by Layla Reyne
She laid a hand on his forearm.
A full-body shiver joined the tingles and goose bumps. “Who?”
Sean closed in on his other side, and he remembered this move too, how the two of them had talked him down their senior year after the Pirates had been eliminated from the CWS. “Why don’t we go upstairs into the conference room?” Sean suggested.
Fuck that. If his pinging instincts were right, which they usually were with these two, the last thing he wanted was to be on the main floor when they delivered whatever news they were so skittish about. “Who, goddamn it?”
Charlie held his gaze and grasped his wrist. “Julian.”
There was a second where he didn’t believe what his ears told his brain, but the look on Charlie’s face, on Sean’s, punched the truth through the layer of disbelief. “Holy fuck.” Despite Charlie’s grip, he wrenched his arm free and stumbled around them to the nearest wall, slamming a fist against it. Warmth flanked him from either side—Sean’s “You okay, Trev?” close and quiet, Charlie’s hand on his back soothing, but he kept his eyes closed, trying to sort through the barrage of emotions and questions that were pummeling him, one hitting the hardest. He angled his face to Charlie. “Who found the body?”
She coasted her hand down his spine. “Let’s get out of the hallway.”
Fuck, that meant only one thing. “Oh God, Trace.” He flipped his back to the wall and sank to the floor, head held in his hands.
Sean’s boots echoed the direction of the stairs, making the hall as private as he could, while Charlie knelt beside him, her voice close and on his level, confirming the worst. “Tracy found him this morning.”
He remained quiet for several long moments, hands wrapped around the back of his neck. When he finally lifted his face, he settled his gaze on her. Steadiness in the storm that had unexpectedly swept him up. “I have no love lost for either of them, but Christ, I wouldn’t wish that on Trace.”
Charlie took his hand in hers and squeezed. “None of us would.”
“Was there a clue again?”
“‘So sweet was ne’er so fatal,’” Sean replied as he walked back their direction.
Trevor glanced between them. “Desdemona from Othello, falsely accused of adultery.”
“Which Julian was not,” Charlie said. “He was smothered, in a manner of speaking.”
“It’s Shakespeare’s Four Tragedies.” He’d bet anything on it, including Sean’s bike. “First, King Lear, now Othello. Was the new clue numbered?”
Sean nodded. “With a two.”
He was right. “Hamlet and Macbeth. Those are the other two plays in that collection.”
“I should have asked Annie about those when she was here,” Charlie said.
Fuck, Annie. He shot to his feet, then regretted it immediately, wobbly from the shock and probably the fifth can of Mountain Dew he’d guzzled on the drive home. He put a hand to the wall to steady himself and ignored the double dose of concerned looks. “Is she okay?” he asked. “She and Trace are tight.”
“Annie’s fine,” Charlie said. “A little shocked but okay.”
“I should check on her.” He dug his phone out of his pocket, and seeing the darkened screen, cursed himself again for running off without a charger. “Fuck.”
Charlie slipped the device from his hand, saving it from imminent destruction in his fist or against the wall. “You can use my office phone, but first we need to hear what you found out in Apex.”
He shifted so his back was to the wall again, Charlie and Sean in front of him, and inhaled deep, fighting to calm his racing heart and mind. “You remember when I mentioned Jeff had caused difficulties with some tenure candidates?”
“Your own included,” Sean said.
“Yes, he’s been stalling mine, which was part of the reason for Georgetown.” Georgetown. DC. “Fuck, Charlie, the interview.” His heart raced, fueled by nitrous-powered guilt. “It was this morning?”
“Pushed it to tomorrow.”
He let out a relieved breath, but Sean didn’t let him savor the victory long. “Let me guess, someone at Apex was a victim of his stalling?”
Trevor nodded. “When she got tired of waiting and accepted a position at Apex, Jeff held her letters of rec up too. She had to threaten a formal complaint to finally get the letters.”
“A complaint for what?”
