by Julie Miller
But as a tipsy guest jostled her without apologizing at the reception’s free bar, she couldn’t exactly assure him that she felt okay. Her toes were pinched to the point of numbness in these high heels, and her patience had been pinched even further. She’d already stayed an hour longer than she’d intended. She’d traded hugs with Jocelyn’s parents, shaken hands with the Dean of Arts & Science, who’d asked if she was considering reapplying for graduate school, and applauded speeches by the dean, Jocelyn’s parents and the supervising professor for Jocelyn’s doctoral project.
As the man who’d bumped her brushed past her again, eager to greet a friend, Amy stepped up to the bar and placed her order. “I’d like a cola. Whatever you have with caffeine. Just give me the can. I don’t need a glass. And a bottle of water.”
She looked over her shoulder to the blond man in the crumpled black tux and dangling bow tie who sat with his head in his hands near the exit door. Derek Roland was the only reason she was still here. When she found him out in the parking lot, trying to unlock his car with his apartment key, she’d offered to call a car for him. With vomit staining his shoes and the hem of his trousers, he clearly was in no shape to drive. But then he’d fallen onto her, trapping her against the car and swallowing her in an uncomfortable hug as he wept onto her shoulder.
Deciding Derek was too drunk and despondent to be left to his own devices for any length of time, Amy had helped him back inside with the intent of sobering him up before he went home.
Unlike her drunk, dramatic friend there, Mark Taylor probably looked freakin’ hot in a tuxedo. Not that a firefighter’s uniform or sweaty T-shirt had done him any injustice. Plus, he’d be more entertaining. She could certainly use a few laughs after the strain of smiling all evening, pretending she was fine being back on the campus that had once been her beloved home. She had a feeling that Mark wouldn’t have gotten so stinking drunk and become a burden to her tonight, either. He was too considerate for that. He would have realized that she was grieving, too. He wouldn’t have made tonight all about him.
Giving in to the temptation of connecting with Mark again, Amy pulled out her phone and reread the draft of the text she’d typed while she’d been waiting in line for caffeine.
I changed my mind. Could I see you tonight? I could use a friendly, interesting face. Are you at the station house? Tuxedo is optional. ;)
“Ma’am?” The bartender popped the tab on the cola and set it in front of her. “Your drinks?”
“Thanks.” Amy sent the text before she could question the wisdom of getting closer to Mark, dropped some money into the tip jar, and wove her way through the groupings and conversations to Derek. “Feeling any better?” she asked as she sat down across from him. She set the cola in front of him and opened the water for herself. “Here. Drink as much of that as you can. I figured you could manage it better than a cup of coffee.”
At least the wailing had stopped. But his eyes were red and puffy when he leaned back in his chair. He raked his fingers through his shaggy hair, surveying the dwindling crowd before settling his bleary gaze on her. “Why are you being so good to me, Amy? I don’t deserve it.”
Maybe not. Derek wasn’t the only one grieving in this room or sharing fond memories of Jocelyn and celebrating her work and her life. But he was the only one who’d made a noisy, public display of his heartbreak, to the point that his fellow grad students and professors had turned away from the emotional drain he imposed on them.
As far as Amy was concerned, she’d stuck by him because of Jocelyn. She owed her friend that much, to take care of the man she’d left behind. Joss would have done the same. Otherwise, these killer shoes would be off, and she’d be home in bed or in her studio.
Or maybe she’d give in to the foolish urge to see Mark Taylor in person again. To feel his soothing touch. To laugh at his goofy humor. To lean on him like the pillar of strength that he was.
Right now, she had no one to lean on but herself.
“You’ve had too much to drink. And you’re grieving. It’s hard to manage one when you’re dealing with the other.” Amy pushed the can toward him. “Drink up. I’m calling that car for you once you sober up a little more. I don’t want you barfing again in the back seat.”
