The Professor (16 page)

Thursday night

Meg climbed the stairs to her apartment, clutching the latest envelope bearing Mick’s now familiar handwriting. He hadn’t tried to call after Sunday. He didn’t call the sorority house. He never tried to reach her at the finance office, apparently respecting the professional/personal boundary.

Instead, there was a card on Tuesday and another the next day. Dilbert wandered through voice mail hell on the front of one card, until the inside text advised that calling Mick was an alternative. The next card announced he wanted only two things: world peace and for her to call. Inside the card, he concluded world peace was vastly overrated.

She dumped her books and computer on the table and ripped open the envelope. Today’s card added a twist. Instead of just saying sorry, Mick added a line. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Yeah, right. Talk, not suck her soul through his lips. Talk, not melt her reserve and body, then blow their brains with mad, passionate sex. Parts of her body she’d thought atrophied clenched, and she swallowed dryly.

Talk.

Sure.

She tossed the card in the trash and pulled up the document for her Mesoamerican history class. It needed one more round of polishing before she turned it in.

Five minutes later, she pulled the card from the wastebasket. She held it, casually rotating it. She was hiding and realized it. It made her angry—with herself and with Mick. Between Mick and the e-mail pervert, the only time she’d left her apartment this week was for class or work. Walking onto campus each morning felt like a test of her nerve.

She’d brace herself for Mick’s presence, and then feel foolish—and vaguely disappointed—when he wasn’t there.

The weirdo was another matter entirely.

But the daily cards said Mick wasn’t going away and she steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation. For a wild minute, she’d even wondered if the e-mails were from Mick, before admitting he wasn’t creepy, just dangerous.

But she’d have to tell him to leave her alone.

Sick of her own company and the isolation of her apartment, she dropped the card on her desk, grabbed her coat and keys and headed for the Chi Zeta house. Tossing a wave to Marsha, the sister working the front desk, Meg climbed the stairs to Lisa’s room.

“Hey, girlfriend. Are you through hibernating?” Lisa sprawled across her unmade bed. Shoving her glasses on top of her head, she pushed aside a pile of fashion magazines and patted the mattress in invitation.

“Hibernating? I’m not that bad.” She tossed a pile of clothes in the direction of Lisa’s laundry basket and sat down. “I’m just trying to survive midterms.”

“That’s what you get for making up such hard tests. You have to grade them.”

“It’s not just the classes I’m teaching, it’s the papers for my grad classes and everything else.” She propped a pillow behind her. “You know, sometimes I wonder why
I put myself through it. I can’t remember the last time I fixed a real meal or got a full night’s sleep, much less, God forbid, simply had fun.”

Lisa made a show of putting her glasses back on. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachiever best friend?”

“She went on vacation and she didn’t take me.”

“I want to go on vacation.” Lisa flopped against her pillows, her arms flung wide to embrace the world. “There’s a concert at the Pit tomorrow. Wanna go?”

Meg kicked off her shoes and tucked up her feet. “Who’s playing?”

“Who cares?”

“It’s something to do.” She lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

“There’s a party at the
’s tonight.”

“I’m too old for that and I’m not in the mood to put up with Tony.”

“What is it with that guy?” Lisa hugged her ancient teddy bear against her chest.

“I guess he thinks no means ‘playing hard to get.’ After a few beers…” She rolled her hand in a vague encompassing gesture.

“He gets thoroughly obnoxious,” Lisa finished. “As opposed to Mr. GQ.”

“Excuse me?”

“Good-looking; about thirty. Lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza when you walked in the chapter room. And Meggy, you were the star on top.”

“You’ve never been to Rockefeller Plaza.”

“I’ve seen pictures, and you’re avoiding the question.” Lisa pushed to a sitting position and propped the bear beside her.

“Was there a question in there?”

“I saw the card from him you left on your office desk. You really should lock your office, by the way. You went somewhere with him Friday morning and came back all hot and bothered.”

Her jaw sagged open. “How…?”

Lisa laughed. “Duh? This is the ultimate small town.”

“I’m not interested in him.”

“Right.”

“He’s too old for me.”

“Who are you trying to convince? You or me? He’s only a few years older than you.”

“Lisa,” she said in a warning tone.

“Go out with him and find out if you like him. Your instincts are usually pretty good.”

“When it comes to my personal life, they suck and you know it.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life beating yourself up for something that happened years ago. And it’s not like you to avoid the issue. You don’t have any problem telling guys like Tony you aren’t interested. That ought to tell you something right there.”

“I’m not ready to talk about this.” She stood up and paced across the room.

“Gosh, that’s such a surprise.” Lisa rearranged her pillows and rolled onto her side. “Haven’t we gotten past the Mysterious-Meg-Who-Must-Carry-All-Burdens-Alone stage? It only took you, what? Three years to finally open up with me.”

She fiddled with the owl statuette on Lisa’s desk. “It’s not like that. I don’t have
time for a relationship.”

“You don’t have to marry him. When was the last time you went on a date that wasn’t a group thing?”

She put down the figurine. “There’s no sense starting anything with him. It never works out for me.”

I always end up hurt and alone.

Lisa picked up her worn teddy bear and danced him across her tummy. “Okay, Mr. Bear. She won’t date Mr. Wonderful. She doesn’t want to talk. How do we get Meggy to have a life?” She held the bear to her ear. “We go downstairs and watch
Charmed
?”

Lisa bounced to her feet and grabbed Meg’s hand. “Excellent idea.” She tossed the bear on the bed and dragged her from the room.

Five minutes later they joined the women sprawled on the common room floor, watching as Paige, Piper and Phoebe kicked demon butt, created and solved their romantic issues and looked terrific doing it.

Maybe she needed a scriptwriter for her life, Meg thought.