“Discrimination. Ten women have come up for tenure since Jeff was appointed to the tenure committee. He’s only approved two.”
“That’s the treason,” Sean said. “A traitor to the academic institution, someone who systematically denied HU talented academics because of their gender.” He angled toward Charlie. “It fits.”
“As one possible motive,” she said. “We still have Barnett and Julian to consider.”
“Wait!” Trevor sliced a hand between them like a field ref would. “Barnett. Why does that ring a bell?”
“Julian was having an affair with a student, Sarah Barnett.”
Trevor shot off the wall, anger re-infusing his limbs. “She was in my freshman lit class last semester.”
“Are you surprised?” Charlie said.
“No, but still, a nineteen-year-old? And for fuck’s sake, he and Trace have barely been married five months.”
Julian liked younger women. Tracy was almost twenty years younger than him, but students were off-limits as was sleeping around in a supposedly closed marriage. He growled and continued to pace the narrow hallway, Charlie and Sean staying out of his way, neither trying to contain him.
But Sarah… Julian sure could make a mess. “Do you know who her father is?”
“Whose?” Charlie said.
“Sarah Barnett’s?” Sean said, then a split second later, his eyes widened, clearly making the connection Trevor was leading him to. “Duncan Barnett?”
“Bingo.”
Sean scowled Charlie’s direction. “Conservative front-runner for Missouri’s senate seat. Saul hates him.”
She let her head fall back and stared at the ceiling. “As if Jefferson Marshall and Craig Rowan weren’t enough.”
“Possible political motive?” Sean said.
Charlie tapped her heel. “But from a political standpoint, wouldn’t it be easier to just let the affair run its course unnoticed?”
Trevor suppressed the disgusted shiver that fought its way through him. As blood boiling as all this was, there were also now more leads for him to follow at HU. He needed to get to campus. “Can I borrow your phone charger?” he said to Charlie. “I’ll charge my phone in the truck on my way to campus.”
Compassionate Charlie vanished as did contemplative Charlie who was just talking about the case with Sean. Hard-ass Charlie, the one who helped keep the department in line and who used to keep him and Sean in line, moved between him and the stairs, her arms crossed. “I think maybe you should stay here.”
“Why?”
Following her lead, like always, Sean stepped behind him and blocked the other exit.
“We’re still working out possible motives,” Charlie said. “Possible connections too, and along with the political one, the other connections we have to work with are HU… and you.”
Chapter Eleven
Charlie dropped the red-and-white plastic bag and sweating gallon of sweet tea on the break room table Maggie stood beside. “Talk fast. Rachel’s flirting with the new delivery guy. He looks eager, so it shouldn’t take her long to get his number. Five minutes max. What’ve you got?”
Laughing, Maggie snagged plates and cups out of the cupboard. “Heaven forbid we violate Rachel’s no-discussing-dead-bodies-while-eating rule,” she said as she filled the glasses with tea. “And thanks for the early dinner.”
“Or late lunch.” Somewhere in the middle, and in any event, the first food Charlie had had all day. After the crime scene that morning, then Craig’s tantrum and Trevor’s arrival, it had taken until now for her to even get hungry. She unloaded the bag, spreading the boxes of fried
chicken, barbecue, red slaw, and hush puppies on her desk. “Four and a half minutes.”
Maggie, however, seemed determined to focus on anything but work. She swiped a hush puppy and packet of honey butter, opened the latter, and dredged the fried dough through it. “It confounds me how you eat like this with no consequences.” She plopped into a chair, then popped the hush puppy into her mouth with a satisfied hum. “Don’t care, mind you, but it confuses the inner scientist.”
“This is stress eating,” Charlie said as she loaded plates. “And there are consequences. Five miles every night.” She handed a plate to Maggie, left another on the table for Rachel, then sank into a chair across the table. “Four minutes.”
“Fine.” Maggie snagged her plate and ate another hush puppy before launching into her report. “I’m still examining Julian. Don’t expect prints, tox screen tomorrow, won’t have DNA until the end of the week if any.”