He chuckled and reached for the cola, downing a long drink before reaching across the table to capture her hand in his tight grip. “I’ve ruined the party for you. I’m sorry.”
Amy couldn’t help but compare his crushing grip to the gentle strength of Mark’s hand. With Mark, she could have pulled away if she’d wanted. She tugged against Derek’s hand. A remembered panic from Preston’s attack bubbled through her blood. Maybe he was too inebriated to realize he was hurting her. “Derek, let go,” she ordered. If anything, his grip on her tightened, nearly snapping her wrist. “Let. Go.”
His drunken haze seemed to vanish for a split second, and his green eyes zeroed in on hers before his grip suddenly popped open and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. Don’t know my own strength, I guess. Did I hurt you?”
Amy assessed the thumbprint that would show up as a bruise on her fair skin within the hour. But out loud, she answered, “Nothing that needs a doctor. Just be more careful next time.”
He nodded and took another long drink of cola. “I really have ruined your night.”
“I haven’t been in much of a party mood anyway, lately,” she confessed. “I wanted to be here to support Joss’s mom and dad. But, whenever you’re feeling up to it, I am ready to head for home.”
“Me, too.” He downed the rest of his soda in one final chug. At least he covered his mouth when a noisy belch followed. As his foul alcohol breath carried across the table, Amy subtly rubbed the hand he’d crushed in her lap. Remembering the force of Preston Worth’s attack was much harder to erase. His hand had been at her throat. His fists had been everywhere. And then there’d been that horrible fall. “You’re so much stronger about all this than I am.”
No. She was just a survivor. That was what she was good at.
“We all grieve differently.” Amy offered the platitude before standing and circling around to link her hand in the crook of Derek’s elbow and pull him to his feet. “Come on. A walk in the fresh air will do you some good, too.”
“Just give me my keys and I’ll go home.”
“You’re not driving anywhere. Now walk.”
They reached the edge of the parking lot before she stopped and pulled her phone from her purse to call a car service. She spared a moment of disappointment when she saw that Mark hadn’t answered her text. Was this how he felt when she got too worried about how emotionally involved she was getting and put off replying? She couldn’t blame him for ignoring her and giving her a taste of her own medicine. Or was he on a call with his team? Was worrying about him battling a fire or dealing with a dangerous accident any easier than feeling guilty or hurt by the absence of any contact with him?
Wow. Where was her head these days, when her hopes and sorrows centered around whether or not Mark connected with her?
“Amy?” She quickly scrolled off her text messages when Derek bumped her arm. He was sobering up, but not as quickly as she’d like. “Wish I could get out of this damn monkey suit. Especially with the...” He stumbled against her as he looked down at his soiled shoes. “You know.”
Irritation warred with pity. If she didn’t believe this sad sack’s love for Jocelyn was genuine, the pity might not have won. With a weary huff, Amy linked her arm through Derek’s and turned him toward the agricultural sciences building. “Do you have a change of clothes at your office?”
He nodded.
“Then let’s go there.” Since Derek’s university ID was on his key chain, she had no trouble leading him past the building’s nighttime security guard and heading to his tiny office at the top of the stairs.
Once there, Derek took his bag of running gear
to the bathroom down the hall and changed. Amy wished she still had an office on campus and a pair of tennis shoes or flip-flops to change into, too. But since she suspected she’d never get her swollen feet wedged inside these heels again for the drive home, she sat in the lone chair behind Derek’s messy desk and waited to make sure he didn’t pass out somewhere between the bathroom and loading him into the car that would take him home.
As emotionally exhausted as she was, her mind wandered. Before she fully realized what she was doing, Amy was tidying up the stack of student essay books spread across his blotter and sticking stray pens, paper clips and sticky-note pads into the desk drawer with other office supplies. She reached into her purse for a tissue to dust off the dingy keyboard and screen of his laptop, and smiled when she discovered the black cotton bandanna Mark had given her the night Jocelyn had died. Even when she couldn’t reach the firefighter who had wormed his way into nearly every thought, this old-fashioned token of his Captain Good Guy persona warmed her heart and eased some of the stress of the evening.
