public transit. The walk from the nearest station to the townhouse would do her good and give her time to think.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as she told him more about Lorne Cossi. "I shouldn't have left you alone with him."
Christy shook her head. "How could you know? He looked so non-threatening when he came into the office."
He had looked like a damned smug male on the prowl. Quinn gritted his teeth and tried to remember that Christy valued her independence. "Bradley Neale doesn't like him. I got an earful while we walked over to the lab."
"I'm not surprised. I bet Cossi bullies him. Bradley is probably putting up with it because he has to, and because he knows that Cossi will leave eventually."
"Stupid way to live."
"I suppose," Christy said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw her shrug. He glanced over at her, risking a quick look despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic. She was staring straight ahead, her expression that blank mask he'd seen her use when dealing with the Jamieson trustees. He didn't consider the way Bradley Neale dealt with Lorne Cossi the same as how Christy had handled her life as the wife of the Jamieson heir, but maybe she did. Which meant that he'd hurt her. Inadvertently, sure, but that didn't mean his words hadn't stung.
He reached over and covered her hand with his. He squeezed gently and she turned her hand so she could clasp his. The action told him she was okay, that she understood what he'd meant, even if his delivery stank. The gesture was so quiet, so intimate, that his heart did a little flip. A red light halted the heavy Broadway traffic. He turned his head so he could see her face, then he smiled at her. She smiled back. The expression lit up her eyes and eased the tension from her face. Suddenly all was right with his world.
The light changed and they crawled forward again. "Do you think Cossi was sleeping with Brittany?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Christy said. "He had that whole conceited predator thing going. Yeah, he was sleeping with her, but I don't think she was the one who did the seducing."
"He came on to her."
"Absolutely. I'm not sure what to think about his accusation that she was also sleeping with Peiling, though. When we talked to Peiling, I got the impression that there was something more than he was telling us, but that Brittany was his mistress? I'm not sure that was it."
"I agree. Peiling was covering up something," Quinn said.
The Skytrain station loomed one set of lights ahead. Christy flipped off her seatbelt, leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Drop me at the corner. I'll cross with the lights."
He nodded.
"See you at home." The light turned red. Quinn stopped. Christy hopped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Then she sprinted across the street to the station. He drove around the block and headed back to EBU.
His first stop was the third-floor TA office where he hoped to find Lorne Cossi still at his desk. The door was locked and Cossi nowhere in evidence, which annoyed him. He'd wanted to let Cossi know that Christy was not only off limits, but also not without allies.
He had an hour and a half to kill before he met with Rochelle Dasovic, so he headed to the campus library and settled down in front of a computer to do some research on Dr. Jacob Peiling. He was particularly interested in the man's scientific publications, so he dug into the university's scholarly databases to see what he could find.
It was a profitable interlude. He discovered that Peiling had worked hard to gain status and respect, publishing paper after paper in his first few years at the university. His work had been well received, and although he was not in the forefront of his field, he was considered capable enough to be offered tenure. Once his academic position was secure, the flood of academic literature stopped. He continued to publish, but now he usually loaned his name to papers written by the students working under him, rather than producing his own work.
Quinn also discovered that Peiling was married, had three children and was on the boards of several local charities. Putting all the data together, his research pointed to a man who had worked hard to further his career. Once he'd reached a position he was satisfied with, though, Peiling had stopped pushing, and instead had chosen to make the best of what he'd already achieved. Would a man like that risk everything by having an affair with one of his students? Quinn's gut told him no, but it also told him that Peiling had been keeping something back. If not an extra-marital affair, then what?
He considered this as he walked across campus, but he came to no conclusion. The TA office was locked when he reached it, so he propped up the wall with his shoulder and worked his smartphone. Creative waiting was a skill he'd mastered long ago.
It was four thirty when Rochelle Dasovic breezed down the hallway. Her steps hesitated when she saw him waiting there, but that momentary pause was the only indication she had reservations about the meeting. As he straightened, she lifted her chin and, head high, marched forward. She unlocked the door, pushing it wide, and Quinn followed her in.
"Thanks for seeing me," he said, as she set her shoulder bag onto her desk.
She nodded jerkily. "You wanted to talk about Brittany." She bent over her bag, removing her laptop. Her long dark hair flowed forward, hiding her features.
"We knew her through Aaron DeBolt," Quinn said. He let the simple statement hang, wondering what kind of reaction DeBolt's name would generate in this world so very different from his own.
"Oh, Aaron!" Rochelle tossed back her hair so it flowed over her shoulders.
It was a coquettish movement, at odds with her no-nonsense style and clothing choices. Quinn had a sense of a woman who wished she was alluring to a wealthy playboy like DeBolt,
but knew she wasn't. Pity stirred. Then he reminded himself that she was better off well away from DeBolt and everything he was.
"Brittany loved Aaron, but he just used her." Rochelle said. Her lip rose in a sneer. "She freely gave him what everyone else had to pay for."
Shock shivered through Quinn. There was jealousy in Rochelle's voice, and a meanness in her words he had not expected. He frowned at her, but she paid no attention as she unloaded her bag. Her heavy fall of hair slipped back over her shoulder to hide her features and disguise her expression.
"Are you saying that Brittany sold... er... sex?" He couldn't quite disguise the dubious note in his voice. There was nothing in her background to indicate that she had ever had the need or desire to resort to taking payment for sex.
Rochelle looked up impatiently. Her lips were pursed, her jaw tight. "Yes."
Quinn scrutinized her. There was anger in her expression now and it put him on firmer ground. There was something between the two women. He just had to find out what. "That's a pretty heavy accusation. Do you have any facts to support it?"
"What are you, the police?"
"No." He watched her redden, her skin stained pink from her collarbone all the way up to her cheekbones. Embarrassment? But why? Because she'd identified a colleague as a hooker, or at best a call girl? Or because she'd fabricated the allegation and had no information to back it up?
She looked away, letting her gaze drift around the room as she gestured with one hand. "Look at this place. It's tiny. We each can hear whatever the others say. There are no secrets here."
Possibly true, but... "So what did you hear that made you think Brittany was selling her body?"
Rochelle shrugged. She was still flushed and she couldn't meet his gaze. "It was late one afternoon. There were only the two of us here. Brittany's phone rang and I saw her glance my way, then turn so her back was to me."
Quinn could visualize the scene as she described it. The beautiful Brittany hunching over her phone, speaking softly as she tried to keep her conversation private, while Rochelle, full of irrational resentment, listened avidly.
