by Jianne Carlo
Susie near gagged.
Gathering her purse and a binder together, Charlene stood. “We should get going. Don’t forget, Susie, if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”
Grant lurched to his feet, eased the chair out of his wife’s way, and gripped Charlene’s shoulders. “Hang on. Here’s the news.”
Susie followed Grant’s gaze to the large television hanging in the corner, and frowned when she read the caption rolling across the bottom of the screen. “They haven’t found him?”
Peter Flanagan, a third-grader at a local school, had gone missing three days before. Search parties had been formed, and teams of volunteers had been combing the park adjacent to the elementary school for the last couple of days.
“No. Last I heard a neighbor had seen Petey walking home from school. Barb and Kieran must be devastated.” Charlene rubbed her arms.
“You know the parents?” Susie gave up on the soup and pushed her tray to the side.
“Barb and Kieran Flanagan. Our families have been friends for generations. Barb’s younger sister and I were on the cheerleading team. We’ll have to stop by on the way home.” Charlene twined her fingers with Grant’s. “They had a hard time having Petey. He’s everything to them.”
Susie couldn’t even begin to imagine what the poor couple must be feeling. Just the notion of anything similar happening to her one-year-old niece, Jackie, was enough to make her stomach knot.
“You know who they’re going to dredge up for this, don’t you?” Grant rocked back on his heels.
“And with good reason. I can’t believe it. Talk of the devil. Look who just walked in.” Charlene tapped the binder on her thigh.
What now? Susie scooted her chair around.
“I never thought he’d dare show his face around here again.” Charlene glared at the two men who stood in the entrance of the cafeteria.
Susie blinked. Why was Joe here? And who was he with?
“That’s a validation if there ever was one. One I aim to concur with.”
“What do you mean—a validation?” Susie twisted to face Grant.
“Dean Sam O’Reilly coming to the cafeteria with Joe Huroq.”
“Joe Huroq’s a pedophile and murderer, Grant. Don’t you dare go and speak to him.” The binder did a guitar strum on Charlene’s thigh.
All the blood in Susie’s body iced.
Pedophile.
She shuddered.
It had taken all her willpower, but she had deliberately refused to think about Joe, about last night or this morning or whenever it was, and his bald declaration about a job being hard to find with a criminal record.
Coward.
She should’ve jumped to her feet and defended him. “Wasn’t he acquitted?”
“Unfortunately. Where there’s smoke…you know the old saying.” Charlene squinted at Joe. “There was enough evidence to put him behind bars for over a year. He’d still be there if Kieran and that lowlife, Tate Gunn, hadn’t interfered.”
She’d made love to Joe.
Given him her virginity.
What kind of half-assed idiot was she anyway to listen to the vicious ramblings of Charlene Weber? Her people gut had always been reliable. Okay, okay except for Kenny Laroque. But she wasn’t wrong about Joe Huroq.
Susie’s temper flared. She dug her nails into her palms until the sting registered. “I can’t believe you actually said that, Charlene. From what I heard, DNA evidence proved Joe Huroq was innocent. DNA doesn’t lie.”
“Dean O’Reilly obviously believes him innocent.” Grant angled his head at the older man following Joe in the buffet line. “That’s quite an endorsement.”
“Here’s another.” Susie crumpled her napkin and tossed it on the table. “He’s the neighbor I’m staying with.”
“No.” Charlene rounded on her. “You can’t stay with him. I won’t let you.”
Right then Joe glanced their way.
His and Susie’s gaze locked for a second.
He shifted his concentration to Grant and Charlene, then back to her, shook his head, and squared his shoulders.
The gesture hit her like a bulldozer.
Joe fully expected her to cut him.
Damn the man.
“I make my own decisions,” she drawled. “No one tells me what to do. And I’m not only staying with him—” She’d never been able to modulate her voice when angry, and her words resounded around the cafeteria, which was empty aside from them, the sparse staff behind the counter, Dean O’Reilly, and Joe.
“Grant. Charlene.”
How in hen’s feathers had Joe gotten in front of her so damned fast?
“Susie.” Joe inclined his head in her direction.
