Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead (21 page)

“Except,” Troy said thoughtfully, “that those two people might
have gone into McKenna Center.”

“The woman didn’t. She fled, too. Which, in retrospect, seems
rather sad. He’s the one who should have been ashamed.”

Yeah, he should have been. Troy wondered how many other female
students the guy had seduced. And just think, he’d had another thirty-five years
to enjoy the hunting grounds colleges offered to someone like him. Troy kind of
hoped that he’d been shocked to discover one year that he was too old to appeal
to the students anymore.

“I really need the names of both the student and the
professor.”

Ms. Yee smiled wryly. “Yes, I imagined you would. Her name was
Margaret Berlongieri. He was Stephen Coleman. I minored in Psychology and had a
couple of classes with him. Abnormal Psych my senior year.”

Troy recognized the name. The elderly English prof, Herbert
Wilson, had included Coleman on his list of teaching staff who were particularly
athletic and also young enough to conceivably be interested in swimming or
playing racquetball in the middle of the night. Coleman, Troy seemed to recall,
was a weight lifter.

“I don’t think he stayed at Wakefield for long after you
graduated.”

“No, I heard he took a job at Western. I wondered if he’d been
forced to resign. I couldn’t imagine why he’d take that jump otherwise.”

Troy nodded. Western Washington University was an excellent
state school, but it didn’t have the reputation Wakefield College did. Joining
the faculty there was a step backward, not forward.

“Would he have gotten a job anywhere if he was fired for
sleeping with a student?”

“Oh, if they didn’t have him cold, they might have encouraged
him to resign with the understanding they’d stay quiet. They wouldn’t want him
to sue, after all. Colleges don’t like to remind parents that things like this
happen.”

Her cynicism didn’t surprise him, but her tone of disgust did.
He’d have thought an attorney would get past that.

He thanked her, left his card and they parted ways outside her
building. He had one more interview scheduled today and two in the morning, but
he felt revved. In the past hour and a half, he’d acquired two excellent
suspects: Leonard Hickman and now Stephen Coleman, two men who had had one hell
of a lot more at stake than any of the students did.

Except possibly for Gordon Haywood, whose dreams of a political
career would have depended on a sterling reputation.

Guy Laclaire would have dropped well down Troy’s list, if only
he hadn’t bared a little too much anger to his daughter, and if he weren’t
acting so damn edgy about where the investigation was going.

Troy had parked in a huge concrete garage half a dozen blocks
away. By the time he located his Tahoe, he’d decided to find out whether Stephen
Coleman had by chance stayed at Western Washington. Bellingham was only an hour
and a half, maybe a two-hour drive north toward the Canadian border. Hey, Troy
thought, he was the on the western side of the state already. He’d make time for
the professor who’d had one hell of a secret—one right up Mitch King’s
alley.

And he’d take the time to call Margaret Berlongieri if she was
on the list that contained contact info.

He flipped through that folder first, only to find that
Margaret wasn’t there. Another name for Madison to research, he thought.

It took him only ten minutes to find out that Coleman hadn’t
lasted long at Western, either. It was always possible he’d risen again in the
academic world—but somehow Troy doubted it.

Tracking him down was going to take time, which he didn’t have
right now if he was going to make it to the Phinney Ridge neighborhood in—he
glanced at his watch—fifteen minutes.

* * *

“Y
ES
, I’
LL
SEE
what I can find out about this Margaret in the morning,” Madison promised. “It
sounds like you made some really good progress.” She heard her own eagerness and
winced.

Lounging at the far end of her sofa, Troy looked at her.

“You know I’m going to have to talk to your dad. I’ve put it
off as long as I can.”

Unless he needed her to hunt through college archives for
contact information on someone, he no longer told her the names of the people he
interviewed. Tonight, his description of his three-day trip to Seattle had been
especially bare bones. He hadn’t even said why Margaret Berlongieri was a person
of interest to him. In fact, Madison noticed that a couple of vertical lines
between his eyebrows seemed deeper than usual, making him look tired. He’d made
the long drive back across the state this afternoon and had reason for fatigue.
Madison had wanted to believe he was preoccupied with everything he’d learned,
too, but now she knew better. Really, he’d been working his way up to telling
her something she hadn’t wanted to hear. Was that the only reason he’d stopped
by?

