Unfortunately, the professor’s unusual teaching techniques often generated flack from conservative parents and alumni. He didn’t let that dissuade him, though. He just continued with what he thought was best for his students’ education. That, more than anything, gave her the courage to face him now. She was fighting for her students, too.
She found the room and watched through the window. The professor hadn’t changed. His trademark wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of his nose and his bowtie looked starched and pressed. His animation was clear even from a distance. Watching his ebony hands gesture lavishly brought back memories but she waited anxiously for the class period to end. When it did, she stood aside as students poured out into the hallway. “Professor,” she called as she stepped into the empty lecture hall.
Winston looked up from his papers. “Talia Sizemore,” he said with a broad smile. “This is a pleasure.”
She crossed the room and shook the professor’s hand warmly. “It’s nice to see you. It’s been too long.”
“That it has. Why, it seems like only yesterday that you were sitting right up there in the fourth row.”
She glanced toward the desks. “Your memory is better than mine.”
“I always remember my best students.” Winston adjusted his glasses on his nose. “So what brings you here today?”
“Actually, I need your guidance.” She looked around cautiously to make sure that none of the students had lingered. “Something happened at my shop yesterday and I need to discuss it with someone.”
“Ah, yes. Coolectibles, isn’t it? I keep meaning to drop by. I’ve heard it’s quite wonderful.”
The unexpected compliment made Talia momentarily forget her problems. The professor wasn’t one to hand out gratuitous praise. It made her feel good that he had kept up with her work.
“So what happened?” he asked. “Did an interesting piece come in?”
The moment disappeared and her stress returned. This wasn’t a social visit.
“You could say that,” she said carefully. “Professor, what do you do when somebody tries to sell you a piece you think might have been…well, stolen?”
Winston straightened. “Stolen?”
She shrugged.
“Did you call the police?”
“Um, no.”
His eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses. “Why not?”
She felt the color drain from her face.. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. “Could we find someplace else to talk?” she asked quietly.
One of the professor’s eyebrows lifted above the metal rim of his glasses. He stared at her for so long, she almost lost her nerve. Finally, he gathered his lecture materials. “Let’s go to my office.”
The hallway was still busy with students but Talia followed Winston as he weaved his way through the crowd. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm her but she fought it back. The professor was the only person she could think of who might be able to help her. He opened his office door for her and she entered the small room. She heard the door click shut behind him.
“What is this about, Ms. Sizemore?”
The professor sat behind his desk and placed his papers in a drawer. His concentration was on her, though, and she fought to keep her composure. Keep it together, she ordered herself. “I hope we can maintain confidentiality about this discussion,” she began.
He fingered his bowtie. “Of course.”
Tentatively, she perched on a chair in front of his desk. She set her heavy briefcase on the floor close at her side. “As I said, I had an unusual item come into my shop yesterday. It started me thinking… I… Well, I was wondering if you could tell me how the black market works.”
“The black market?” he said sharply. “Why would you come to me about that?”
Her heel began tapping nervously on the floor. This was not going the way she’d envisioned. “I remembered your classes on art forgery and I just…”
“You just what?” Winston shifted in his chair and looked at the door. “Who sent you here?”
“Sent me? Nobody sent me.”
“I haven’t seen you in years and now you show up asking all kinds of questions about the black market. Why?”
“Why?” Her eyes rounded. “Oh, no, Dr. Winston. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just need your advice.”
The professor looked at the door as if he expected someone to come crashing through at any moment. “I think it would be best if you left.”
“Left?” Her fingers curled around the arms of her chair. Her hasty plan was tumbling down around her like a deck of cards. “But I don’t know who else to talk to.”
“I’m sure you’ll find somebody. The FBI, perhaps. They always have an interest in arts trafficking.”
Panic swamped Talia as Winston stood suddenly and circled the desk. When he opened the door and gestured for her to leave, she came right out of her chair. “I can’t go to the police,” she blurted. “Professor, you’ve got to help me.”
Her desperation must have been clear, because he finally looked into her eyes.
“I’m in trouble,” she whispered.
He hesitated.
“Please.”
Slowly the door closed. Winston’s face was hard. “I want a full explanation. Now.”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” He stood, one hand on the doorknob, assessing her. The tension in the room thickened unbearably.
Talia wrung her hands. “I made a mistake—a big one. I don’t know to fix it.”
“And you think I do?”
“Maybe. Please, Professor.” She was so scared, she thought she might be sick. “I swear I won’t bring you into it. I just need someone I can trust.”
Winston looked torn. His body was stiff and lines of strain crossed his forehead. Talia feared her nerves would snap as she waited for him to respond.
“If you truly want my help,” he finally said, “you’ll have to assure me you’re on the level.”
She lifted her hands, palms upward. She was willing to do whatever he needed to prove herself.
“Please remove your jacket.”