“Joe.” Grant stuck out his hand. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. And you?”
Sitting had her at a definite disadvantage, so she stood. The atmosphere in the room radiated a palpable tension.
“Could be better. What with the recent news,” Grant said.
The men finished shaking hands right as Dean O’Reilly joined the group.
Grant greeted the chancellor. “Dean O’Reilly, good to see you. How was Ireland?”
“Full of us Irish, Grant. It was good to see the relatives again, though.”
The man had quintessential Irish good looks, a cherubic smile, eyes as green as she imagined the hills of Dublin to be, and a shock of blue-black curls, too long and too perfect for an academic leader. Broad shouldered and stocky, he stood a couple of inches shorter than Joe and had a hint of a beer belly.
“Dean O’Reilly, meet Susan White. Susie’s a graduate student and new to Hallie.” Joe’s narrowed eyes focused on Susie.
She should not be thinking of his cock or his mouth or his tongue. She should not be creaming her panties. Her cheeks shouldn’t be overheating. Her pulse shouldn’t be doing erratic fits and starts. And damn him for making her palms damp. Trying to be surreptitious, she dragged her sweaty skin over her skirt and gave Dean O’Reilly’s outstretched hand a firm shake. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Grant cleared his throat. “We were heading over to Barb and Kieran’s. I know you’ll want to help in the search for Petey. Want to follow us there?”
Joe stamped Grant with a stare so intent, Susie shivered.
“Something’s happened to Petey?”
“He went missing three days ago. Disappeared between school and home.”
“Three days? Kieran and Barb must be frantic.” Joe dragged both hands through his curls and trained a ferocious scowl on Dean O’Reilly. “You never said a word, Sam.”
“I thought you knew.” Dean O’Reilly scanned the group, pausing when his gaze fixed on Susie. His glance flickered to Joe and then back to her.
Susie gritted her teeth against the urge to hunch her shoulders and slide under the table. Had the Dean noticed the chemistry between her and Joe?
“I’ve been out of the country. Didn’t get back until yesterday morning. Anything else happen I need to know about?” Joe barked the question at O’Reilly.
“I figured you’d already done what you could. Sorry, Joe. My bad.”
How often did a president of a major college apologize to a mercenary?
Rumor had it that Dean Samuel O’Reilly had headed some hush-hush government department before his appointment as dean of the university.
Did Joe know the man through his unusual job as a mercenary?
“I have to get over there.” The grim line of Joe’s mouth sent a frisson of fear rippling over Susie’s nape.
“Of course. I understand. Go. Do what you can.” Dean O’Reilly heaved an audible sigh. “I spent yesterday morning with Kieran and Barb and their parents. The authorities aren’t optimistic.”
The two men knew each other well, Susie realized.
She felt Joe’s subtle hesitation, saw the slight flare of his nostrils, the imperceptible shift in her direction, and preempted whatever he intended to say to her. “I’m late fo
r a meeting with Dr. Surgue. Excuse me.”
While the two men had been talking, she’d collected her files, purse, and shopping bags. “Nice meeting you, Dean O’Reilly. Grant, Charlene, Joe. Nice seeing you again.”
She just about sprinted to the cafeteria’s entrance, raced through the doors, and darted around the building’s corner. Why had she cut and run in a panic? What on earth made her think Joe had hung around the university waiting to drive her home? Home? Lordy, she’d better get a grip fast. She didn’t want him to think he was responsible for her transport, and he obviously needed to go to his friends’ aid.
Surgue’s office was clear across the expanse of the lawn facing Johnston Hall. Her stiletto heels sank into the soft grass and dirt, impeding her progress, and she arrived at the professor’s door, perspiring and panting, only to find a note saying he’d had an emergency and would be out of the office for the rest of the day. Figured.
Not a breeze stirred the humid air when she meandered to the admissions building and to the residence placement section. Turned out that the dorm she’d stayed in the week before was scheduled to undergo termite proofing and extended repairs for the spring, hence the reason for its emptiness and seeming availability.
