Her mouth twitched. Ill take that as a compliment. Though Im not sure you meant it as such. And Im actually thirty. She ignored the fact that her current drivers license stated otherwise. What would it matter if he knew the truth?
He cocked his head. Really? Indeed.
Yes, indeed. She plugged the cable and cords into the right spots. Here we go. She opened the lid of the laptop and began acquainting him with all the bells and whistles.
So I can actually write on here with this little stick? And the computer types it in?
She nodded, finding his amazement and wonder quite charming. The stick is called a stylus and yes, the computer converts your writing to text. And, she said with a dramatic flare, the lid folds all the way back so it looks more like a clipboard than a laptop, which makes writing on the pad that much easier.
I think Im going to like this.
Though there was a smile in his voice, his stoic expression didnt change. Odd. And odder still, she so wanted to see his smile.
She picked up her purse. Ill leave you to play with your new toy. Ill come back tomorrow and download your files off that dinosaur. She gestured to the archaic computer taking up most of his desk.
He walked her to the door. Thank you. I appreciate your up-to-date knowledge.
She hid a smile. Hed have a coronary if he knew that the basics of her knowledge came from a year of living with Rob, the computer geek, and the rest from the stack of manuals shed been devouring over the last few weeks.
She was nothing if not a quick study. Would have been nice if the skill had helped with her acting career.
Moving to the Big Apple at seventeen to follow her dream of the Broadway stage hadnt worked out so well. Shed been just another pretty girl among a thousand other pretty girls, some with talent, others not so much. Shed been somewhere in the middle, but playing bit walk-on roles hadnt paid the bills.
Her dream of the theater had faded and reality had set in. Clearly shed had to adjust her plans and had found a way, besides acting, to survive.
But then again, the professor clearly didnt suspect she was anything other than what she presently appeared to be. Maybe she wasnt such a bad actress after all. That had to count for something.
Uncle Raoul.
Raoul Domingo stared at his nephew Carlos and tightened his grip on the phone at his ear. He wanted to hit something or someone. But being incarcerated meant he had to hold on to his temper.
At least until he got out of the joint.
He still couldnt believe that female cop and her pretty boy partner had had the gall to bust in to his home in the middle of his dinner and cart him off in handcuffs.
As if hed ever see the inside of a courtroom. No way! His men would make sure of that.
And then Raoul would settle the score with the two of themespecially the lady cop.
The Plexiglas window separating him from his nephew was dirty and scratched from years of standing between visitors and the inmates of New Jersey State Prison. Knowing their conversation was probably being recorded, he chose his words carefully so they couldnt incriminate him. He asked, Have you taken care of that little detail?
Not yet.
Carlos squirmed under Raouls furious stare. Raoul wanted to reach through the glass and wrap his hands around his nephews throat. Get it done.
Were working on it, Carlos assured him, his pockmarked face growing red.
Work harder.
Carlos nodded. His gaze shifted around and he cupped a hand around the receiver. Weve got another issue.
Raouls nostrils flared. What?
Myuh, friend says theres another pigeon in the nest.
Acid churned in Raouls gut. Another witnesss? How could that be? Trinidad had sworn the hotel was secure the night theyd visited Versailles, but apparently Raoul had been mistaken in trusting Trinidad. The man better come through now or he was dead meat.
Tri
Raoul put his finger to his lips. No names.
Carlos grimaced. Yeah. Uh, were out tracking.
Raoul wanted out of this stink hole so bad he could smell the tantalizing scent of freedom on his nephew. Happy hunting.
TWO
Patrick paced the thick brown carpet of his office while the clicking of Annes nails on the keyboard drilled into his head. She certainly knew her way around a computer and she seemed much more competent than his original assessment. Even so, it rankled knowing someone else had the power to destroy his work.
He didnt like uncertainty. He liked being in control. Had grown used to it since the day after his father died.
Hed become the man of the house, the guy his younger siblings turned to for advice or help and whom his mother relied upon to keep their world rotating even if the axis was now a bit skewed.