Her head snapped back. “My jacket?” she asked in confusion.
“I need to make sure you’re not wearing a wire.”
She looked at him, dumbfounded. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I assure you, I do not ‘kid’.”
He turned back to the door and her nerves took off right along with her pulse. “No! I need to talk. There’s no wire. I swear.”
She reached up to undo her jacket. She slipped it off her shoulders and laid it on the chair. The professor stared at her hard. At last, he moved. He crossed the room but, for some reason, she still felt offended when he picked up the garment and began patting it, looking for electronic devices that might be sewn into the seams.
“Professor…”
“Please hold still.”
She nearly came out of her shoes when he turned abruptly and caught her by the waist. He patted her down efficiently even as she recoiled and shied away from his touch.
“Now, wait just one minute!”
A shiver went down her spine when he lifted her hair to look for an earpiece.
“I need to check your bra,” he said matter-of-factly.
She inhaled sharply when his hands settled over her breasts. “Professor Winston!”
“Monitoring devices have become incredibly high-tech, Ms. Sizemore,” he said as his hands squeezed and prodded. “I’ve seen styles that use the underwire for antennae.”
She didn’t care. She hadn’t given him permission to touch her! Although…
Her stomach clenched as the professor continued his impersonal fondling. He was truly more interested in her bra than in her flesh; she could tell by the way his fingers prodded at the underwire of the cups. That didn’t stop her nipples from perking up. When she looked into Winston’s dark eyes, though, she didn’t see sexual sparks.<
br />
She saw suspicion.
It made her hold still until he completed his examination. Even so, she wasn’t ready when he suddenly turned her breasts loose and dropped to a crouch. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
Her nipples were rubbing hard against the cups of her bra and she’d already surmised that her skirt was too short. The detective had made that perfectly clear.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised.
She stood in mute stupefaction as her respected mentor moved forward and put his hands on her again. His firm touch started at her waist, feeling for any suspicious bumps. It swept down her hips and she let out a huff when he clasped her buttocks firmly.
“Excuse me,” he said politely.
Talia couldn’t contain her surprised screech when his hands swept up under her skirt and did a thorough examination of her panties. One hand pressed firmly between her legs and she twisted away. Unaffected, Winston turned his attention to her shoes. When he was through, he stood and moved to her briefcase.
“Open it,” he demanded.
“No!” she said, self-preservation finally taking hold. He didn’t trust her; how could she trust him? Especially with the way he’d just crossed the line of their relationship. She lunged for her briefcase.
He was too quick for her. The briefcase was off the floor and on his desk before she could take it from him. He popped open the locks and she let out a soft cry. She’d come here for his help but this wasn’t what she’d planned. She tried once more to grab the piece before he could see but the cloth slipped and the playful cat’s eyes gleamed at them both.
Winston went still.
After a moment, he adjusted his glasses on his broad nose. Talia waited painfully for him to make some comment. Any comment.
He didn’t.
Instead, he put the cat aside and ran his fingers around the edges of the briefcase’s interior. Satisfied at last, he circled around his desk and calmly sat. He steepled his fingers together and looked at her. “That’s the stolen Harrington piece,” he said flatly. “I saw the story on the news.”
She couldn’t deny it. The cat sat there smiling up at her, building her guilt to an aching crescendo.
“Why bring it to me instead of taking it to the police?” he asked in a low, razor-sharp voice.
The police. She remembered Kinkade’s dark, piercing eyes and she reached out to steady herself on the back of the chair. “I need to get rid of it.”
He let the comment sink in. “How did it come to be in your possession?”
Her heart began hammering against her rib cage. Could she trust him? She had to. “I took it.”
The only response the professor displayed was a slight widening of the eyes. “I see.”
Talia stumbled over words as she tried to explain. “It was a misunderstanding. Brent… Well, he angered me, and I grabbed it out of spite. I wasn’t thinking.”
Winston’s lips curled up slightly. “You were thinking enough to grab a very nice piece.”
He picked up the cat and pulled it closer. Talia slowly sank back into the chair. Her knees wouldn’t support her anymore.
“Very nice,” he muttered. He turned the piece upside down and lifted his glasses off the bridge of his nose until he could see best through the lenses. “And it’s an original.”
“French,” she muttered.
“Excellent craftsmanship.”
She shifted in her chair. “The lines are flawless.”
He nodded and continued his inspection. Talia rubbed her damp palms on her short skirt and waited with bated breath. Finally, he set the cat down with a gentle touch. Once again, he steepled his hands together and pursed his lips.
“We might be able to reach an agreement,” he said softly.
Agreement? Agreement for what?
“My take is normally fifty percent.”
She sat motionless for a solid minute until her brain finally clicked into gear.
Professor Winston was a fence!