Feeling an uncharacteristic urge of sentimentality, Amy twisted the bandanna into a long skein and tied it around her wrist. Maybe the time had come for her to admit she had feelings for Mark Taylor, that she wanted to be more than just texting buddies. That one of these days, she was going to have to sit him down and tell him all her twisted past and current hang-ups and see if he was still interested in turning their daily flirtations into something more serious.
Feeling a little lighter now that she’d admitted those feelings and was considering the risk of taking on a relationship again, starting with that date Mark kept teasing her about, Amy went back to cleaning Derek’s desk. She found the tissue she’d been looking for and dusted off the screen and keyboard before closing the university-issued laptop and straightening it on the corner of the blotter.
And then she saw the second laptop hiding beneath a hodgepodge of maps and file folders. She almost called down the hall to Derek to ask what he’d done to rate two laptops, or if he’d been careless enough to lose one in this mess and had requested a replacement, when she got a better look at the second laptop.
“What is...?” She fingered the sticky bits of fuzz and glue on the laptop’s outside cover where someone had peeled off a sticker. Not just any sticker, but one with the nearly imperceptible outline of two initials...a J and a B. Jocelyn Brunt.
Amy unplugged the laptop and flipped it over to find the remnants of another familiar sticker. Although the shredded bits of glue and plastic gave no indication to what had once been there, the location was exactly where Joss had put the emblem of a female superhero who’d inspired her.
Had the air-conditioning kicked on in the small office? Or was the chill racing down Amy’s spine confirmation that Derek had his hands on something he shouldn’t?
Amy hugged the laptop to her chest and stood as Derek leaned against the door frame. “I’m as ready as I can be...” When he saw what was in her arms, when he saw her crossing toward him with a purpose, Derek straightened. “What are you doing?” He dropped his tuxedo jacket and slacks on the worktable beside him. “Are you going through my things?”
“This isn’t your thing.” If possible, he turned even paler and looked like he might be sick again. But Amy’s sympathy had left the building. “You know damn well this is Jocelyn’s. Where did you get it? How long have you had it? You do know the police are looking for it, right?”
“I know.” He sagged against the door frame. “I wasn’t finished with it.”
He wasn’t finished? He’d known its location for two weeks and hadn’t said anything? “Damn it, Derek. The police think this could be key to finding Jocelyn’s killer. And you...?” Amy muttered a curse and pushed him out of her way, heading for the stairs. “I’m turning this over to the police. And I’m telling them exactly where I found it.”
“She left it in my apartment the night before she died.”
Amy spun around to face him. “She left it? Jocelyn never went anywhere without this.” She frowned as another thought registered. Maybe a better question was, She stayed the night with you?
Wait. Amy eyed her position at the top of the stairs and felt the yawning expanse down to the first floor ripple through her vision like a chimera of heat. Blinking away the dizzying sensation, she moved to the side, so she wasn’t in such a vulnerable position to an impulsive shove down to the first floor as Derek shuffled toward her. Maybe the smartest question she could ask was, “Did you have anything to do with Joss’s murder?”
“What?” Derek’s hands shot up in surrender and he drifted back a step. “No. God, no. I loved her.”
She knew better than most that love didn’t necessarily mean violence couldn’t also be part of a relationship. “Tell me exactly how you got this,” she ordered, wondering if she was having this conversation with Jocelyn’s killer. Maybe she should get her phone out and call Detective Beck. No, her key chain with the canister of pepper spray was a better option right now. Amy pulled her keys out of her purse and put her finger on the button, showing Derek that she wasn’t going to be afraid of him. She wasn’t going to leave without answers, either. “Tell me about the night before Jocelyn died.”