Gritting her teeth, she studied the cork notice board with the meager listings of available off-campus housing. Five in total, two at least forty-five minutes away and not on a regular bus schedule. Stomach sinking, she wrote down the numbers of the other three and trudged to the bus stop.
A skinny boy no older than nine or ten struggled to get a football helmet into a worn canvas gym bag resting on the bench. He appeared too frail to play the game and had pinched features and mousy, matted brown hair.
Susie sat on the bench opposite the kid, set her burdens down, found a rubber band in her purse, and scraped her hair into a ponytail. The poly-blend suit stuck to her skin, and beads of sweat trailed a tickling path between her breasts. What she wouldn’t have given for Terri’s pool right then.
Another kid entered the stop, this one scruffy and sour smelling, and wearing a torn, long-sleeved shirt and pants with a camouflage design. The top of a cigarette packet poked out of one of his pockets. From his short stature, Susie figured he couldn’t be over eleven. Whoever sold him those smokes should be tarred and feathered.
The bus arrived with an ear-splitting shriek of brakes. She and the two boys boarded the vehicle. Susie sat in the front, the football player at the back, and the hooligan-in-training in the middle. Ah, voluntary segregation, it happened everywhere. The burgeoning headache behind the sockets of her eyes mushroomed. She leaned her head back and promptly dozed.
During the forty-five-minute ride, she kept her eyes closed but absorbed all the sounds and scents as passengers entered and departed and the bus started and stopped along its route.
Why did Charlene dislike Joe with such venom? And why did Grant like him? How did Joe know Petey and his parents?
She knew Grant and Charlene had been born in Hallie. Had Joe? Tonight she’d do some research and find out more about her new roomie. He hadn’t given her an inkling of his mood. Had he heard what she’d been about to admit to Charlene and Grant? Thank the Lord he’d interrupted before her declaration that she was sleeping with him.
The bus shuddered to a halt, and a muted hiss told her someone was about to board. A vaguely familiar male voice greeted the driver.
“Do you sleep, Susie mia?”
The Italian-accented English startled her fully awake, and she blinked when Azzo’s face came into focus. “Azzo?”
“Si, Azzo. We are near the stop for you and Mama Maria’s.” His even, sexy smile proved irresistible.
She grinned. “Thanks for letting me know. It was a long, hot day, and I dozed off. Are you working tonight?”
“I am. Do you and Joe dine at Mama’s this evening?”
“Since I don’t know what’s in the refrigerator—probably. But first I’m going to go for a long run. Work out these knots in my muscles.” Susie massaged her neck.
Azzo waggled his brows. “I have the talented fingers, Susie mia. The magic touch. After your run, you go in Joe’s hot tub, no?”
“He has a hot tub?” The notion of sinking into hot, bubbling water and kneading jets had her muscles twitching.
“A beautiful wooden one. I have not been in it, of course. But Mama asks me to check on his house when he’s away. You know? To make sure nothing has happened.” Azzo wouldn’t meet her gaze. She had a hunch the young stud had not only been in the hot tub but utilized it often when Joe was out of the country. How did one disinfect a hot tub?
She’d bet her last dollar Joe only went in there nude. All those jets. Damn. The vibrator she’d so gleefully purchased on arrival in Hallie had gone up with the house. She was probably the only twenty-five-year-old woman on the planet who’d never experimented with one. Well, it would have to wait until she was on her own.
“What brings such delightful color to your cheeks, Susie mia?”
Azzo’s sly lip curl told her he had a good idea of exactly what she’d been thinking about. But she’d dealt with Azzo’s hot-rod type before. “Actually I was trying to figure out how much older I am than you. You’re what, fifteen?”
That knowing, sexy smile blazed a trail across his lips. “I will be, how you say, legal in three weeks, Susie mia. I am, how you say, mature for my age.”
Cheeky brat. Mature her foot. More like hornier than a ram. “I didn’t realize you were so young. I could be your mom. Is she in Italy?”
A shadow dimmed his grin. “No. She has joined the Lord.”
Crap. She chewed the inside of her cheek and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is horrible.”
Azzo nodded but averted his gaze. They traveled in silence after that, Susie regretting her words, Azzo staring out the far window.