She wouldn’t let herself acknowledge the hurt. Dad was what
counted here. Most of the time she was able to forget that Troy was a threat to
her father. Right this minute, Troy felt like the enemy. Only by clutching at
anger as a defense could she bear this terrible sense of alienation from
him.

“You’ll just tell him his name has come up?” Her voice had come
out sharper than she’d intended.

Troy’s expression became guarded. “No. I think the time has
come for me to quit keeping secrets.”

Her breath stopped for long enough to make her dizzy. “You’re
going to show your boss what your dad wrote?” she whispered.

“Yes. I’ll tell him Mom was reluctant to open it. Once she did,
she showed it to me right away.”

“But you promised...”

His jaw tightened at her shrillness. “I’ve gotten far enough
that your father isn’t the only, or even the most obvious, suspect. Not even
given what Dad saw. That’s the best I can do, Madison. You have to see
that.”

“I thought you wanted to protect your dad’s reputation, too.”
She flung it at him like an accusation. “Don’t you care about your father?”

“If this investigation has taught me one thing, it’s how
damaging it is to keep secrets. I’m done with that.” Troy paused. “I hoped you’d
understand.”

She sat frozen. “Will you tell Dad I’ve been working with
you?”

He scowled. “Of course not! What do you think I am?”

The hurt blazed in her now. “Will you think less of me if
I
keep that secret?”

He looked astonished, as if only now did he realize he was
dealing with something way more powerful than panic.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not the same thing.”

“Do you really think my father will see it that way?” She had
fire and ice inside her now and didn’t know which would win. “That he won’t feel
betrayed if he finds out?”

“How will he?”

“Because once I know...” Madison stopped, confused. “No, you’re
right. I
don’t
have to say anything.” Dad and she
could go on the way they always had—her mostly obedient and trying so hard to
win her father’s approval. Grateful when he gave even a grain of it. Hiding
resentment and her longing for something more.

Or she could finally speak out and risk losing him entirely.
Risk being left with, for all practical purposes, no family at all. Unless
Troy... But Troy wasn’t acting as if he wanted to be her family.

Her confusion increased. She
knew
the increased distance between them was her fault, but how could she trust that
he would love her when she wasn’t even sure her own father did?

Am I that big a mess?
she wondered,
appalled.

The anger she had needed to protect her was gone, which was no
surprise when it always had been a false front.

“You do what you have to.” The weariness was obvious in Troy’s
voice now. He stretched and then rose from the sofa.

“It’s only nine. Do you have to go?” Oh lord, now she sounded
pathetic. No, it could be worse—she could have begged him not to go.

“I need to hit the sack.”

Madison hated that she couldn’t read his face. His expression
was closed down entirely, but not, she sensed, in cop mode. It was more as if
she’d annoyed him. Or disappointed him.

“I said something, didn’t I?”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. Finally he shook his head. “I’m
getting the feeling you’re more interested in the investigation than you are in
me. You and I are never alone, Madison. Your father’s always here, too.”

“Isn’t your father?” she shot back.

“No. I’m letting go.” Troy’s throat worked. “He was a good man,
he screwed up and I’m willing to admit it. I love him anyway, and I miss him
like hell. He’s not alive and present.”

She squeezed her arms around herself, trying to hold in the
pain and fear. “Shouldn’t I feel protective about my dad?”

His gaze was even more remote now. “I’m not in the mood to do
this tonight.”

“Please don’t go.” The words came out small and husky, perhaps
because of the lump in her throat. She scrambled off the sofa. “Not like
this.”

“How should I leave?”

She took the leap. “Don’t leave at all.”

* * *

O
H
,
GODDAMN
IT
,
Troy thought. There’d been nights he’d have cut
off his right arm for that invitation. This one wasn’t any different—except he
didn’t trust her motivation for asking him to stay.