Patrick worried about his siblings, though Brody, who should be the one most messed up, had found a wonderful wife and now lived a great life. Hed somehow accepted the past and learned to live with the tragedy of their fathers death.
Ryan had been too young to have been traumatized by their fathers murder, but Patrick could see how much not having a father had pushed Ryan into his quest for material wealth. Patrick had a feeling Ryan thought having money would give him what hed lacked as a child. Patrick wasnt so sure.
And then there was little Megan. Patrick adored his sister, but she most of all was messed up and not merely from the trauma of losing her dad, but she suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder, which was a bad combination with her fiercely independent spirit. As soon as she could, shed left home to find her own place in the world.
Sometimes Patrick felt lost without his siblings underfoot. But hed found a way to express his feelings in his work.
What if Anne lost something despite the CD and the little device she called a thumb drive? What if she inadvertently opened one of his files and read his writings? Would she laugh?
He could only pray that
What a lame sentiment. As if God would listen.
No, Patrick couldnt rely on God to help, no matter how much his mother or his brother, Brody, tried to convince him otherwise.
So the best he could do was monitor computer-wizard Annes progress.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. He opened the office door to a young Asian man, slim in build with dark, penetrating eyes that made Patrick think of onyx stones.
Professor McClain?
Yes. Can I help you?
The young man stuck out his hand. My name is Cam. Im transferring from MIT. Ill be taking your class, Macro Economics of the Irish, this summer. For a man with a slight frame, he had a strong grip.
Wonderful. Why was he here now? Students didnt normally come knocking. Obviously this was an overeager overachiever. Not many of them around anymore. Too many students seemed jaded and uninterested in more than how to make a quick buck. Do you have the list of required textbooks?
Yep. Im all set. Just putting a face to the name on the syllabus, Cam stated with a pleasant smile. I
Oh, bummer! Annes voice interrupted.
Patrick glanced at Anne. She was shaking her head, her gaze fixated on the new computer screen. Problem? he asked.
She nodded but didnt look toward the door.
Wanting to end the interruption, he turned back to Cam and asked, Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?
Cam shook his head, his gaze riveted on Anne. No, thank you.
Okay, then. Patrick stepped into the mans line of vision.
Those obsidian eyes shifted to meet his gaze. Ill see you in class, Professor.
As Patrick shut the door behind his new student, a chill skated across his flesh. There was something odd about Cam, something in the way the black of his eyes seemed depthless. Overeager, overachiever and off balance? Hed have to watch the guy. Patrick didnt want a Virginia Tech tragedy happening at Boston College.
Shaking off the strange notion as nothing more than his worry over his work, he turned his attention to Anne. Her bright red, spiked hair didnt look nearly as stiff tonight, as if shed run her fingers through the points, loosening their rigidness.
Her high forehead creased with concentration and her lips moved without audible sound. The jacket of her ill-fitting brown suit hung off her shoulders, making her look slightly stooped.
Why the bummer? he asked as he came to stand at her side.
She sighed as she sat back. Her right hand reached up to massage her neck. I zipped your files together and changed them to RTF. I just ran a program to import them to the new system and the computer didnt like it.
That doesnt sound good. Patrick tried to keep a quiver of panic from seeping into his tone. If he lost his work now, hed have a hard time retrieving it.
Its not, she replied.
Heart beating in his throat, he asked, Have I lost anything?
No.
Breathing more normally now, he relaxed slightly. What exactly is wrong and how do we fix it?
She turned her purple gaze on him. Your old computer software program is not talking nicely to the new software program. During the transfer, the formatting was lost. I can go in manually to each file and correct the formatting. It will just take some time.
How much time?
A day, two at the most. She clicked open a file. See.
The text on the screen was from one of his fall lectures, that much he could tell, but the words were all jumbled with paragraph breaks and tab spaces and what looked like hieroglyphics. He pointed to the screen. What are all those?
Computer language. The new system has converted some of the letters and symbols. Its easy enough to read through and correct by deleting and replacing each symbol. But I cant do a global search and replace.