Shock took her breath away. In a million years, she never would have believed that studious, bow-tied Dr. Winston actually dealt in the underbelly of the arts world. The idea that one of the most respected teachers at New Covington College could be involved in something so immoral was staggering.
Yet at the same time, so opportune.
Her train of thought came back on track. “Fifty percent is outrageous.”
“I’d be taking all the risk.”
“I’m taking it now. I had the Mène in my briefcase this morning when a persistent detective questioned me about it.”
The professor dropped his hands to the desk as he judged her. “I could drop to forty percent.”
The conversation had finally ventured onto her turf. Talia settled more comfortably into the chair. She bargained for items every day. If there was anyone who knew how to haggle over price, it was she. “I won’t be taking any of the proceeds myself. The money will go into the Sizemore Foundation to help reestablish the after-school program for inner-city schools.”
The professor’s chin came up. “The one that Harrington and his pretentious Arts Council killed?”
“Precisely.”
He looked at her contemplatively. “I’m beginning to understand how this all came about.”
For the first time ever, Talia saw the cunning the professor hid behind the nebbish glasses and the prim bowtie. She watched as his gaze went from her to the cat—and back to her again. He took a slow breath and rubbed his chin as if in deep thought. The silence started to echo as she waited for his counteroffer.
“The money would be going to a good cause,” he finally said. “My niece has taken part in the after-school arts program.”
Talia blinked. “Really? I wasn’t aware of that. What’s her name?”
“Beatrice.”
It wasn’t a common name, especially for a child. “Beatrice Small?” she asked.
“Yes.” He looked taken aback. “You know her?”
“Of course, but I didn’t realize she was your niece!” Talia quickly picked up her purse and began digging inside. At last, she found her car keys. They jingled as she passed them to the professor. “She’s exceptional with bead work. She made that keychain for me.”
The professor went very still. When he reached for the keychain, his touch was as careful as if he was handling a hundred-year-old painting. His expression turned solemn.
“Twenty-five percent,” he offered. “That’s as low as I can go.”
Talia took a deep breath. It was illegal and immoral but selling the cat on the black market would take it off her hands. That was the most important thing. If she could thwart the detective’s suspicions before they could take root, it was worth it. “It’s a deal.”
Reaching across the desk, she shook Winston’s hand.
“You’ll be fairly compensated,” he promised. He surprised her by throwing her an uncharacteristic wink. “I’ll make sure I get a good price for your little pussy.”
Chapter Four
Talia didn’t remember the drive home. She was still stunned by everything that had happened. Brent. The cat. Professor Winston.
She couldn’t believe the things she’d done. She shook her head. At least it was over. Misaligned planets, an unlucky horoscope, a bad tarot card reading… It didn’t matter what the cause behind her aberrant behavior had been. She’d learned her lesson.
She wasn’t cut out for a life of crime.
Letting out a long breath, she turned into the alley behind Coolectibles and parked in her designated spot. Her shaky legs made even the short walk to the back door seem long but the jingle of the bell comforted her. It signified home. Normalcy. She was more than ready for the world to right itself.
Sadie glanced into the back room at the sound and excused herself from the customer she was helping. “Where did you go?” she asked as she marched into the storage area. “Why did you run off like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Talia said. “I didn’t mean
to worry you.”
She adjusted her grip on her briefcase. It seemed a thousand pounds lighter but she couldn’t unload her heavy conscience on her assistant. This story was going with her to the grave. More importantly, she couldn’t implicate her friend—not even after the fact.
“What was I supposed to think?” Sadie said with a huff. “First you almost fainted. Then you ran out the door like your hair was on fire.”
“I know. I just remembered…uh…an appointment that I’d forgotten.”
“An appointment? Couldn’t it have been rescheduled? You still look peaked.”
For a moment, Talia drew a blank. She’d had so many other things on her mind, she hadn’t taken the time to come up with an excuse. “The Foundation,” she said, quickly improvising. “I had a meeting with a potential donor.”
“Oh.” Sadie crossed her arms over her chest. “That is important. Did it go well?”
“You could say so.” Talia’s cheeks heated. It depended on how a person looked at things. On the one hand, she’d inadvertently found a way to bring more funding into the after-school program. On the other hand, her solution was a felony. “I think some money will be coming in soon.”
“That’s good news,” Sadie said. “Real good. The kids need it.”
She glanced over her shoulder to keep an eye on her customer. “Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop talking about the Harrington robbery this morning. I swear that sometimes my mouth isn’t connected to my brain. I know you went to that party to try to convince that shifty snake to reestablish the funding. He gave you a hard time, didn’t he?”
Talia forced her expression to remain calm. He’d given her something hard but they didn’t need to get into that. “You told me not to go. I should have listened.”
“That cheap bastard. He deserved to get robbed.”
Guilt racked Talia. He might have deserved it but she couldn’t have her assistant stumbling over the truth.
On the Prowl Page 5