The vehicle shuddered to a halt. Susie grabbed her belongings and sped for the door.
Glancing over her shoulder, she scowled. Azzo followed her at a lazy pace, his gaze fixed on her ass. She slowed to a crawl, forcing him to catch up, and hid a grin when he reluctantly lifted his glance to hers. Not having the heart to chastise him for his blatant ogling and preferring the smart-ass stud to the sad young man who’d lost his mother, she asked, “How long have you been in the US?”
“Mama brought me back with her in time for Christmas.”
“Only five and a half months? Your English is excellent.” Learning another language had been on her to-do list forever.
“I learned in school in Italy.” He rolled a shoulder. “I am not so good at the slang yet.”
It must have been a traumatic few months for Azzo. Lose a parent. Move to a new country. Struggle with a new language. Not to mention all the cultural differences. “I bet before the summer’s out, you’ll be teaching me English slang. So when do I get to meet your famous great-grandmother?”
“I am thinking you and Mama will like each other very much. She can murder you with the look the way you do, you know?” He narrowed his eyes, planted his palms on lean hips, and glared.
Susie chortled. “Trust me. That’s the mother, ‘you’re dead meat’ glare. All mothers and grandmothers have it. And big sisters.”
“I am thinking you mean all women.” He folded his arms and halted in front of the restaurant. “I will not marry a woman who has such a look.”
“Hate to bust your bubble, kiddo, but I’m pretty certain all women have such a look. I’ll catch you later. Have a good evening.” Susie gave Azzo a nod and a smile and spun around.
The waning afternoon sun had lost its stinging bite, and a languid wind circled the wide boulevard. Empty wire baskets hanging from poles awaited their spring flower bounties. The acrid stench of smoke and burned plastic lingered in the air. It was masochistic, she knew, but Susie just had to check out what was left of Terri’s house.
Not half a block after turning off Bonaventure, the dull roar of traffic receded,
and by the time she rounded the corner to Birch Crescent, nature’s song had replaced the urban din. Above her, yattering blackbirds straddled the three thick electrical lines connecting two utility poles. A man dressed in a gray uniform dismounted from a truck with one of those cab-ladder thingies used for repairing and installing utility equipment.
For an instant their glances met. He smiled and tipped his hard hat. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
“Evening.” She adjusted the folders and bags. “Is the electricity restored to everyone?”
“Just finished the last house. Number 8. Phone service is back on too, but the only one who seemed anxious about that was number 7.” The skin bracketing his warm brown eyes crinkled.
The Arnolds lived in number 7; Susie had no clue who lived at 8.
“Any word about the cause of the fire?” She almost hoped he didn’t have an answer.
“Seems like it was a leaking gas tank in number 9’s kitchen.”
Terri’s house had been at lot nine.
Great. Formal blame applied. To her. She’d have to contact Terri tonight. Lordy, how she wanted to delay that phone call. But there was no way to deny the bald fact any longer—she’d burned down Terri’s house.
“Thanks for the info. Do you know where I could get a copy of the fire report?” She intended to study that document with microscopic intensity.
“All the latest reports are online. Google the Hallie Fire Department and it should tell you what you need to do.”
“Thanks. Have a good one.”
“You too.” He tipped his hat again, reached for the door handle, and hesitated. “The old guy in number 7—is he okay?”
He was asking about Mr. Arnold. Susie frowned and shook her head. “Alzheimer’s. His daughter told me he hardly knows who or where he is anymore. Why? Something wrong?”
“I thought as much. Nah. He just mumbled something about ‘it’ not being an accident.”
“It? The fire, you mean?”
“I asked him that same question, but he didn’t answer, just got real nervous and antsy. But the Alzheimer’s explains it. Bye, Miss.”
“Bye.”
The truck rumbled along the narrow cul-de-sac and turned right onto Bonaventure. Birch Crescent quieted to pin-drop stillness. She had kept her head down or trained on the opposite side of the street. But sooner or later she had to face the ugly reality of Terri’s house. Susie straightened and stared at the burned-out shell of what had been a quaint bungalow.