“And Professor Marshall?” Charlie asked as she dug into the barbecue. “His son will be here tomorrow and wants the body released for the funeral.”
“He’s good to go.”
“Evidence?”
“No prints, no trace fibers, nothing on the body or at the scene that didn’t belong to Jeff. Perp knew what they were doing. Jeff’s neck and hands were scarred from the rope but no other defensive wounds.”
“Toxins?”
Maggie pointed at her neck with her fork. “Diprivan, injected.”
“Preliminaries on Julian?”
“Similar injection mark on the neck, so I’m guessing he’ll also test positive. Otherwise, on first glance, the body is clean except…”
Charlie paused with a drumstick halfway to her mouth. “Except?”
“Whoever the killer is, in both cases, they waited for the victim to wake before actually killing him.”
“The bloodied ropes?”
Maggie grimaced and set aside a forkful of barbecue and slaw. “For starters. There was also a gag on the ground in the stables that tested positive for Jeff’s saliva. He must have gotten that off after he woke but before he was hung. As for Julian, the blood on his face and pillow was smeared. He struggled.”
Appetite waning, Charlie abandoned the drumstick and her plate. Maybe there was something to Rachel’s no-discussing-dead-bodies-while-eating rule.
“Hey!” Rachel appeared in the breakroom doorway, her honey-colored eyes narrowed in mock offense. “You started without me.”
“Trust me, you’re right on time.” Maggie pushed the third plate toward her. “You get the new guy’s name and number?”
She picked up the plate and claimed the open chair. “Sure did, but I won’t be using it.”
“Why’s that?”
Blissfully unaware of their previous discussion, she attacked a chicken thigh with gusto. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”
“Anyone we know?” Charlie asked.
“May-be,” Rachel drawled in a way that clearly meant yes, but then added, “I don’t want to say more yet. Things are… unsettled. Enough about me, though. Now that we know Trevor is safe and sound and snoring on your office couch, what’s going on with Sean?” Before Charlie could object, Maggie launched into a play-by-play of the incident at the crime scene. Rachel’s eyes grew wider with every word, her ponytail of blond ringlets swinging as her gaze swiveled between them. “Is he back back? Like for good?”
“No.” Charlie ignored the disappointment and heaviness in her gut. In and out, he’d said. “He’s a friend of Jeff’s son, who’s also a fed. He’s stationed overseas with Sean. Sean’s just keeping an eye on things until he gets here.”
Maggie fixed her with a patented disapproving parent stare, one that Charlie had only ever seen bested by her dad. “Then why was he at this morning’s crime scene with you?”
And just like the time Mitch had caught her at Pier Point on senior skip day, Charlie didn’t have a good explanation. She could argue she’d brought Sean along because he was a LEO, another trained set of eyes couldn’t hurt, but her reasons were also personal. She knew Julian; she knew Tracy better. She hadn’t wanted to face that crime scene alone, and Sean had been there for her, exactly how and when she’d needed him.
“Uh-oh,” Maggie said. “I don’t like that look.”
“What look?”
“The wistful one that just floated across your face,” Rachel answered.
She feigned ignorance, but neither of them was buying it. “Don’t, Charlie,” Maggie said. “He’s not back for good. This will not end well if you go there.”
“Think about Trevor,” Rachel said, adding her unfinished plate to the others. “You two are supposed to be moving on. To DC and all that might offer.”
“I heard Trevor laid Sean out night before last,” Maggie said. “Serves him right for leaving you two without so much as a goodbye.”
Charlie drained her tea. “At least I got one earlier this month.”
Rachel gasped, her arms flailing and sending her barely balanced plate flying, splattering slaw everywhere. “What?”
Maggie grabbed a stack of napkins and held them out to Rachel. “What the fuck happened earlier—” She cut herself off with a sharp inhale. “The funeral?”
Charlie nodded. “He was there. And at the beach house after.”
“Trevor too?” Rachel asked.
Charlie nodded again.