This is bad, Patrick stated and plucked his glasses off his face to rub with a cloth he withdrew from his pocket.
Anne stood and placed a hand on his arm. Its not dire, just time consuming.
The spot where her hand rested on his arm fired his senses beneath his sports coat. He cleared his throat. Youll have to come back tomorrow then?
Yes. And I think I should start first thing in the morning, if you dont mind?
Staring at the smooth, elegant fingers on his arm, he said, The morning will be fine. I have a department retreat off campus until late afternoon.
She removed her hand and began shutting down the computers. Patrick replaced his glasses and watched her movements. Efficient, graceful. Competent. Not at all like hed first thought.
When the office was locked up for the night, Patrick handed his office key to Anne. Can I walk you to your car?
She put the key in her purse. Actually Im headed to the cafeteria. But thank you, Professor.
Im not really a professor. Now why had he blurted that out?
Her eyebrows rose. Youre not?
Im only an associate professor. Heat rode up his neck.
She gave a small laugh. But youre still a professor.
True, just not a full professor.
Okay. And youre telling me thiswhy?
You can call me Patrick.
Oh. Well, then. Good night, Patrick, she said, giving him an odd look before hurrying away.
Patrick could just imagine his father shaking his head and saying, Smooth, boy-o.
A sadness that always burned just below the surface bubbled, reminding Patrick of all hed lost. Reminding him of all he could lose if he ever let himself care too deeply ever again.
Anne paid the cafeteria cashier for her meal of egg salad sandwich, side garden salad and a bottle of water. One of the perks of temping at the college was the food discount in the cafeteria, though under the harsh fluorescent lights the egg salad had a greenish tinge that wasnt terribly appealing. But shed had one a few days earlier and had enjoyed it, so she wasnt going to let a little green rob her of her dinner.
Halfway through her meal, she had the strange sense of being watched. Her gaze swung over the few other late evening diners and landed on the student whod come to Professor McClains door. Cam, hed said his name was, stood near the vending machine, his lean, wiry frame still and his black eyes boring holes right through her.
She frowned, hoping to convey her displeasure at being stared at.
He turned abruptly and put his money in the machine. Once he had a can of soda in hand, he moved out the door and into the dusky night.
A shiver of recognition slithered along Annes arms, prickling her skin. She was sure hed been the man standing in the shadows yesterday.
Was his claim of putting the professors face to his name true? Was Cam really a transfer student or someone more sinister? Had she been found? Would she have to run again? Where would she go? How far would she have to flee to be safe?
Stop being paranoid, she muttered to herself.
But just in case, shed like to be safe inside the four walls of her apartment.
Gathering her belongings, she quickly left the cafeteria. The balmy June air bathed her, sending the last of the air-conditioned chill of the cafeteria away with a shiver.
Glancing around to be sure no one followed, she hurried to her four-door sedan parked beneath one of the tall parking lot lamps.
As she drove, once again taking a different route to her street, she pulled out her cell phone and pushed the speed-dial number for the one person who wouldnt think she was totally off her rocker for being paranoid.
Its me, Anne said to the woman whod picked up the line.
Whats the matter? The sharp edge of concern echoed in Lieutenant Taylors voice.
Nothing, I think. I dont know. Im just getting antsy.
You wouldnt call just because you were antsy.
You said to call if anything seemed out of sync. This studentI dont know. He gives me the creeps. Theres something vaguely familiar about him.
Do you have a name?
Cam. Thats all I got. He said hes a transfer student from MIT. Hes taking one of Professor McClains classes this summer.
Ill check into it. There was a moment of silence. Hows it going with the professor? Is he as stodgy as his profile says?
Anne hesitated. Stodgy? After spending so many hours with him, that wasnt a word shed use to describe him. Cute for a geek. Adorably nerdy. Definitely charming in an odd way. Maybe too charming. Too easy to get caught up in. You can call me Patrick. Hes an academic. Just the titles of his published articles make me yawn.