“Why are you always here?” a voice asked from the doorway.

Both Lisa and Meg turned at the interruption. Didi stood a step inside the room. Meg didn’t know the name of the designer of the woman’s clothes, but she recognized the sneer on her face.

“Because I asked her,” Lisa said before Meg could open her mouth.

“Well, I get so tired of lazy, poor people expecting other people to pay for everything they use.”

Meg figured the line was a direct quote from Didi’s father. She really wanted to point out that her father paid for everything the woman had or did, but that would mean lowering herself to Didi’s level.

“Get over it,” Lisa said and turned her attention back to the television.

Didi heaved a dismissing huff and stomped out of the room.

Meg watched her departing back. “What’s her problem with me?”

Lisa twisted her mouth to the side. “Maybe your having your shit together emphasizes how much she doesn’t.”

“I’m the least ‘together’ person I know.”

“Bullshit,” Lisa coughed into her hand.

“I just wish Didi would grow up and get off my case.”

The commercial ended and the distinctive opening notes for
Law and Order
blasted from the television. Detective Curtis’s classy outfit made Meg think of Mick, a far nicer subject to think about than Didi Hammond. She rolled over, stretching her arms over her head and wondered what Mick did in the evenings. Did he sit around watching TV and drinking beer? Cruise bars? Or was he still at work?

“Meg?” Marsha, the sister with front desk duty, stood at the door. “That cop’s here to see you.”

“Finally.” She’d been waiting all day for someone from the Clinton police department to contact her about the e-mails.

“Why’s a cop here?” Lisa pulled her attention from the television screen. “Or is it Mr. GQ?”

“No, I called about something else.”

“Everything okay? Or is this part of being advisor-ish?” She propped on her elbows.

Meg wondered again about telling her friend about the weirdo. “It’s complicated.”

“When is your life simple?”

“Oh, please.” She climbed to her feet. “I work and I study. What’s complicated about that?”

Lisa waved her comment away and turned back to the television.

“Did he say whether I should get my computer?” Meg made it one step into the lobby before coming to an abrupt halt. Mick leaned against the counter. A flat, take-out box rested on the ledge beside him. He straightened when she entered the room. He looked as good as the pizza smelled. Faded jeans hugged his hips. The creamy Irish-knit sweater complimented his skin and emphasized his dark hair and vivid blue eyes. The leather jacket added a sexy, bad-boy element—as if he needed any help in that area.

Her second set of impressions was more subtle. He was beyond exhausted, but his eyes brightened when he saw her, as if she was a tonic that rejuvenated him.

Marsha watched them openly, her head swiveling from one side of the room to the other, attuned to the electric atmosphere. Meg forced her mouth and legs to function. “Hello, Detective.”

Acutely aware of him, she caught the tiny shift in his shoulders as his tension dropped a notch. So, he was nervous too. He wasn’t sure what she was going to do or say. The knowledge made her feel better. She wasn’t the only one floundering in uncharted waters.

“Agent,” he said. A grin lit his face and her stomach double-clutched.

“I thought you might need a study break.” He gestured at the pizza. “Brain food. All the major food groups are covered.”

“Sodium, fat and cholesterol?” She moved closer and felt her body start to tingle. Damn, was he like plutonium? The closer you got, the stronger the effect?

“Actually, I figured you were more the vegetable and extra cheese type, rather than the Meat Lovers Deluxe sort.”

She stopped just beyond his reach. “You could be wrong.”

“I’m not, though,” he said smugly. “It’s these vast powers of detection.”

He glanced at Marsha, who was listening with unabashed interest. “Is there somewhere we can go? To eat,” he added quickly. “I went by your apartment. Your neighbor told me you were probably over here.”

Meg hesitated. No way was she taking him back to her place. She looked over her shoulder at the common room. She didn’t especially want to talk to Mick under the curious gaze of half a dozen sorority women. She wasn’t completely sure she wanted to talk to him at all.

“It’s warm enough to sit on the back porch,” Marsha blurted.

Both of them turned to her, startled. She blushed and bent her head over her book.

Mick raised an eyebrow. “Lead on.”

He followed her down the hall, waiting as she detoured into the kitchen for plates, utensils and napkins. His eyes moved casually, systematically cataloguing the rooms and hall. She pushed open the back door and flicked on the porch lights.

“Your security stinks,” he said unexpectedly.

She looked at him as if he were speaking Greek.

“There’s no keypad back here, just the card slide. Simple contacts on the door. Nothing on the windows. No motion detectors.”

She shrugged. “This door’s locked at ten. There’s a dead bolt. The women use the front door after that.”

“How often does it get reopened so people can sneak in?” He laughed at her expression. “Jeez, Meg, I didn’t graduate that long ago.”

He placed the pizza on the table and gestured for her to sit down. “It’s a lousy system. Y’all need better protection. Sorry. I can’t stop being a cop.”

“Occupational hazard?” She opened the box and the mingled odors of basil, oregano and melted cheese filled the air. Vague shapes hid under a thick blanket of mozzarella, just the way she liked it.
Damn him, how did he know that?

She transferred wedges to the plates. Long strings of cheese trailed to the box, and she automatically pulled them free. As she licked the sauce and cheese from her fingers, she heard Mick swallow hard. Sexual tension bubbled closer to the surface. She leaned away from the table, deliberately putting distance between them.

For a moment, there was silence as they ate.

She flicked a glance at him. Should she tell him about the e-mails? She’d feel foolish if it turned out to be one of her students playing a stupid trick. Given the graphic content, it would be easier—if anything about the situation could be labeled easy—to tell an objective person. If something was actually wrong, the police officer would take care of it.

Mick wiped his mouth, then reached for another slice. “Jerry Jordan told me about this place. I didn’t expect to find a pizza this good in Newberry.”