Maggie snagged the last napkin on the table, balled it up, and hurled it at her. “Way to bury the lede, Henby.”
“There’s a lot going on if you hadn’t noticed.” Maggie winced, and Charlie immediately regretted her more-biting-than-intended tone. She reached across the table and grasped her friend’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”
Maggie smiled and rubbed a comforting hand over hers. “You’re right. There’s a lot, babe. You all were together again?”
Charlie withdrew her hand and closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair, face to the ceiling. “Yes, and for the first time in ten years, things felt right. But fuck, things were already so complicated. Now they’re a million times worse.”
“What’s so complicated?” Maggie asked, logical and brutally honest to a fault. “Sean’s left. Twice. Probability is high for a third time. Versus Trevor, who let’s all be honest, still loves you, and you still love him, right?”
“I’ve always loved Trevor, but romantically, it didn’t work last time. Not without Sean. I couldn’t be with Trevor that way and not feel like a piece was missing. And with anyone else, it feels like two pieces are missing.”
“You sure there’s not enough there? With Trevor?” Rachel asked, her gaze downcast as she tossed her plate and napkins into the trash. “There’s a lot to love there.”
Charlie snagged her trailing hand before she sank all the way back in her chair. “I’m sorry. Is this awkward?” Caught up in her own conflict, she’d forgotten that Trevor and Rachel had dated in high school. Charlie suspected Rachel still held a torch for Trevor, but it had never stopped Rachel from telling her to go for it with Trevor in college and being there for them both after Sean had left.
Rachel squeezed her fingers. “That was a lifetime ago. You two were always meant to be.”
“Exactly, so back to what I was saying,” Maggie pressed. “What’s more important? A friendship—possibly more—with the man who’s been by your side most of your life or taking a flyer on a guy who’s left twice already?” She popped another hush puppy into her mouth and swiped her hands together in a ‘that’s that’ gesture. “Seems like easy math to me, Miss Math Team.”
Easy math. Not even. There were equations from the past that didn’t add up. New variables in the present. And a future unknown to solve for. This wasn’t easy math. It was the hardest fucking problem of her life.
And that wasn’t even counting the dead bodies.
Charlie clocked Sean from fifteen feet away, strutting across the bullpen floor toward her office. He wore a cocky grin and thumped a rolled yellow paperback against his palm. Her
insides were no less settled after the meal with Maggie and Rachel, but when faced with a mound of paperwork and a stack of press calls to return, she welcomed the interruption. She held a finger to her lips as Sean strode into her office and cut her gaze to where Trevor still slept on the couch. Sean’s face softened, fondness and longing written all over his handsome features, and Charlie reached for her phone. She wanted to snap a picture so Trevor could see that look for himself, so he could better understand why Sean hadn’t been able to bring himself to say goodbye to him either time he’d left before. It would have ripped them both to shreds.
She wasn’t fast enough. Sean wiped the expression away before she got the camera app open. He dropped into one of her visitor chairs and threw his feet up on her desk. She lifted her heels to the opposite desk corner, mirroring his relaxed posture. “Make yourself at home.” She spoke softly so as not to wake Trevor, but the way he slept, hard and deep, it would take more than just her and Sean talking to rouse him.
Smirking, Sean nodded toward the perilously leaning stack of pink message slips. “How’s that backlog of press calls going?”
“I got halfway through before Rachel brought in another stack. Please tell me this isn’t my future if I—” She cut herself off before she spoke out of turn and before she spoke too loudly. “If things go well tomorrow.”
“Higher-ups usually handle the press, though I might have caused a few stacks like that.”
“Speaking for your superiors, you owe them a shitload of whisky.”
He tipped his face to the ceiling and laughed out loud, the warmth of it filling her office and waking the slumbering man behind them on the couch.
“Could you be any louder?” Trevor grumbled.
Sean twisted in his chair. “You said the same thing to me that first day on campus.”
Trevor straightened and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Because I could hear you and Charlie howling from halfway down the hall.”