She held her ground, lifting her chin defiantly. “I think a better question is, why me?”
Smart. He liked her.
Chase displayed his dimple. “I like you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I like the way you teach.” He dipped his gaze to her plump lower lip and moistened his own. “You make things real clear. Easy to understand. I have a lot of material to cover and having someone who I connect with would make it so much easier.”
Her eyes danced with interest. “I don’t think I’m the right match for you.”
Before she could back away, he snagged her hand and lazily traced small circles over its cords.
The fact she didn’t yank it free immediately encouraged him to continue the ploy, which wasn’t really a ploy because as much as he knew he shouldn’t be attracted to this woman, he was. Very much so. “I don’t know about that. I think you’d be the perfect teacher to help me.”
She smelled faintly of vanilla. Not the overpowering perfume of most department store samples which assaulted his sinuses at first whiff. Emma’s scent was soft and soothing. Enticing. It compelled him to close the space between them.
Standing nearly toe to toe and staring into her deep brown eyes, the floor seemed to disappear under Chase’s feet. His heart stopped like he’d done a bad-ass somersault out of an assault glider from thirty thousand feet.
He blinked, as a disengaging reaction, to save himself.
Emma slid her hand free and wiped her palm across her skirt while backing away. “Look, Mr. Hunter.”
Her tongue darted across her lips and Chase felt the wall between them go back up.
“As much as I sympathize with your predicament, I just don’t have the time to devote to you. I would definitely contact another TA immediately, if I were you. However, while I’m teaching this class this week, I’ll see about helping you as much as possible during the class.”
He remained planted, not wanting her to put distance between them. “There’s no way I can change your mind?”
“No.”
“You can’t criticize a man for trying.” He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips for a second as if considering something. “I have another question.”
“What?” She asked on the end of a sigh.
“Have dinner with me?”
Red highlights shimmered in her hair as she shook her head. His fingers twitched as he longed to feel the softness of her hair between his fingers. “I don’t think that is a good idea.”
He’d seen her smile slightly before she ducked her head. She was definitely interested in him and with a little coaxing he had the feeling he’d be spending the evening in her company.
“Why? You do eat, right?”
Amusement brightened her eyes to a lighter, golden brown.
His mouth went dry. Focus. Damn it.
“Yes, of course I do. It’s just…”
He edged closer to her, slowly, like a wolf closing in on its prey. “Just what. Are you seeing someone?”
“No.”
“I was hoping you weren’t.”
Her eyes rounded. “You were?”
He inched closer. “Yeah. I saw you walking across the common way with some guy.” He nodded toward the windows where the outside world faded into the dusk.
Her gaze jumped to the window and then back to him. “Oh, Bart. No, he is just another chemistry TA, a friend.”
“I’m glad.” Chase rose up on the balls of his feet. “Well, then, have dinner with me.”
She grabbed her bag and removed a notebook. “I can’t. I have work to do on my thesis before the next evening lab class and it starts at seven.”
“You need to eat.”
“I’ll grab something later.”
He indicated the clock on the wall high between them. “It’s already near five. Until you get rid of me, you’re not going to have much time to work.”
She cocked a brow. “If you leave now, I might.”
“Ah, but that is my point. I don’t give up easily, especially when I really think I’m right. Not my nature.”
“Do you always get your way?”
Before he had a chance to respond, a rap on the classroom door stole Emma’s attention away from him.
Two suits, with spit-shined loafers and matching overcoats—complete with pins on their left lapels, signifying they were official members of some police organization—filled the doorway, looking surprised to find him there.
“Ms. Lewis, we have a few questions we need to ask you,” the older cop said. He shifted his gaze from him to Emma.
The other cop continued to scan him with narrowed eyes.
On purpose, Chase shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
He looked back to Emma. The beautiful smile she wore a moment ago had dwindled to a frown. The warm, friendly space between them became chilled as she fearfully backed up a few steps.
Emma set her shoulders. “Of course, come in.”
“If you don’t mind, young man.” The older cop pulled a badge from his pocket and pointed toward the door before sucking in his slight paunch and clipping the gold emblem to his belt. “We need to speak to Ms. Lewis alone.”
“It’s Ok, Chase,” Emma said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her words might’ve said all was well, but her tone told him she wasn’t exactly happy the two detectives showed up. If she were innocent, wouldn’t she want to help with the investigation in any way she could?
Maybe his gut was wrong?
“I’m not leaving. I’ll wait outside.”
“No,” she responded. “Really, I don’t have time.”
“I’ll wait.” He left his books on the counter and exited the room.
Stepping into the hall, he noted some early evening classes had already started. The halls were empty, except for a couple of cleaning ladies who were starting their shift. They pushed a supply cart and wet vacuum into a room that most likely would be vacant for the rest of the evening.
He held the door knob to Emma’s classroom, not letting the lock click entirely into place. The door, designed to keep any toxic fumes created during experiments from spilling into the hall, and to force airflow through ventilation hoods, had a rubber seal along the bottom. He wouldn’t hear their conversation if the door engaged.
Using the mirror app on his cell phone, he positioned it so he could see into the room through the window. When the two detectives focused on Emma, he silently cracked the door and listened in on the questioning.
Chapter Eleven
The intense scrutiny in the officers’ eyes made Emma swallow the angst rising up her throat. She’d answered all of their questions already. What more could she tell the same two men?
She clipped her bag closed, resigning herself to the fact her night wasn’t going to go as planned and looked past Detective Stauffer to the door. The knowledge that Chase waited outside for her was a small comfort.