“We both know you’re conflicted,” he said flatly. “You don’t
have to prove anything to me.” Or offer her body to—what, to make sure he kept
talking to her? Had she been stringing him along all this time and only now was
desperate enough to go the last mile?

God, he didn’t want to think that.

She shook her head frantically. “Dad’s not here, Troy. I feel
like I’m losing you. I can’t. Please. Please tell me you still want me.”

Were those tears in her voice? He wouldn’t be able to stand it
if she cried because she thought he was rejecting her. Not this woman who never
cried, who kept all her pain inside.

With a groan he took the couple of strides to her and gripped
her shoulders. “Of course I want you. Are you kidding? But it has to be mutual,
not...” He couldn’t even figure out how to say it without insulting her
unbearably.

She gazed mutely up at him, waiting for him to say what he
meant. The caramel brown of her eyes was filled with anxiety. There she was,
laid bare—the little girl who had never been able to trust in anyone’s love.

Troy couldn’t do anything but draw her slowly into his arms,
bump his forehead gently against hers and whisper, “I want you more than I’ve
ever wanted anyone or anything in my life.”

She shivered and turned her face into his neck. “Please,” she
said, just audibly. Then she kissed his throat, openmouthed. He felt the damp
tip of her tongue against his skin, and a shudder racked his body.

“Madison.” That was the last thing he said before his mouth
found hers. He kissed her with desperation and the aching hunger too long pent
up. She rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and answered him with
equal urgency. He’d never been part of a kiss that felt like making love without
either of them having removed a stitch of clothing. Their tongues stroked and
teased and dueled; she sucked on his and he could have come right then. He gave
up needing to breathe; it would have taken a force of nature to make him rip his
mouth away from hers. Short as his hair was, she had a good grip on it, and the
pain of that hard tug was part of the pleasure. He was squeezing her buttock,
lifting her, trying to position her to ride his thigh.

She writhed, and as they grappled, he realized there was no way
in hell they were making it upstairs. Still kissing her, he lifted her from her
feet and laid her back on the sofa, his knee planted beside her. She was tugging
at the hem of his T-shirt, and he finally backed off enough to let her wrench it
over his head. She cooperated as he peeled her T off, too.

At the sight of her sexy, low-cut black bra, Troy groaned.
Madison’s breasts swelled above the lacy edge, and he couldn’t do anything but
nuzzle the lush curves. He slipped a hand beneath her to find the clasp,
struggled with it and finally triumphed. He lifted himself enough to look as he
stroked her shoulders, sliding the bra straps off, down over her arms, freeing
the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, round and creamy, the nipples dark
and hard.

He tried to tell her how gorgeous she was, but wasn’t sure how
it came out. Mostly he was making ragged sounds. He had to kiss her breasts,
lick and finally suckle.
She
was the one making the
sounds then, gasps and whimpers and a few pleading words.

“Troy. Yes. Oh, please. Oooh,” she groaned as he tugged hard,
his mouth filled with
her
.

Her nipples glistened by the time he roved lower, kissing her
smooth, bare belly, feeling muscles shift beneath his touch. He used the heel of
his hand to rock between her thighs until her hips rose and fell and she did
some more whimpering. He skimmed her thin knit pants down, taking skimpy black
panties with them. Then he had to stop for another long look at the woman
sprawling wantonly, one knee raised, hair spilling over the sofa cushion. Her
mouth was soft and even swollen, her eyes somewhere between shocked and
dreamy.

The words
I love you
came closer
than ever to spilling out of his mouth, but he stopped himself from saying them.
He wanted her desperately, and believed she wanted him, but the doubts were
still there, forming a hard ball in his gut that would have made him sick if he
let it.

She startled him by sitting up. “You, too,” she said in a
throaty voice he’d never heard from her before, and reached for his belt buckle.
He stared down at her hands as she worked to free him from his trousers. Those
hands were so much smaller than his, delicate but strong, the fingernails
painted today with a red gloss. She managed to stroke him as she eased the
zipper down. For a moment Troy had to close his eyes and drop his head back,
fighting for control.