Derek lowered his hands and drifted back to the door frame, as if he needed its support to stand. “Joss and I spent some time together that last week. She told me you said she should put herself first, that she should do what was right for her.” His mouth tightened into a grim line as though he hadn’t appreciated that advice. “Maybe she loved me more than you thought she did. She came over to talk and...things heated up.”
“Are you talking breakup sex?”
“No!” For a man who was two blinks away from passing out, Derek was suddenly loud and lunging toward her. Amy aimed the pepper spray, but the walls must have whirled around his vision because he stumbled back into the doorway, clinging to the frame to keep himself upright. He might be less of a threat, but the bile toward her was still there. “I’m talking about two-people-who-are-meant-to-be-together kind of sex. I needed to know that she still loved me. I wanted her to know that once her degree was done, I would be there for her.”
Yeah, yeah. True love. Emotional blackmail. Amy wasn’t interested. “Tell me about the laptop.”
“I woke up before her the next morning, the day she died.” He shook his head and tears filled his eyes. “I just wanted some confirmation of her findings to fact-check against my own dissertation. But then she was awake...but I hadn’t found the information I needed...and I didn’t want her to think that was the reason I’d slept with her...so I hid it. When she didn’t find it in her bag, I suggested that she left it at your place. Or in her equipment shed. Later that day—I knew she’d been evacuated because of the fire—I was driving the laptop back to your place to stick it in her room when you called me.”
“You son of a bitch. You can’t use somebody and love her at the same time.”
Derek sank down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor and blubbering again. But this wasn’t grief. It was guilt. Despair. “Don’t you see what I’ve done? She must have driven out to the shed that morning looking for her laptop. I sent her to her death. She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.”
Could his lame story be true? Or was he trying to give himself some kind of alibi? Despite his obvious distress, Amy was done offering comfort. “You won’t get any more sympathy from me tonight. You sure you didn’t have an argument with her over stealing her research? Maybe you got a little rough?”
“And took her out to your place to hide the body? I’m not that gnarly old professor who beat on you!” His words struck Amy like a slap across the face. Maybe that had been his intention, his way of getting her to back off. He scraped his palm over his jaw, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t mean that. I blame the whiskey.”
As he straightened his legs across the floor i
n front of him, apparently too weak to stand, Amy explained just how damning his words had sounded. “Derek. When you’re drunk, or overly emotional, it’s not a stretch to see how lashing out with words can become lashing out with a fist or whatever object is close at hand.” She inhaled a steadying breath to calm her own emotions and remind herself that she was the sober one here. “I have to tell the police what you said to me. You need to call them tomorrow when you’re clearheaded and tell them exactly what you told me.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“That’s not for me to determine. But you may have been the last person to see her before her killer did. You had her laptop and everything she was working on. If you don’t call KCPD tomorrow, I will send the detectives to your apartment.”
“I swear, leaving my bed that morning was the last time I saw Joss before she was gone.” Derek raked his fingers through his hair. Every strand fell right back into place, reminding her of the temptation of Mark Taylor’s wayward hair and where she’d rather be.
Since Derek’s legs were apparently jelly right now, and she was out of arm’s reach, Amy felt it was safe to venture to the top of the stairs again. “I’ll call a car to pick you up in twenty minutes. Meet it out front. I’ll leave your keys with the security guard, so you don’t try to drive yourself and do damage to anyone else.”
“Damage? Amy, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“Good night.”
Amy explained the situation to the security guard at the front desk, tucked the laptop under her arm and headed outside. She’d call Detective Beck and drop it off at North Precinct headquarters in the morning, if the woman wasn’t on duty tonight. She hurried across campus to the alumni center parking lot where she’d left her truck. Armed with pepper spray and a pair of heels she wasn’t afraid to use as a weapon, she was hyperaware of someone watching her, following closely enough to keep her in sight without being seen. Just like the night of Jocelyn’s death, when goose bumps had prickled up her spine, Amy sensed that she’d become the focus of someone’s curiosity. Or obsession. Or rage.