The older investigator stepped forward in the aisle, blocking her view, while his young sidekick stayed fast at his partner’s back, like he had on Sunday in the dean’s office.
Emma turned her thoughts away from the handsome man outside who made her blood run hot, and she focused on the officers. “What is it you need?”
“We won’t take up too much of your time,” Johnson said almost apologetically.
Stauffer, on the other hand, dove right in while he pulled a pad and small pencil from his overcoat pocket. “Where were you between midnight and two a.m. on Sunday morning?”
The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. There was only one reason they would ask her that question—she’d become a suspect in Denise’s death. The notion was ridiculous. She’d had no reason to harm Denise. “Was that when Denise…died?”
“Just answer the question.” Stauffer’s hard glare pressed her for a quick answer. He wanted the truth.
Emma looked to Johnson who also exhibited a stone face, waiting for her answer. She swallowed against the anxiety fo
rming a lump in her throat. They were seriously looking at her for murder.
Stay calm, she told herself, wiping her suddenly moist palms along her sweater as she folded her arms across her body. The officers would realize their mistake soon enough.
“I, ah…” Icy fingers gripped her spine. She cupped her elbows and pulled her arms tighter around her waist, fending off a shiver.
Her mind spun back to what she did on Saturday night after leaving this very room. The building. “I left here around seven-thirty p.m., like I told you, and then I met my roommate for pizza at Joe’s on Main Street.”
“We asked where you were between midnight and two a.m.” Stauffer interrupted her.
“Right.” Under the men’s hard scrutiny, tension advanced to her temples. She withstood the urge to press a finger against the drumming. “At home. In my apartment.”
“Was anyone with you?” Johnson finally jumped into the conversation.
“Yes,” she responded quickly, recalling her and Nanette laughing as they entered their apartment. Then Emma’s heart fell into the pit in her stomach. They’d arrived home at ten-thirty p.m. but shortly after that Nanette went out. “No. My roommate came home with me, but she went out again. I showered after she left and went to bed around midnight. I’m not sure what time she came home. It’s possible she was there at that time, but you’d have to ask her. I could call her right now,” she offered, turning to retrieve her cell phone from the side pocket of her bag.
Johnson stopped her.
“We’ll take her name and cell number and talk to her later.”
She ran her tongue across her dry lips. In her experience, the best way to solve a problem was to face it, understand it and work to get beyond it. And being a murder suspect was certainly a problem. “You really think I had something to do with Denise’s death?”
“We’ve learned you had an argument with Denise recently,” Johnson said.
Emma’s nostrils flared as memories of her pleasant exchanges with the younger woman flipped through her mind. No arguments came to mind and she didn’t like being accused of something she hadn’t done.
“What? When?” Her hands curled into fists as her arms fell to her sides. “Whoever told you that, lied to you.”
Stauffer walked to the window. A pop resounded through the room as he pushed a mini-blind down and peaked between the slats and out the window to the courtyard below. “They said they saw the two of you outside this building last Thursday.” He let the metal strip snap back into place, turned, and latched onto her gaze. “What were you quarreling about?”
Refusing to look away, she thought back over the past week to the only interaction between her and Denise that could possibly be misconstrued as a disagreement. “We weren’t arguing. We were discussing a theory.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. We were discussing molecular orbital and valence bond theories in relation to CH4 molecules. Methane molecules. The discussion began in class and we continued our conversation as we left the building. I’m sure any of the students in the class can verify I’m telling the truth. Denise was in Professor Langson’s Thursday, eleven o’clock, lab class.”
“Denise was a sophomore. Why were you in the class if Professor Langson was teaching?” Johnson pulled out a stool from one of the lab tables and took a seat, stretching out his long legs. He twisted his right ankle from side to side while pressing on the outside of his knee and Emma wondered if he’d recently suffered an injury.
“I sit in on the professor’s classes on occasion since he asks me to sub for him from time to time, like this week. I like to know the progression he’s made in the curriculum and what students might need extra attention during a lab. It’s good to know, for safety reasons. You can ask the professor if you’d like.”
“We will.” Stauffer frowned while he scribbled on his pad, seemingly irritated she had a plausible answer. Then he walked across the room and peered through the wire-mesh plate glass into the supply room.
The man certainly was nosey about the layout of the lab.
Johnson shifted on the stool and placed his feet flat on the floor. “Do you have a car, Ms. Lewis?”
Emma furrowed her brow. Why did they need to know that?
“Yes. A 2008 Toyota Prius.”
He dipped his head to the side slightly. “Where is it now?”
“In the parking lot behind this building.”
“Don’t you usually walk to class?” Stauffer asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, but today I was running a little late, and I had planned on staying here to work on my doctoral project until nine. It was going to be a really long day, so I decided to drive.”
“Could we take a look at the car?” Johnson flexed his leg.
“I don’t know why you need to, but yes. I have nothing to hide.”
“You wouldn’t have any objections if we have our forensic team go over it?” Stauffer asked over his shoulder while he examined the keypad and lock on the supply room’s door.
“Of course not, if it will help you realize I had nothing to do with Denise’s death and move on to finding her murderer.”
“Good. What’s stored in here?”
“Chemicals we use in our experiments, along with some of the more expensive equipment.”
“It looks like you need a key and numbered password to enter.”
“Correct.”
“Can you access it?”
“Of course.”
His gaze jumped to his partner and some kind of mental telepathic exchange visually occurred between the two men before both sets of eyes returned to her.
“We’ll need your keys,” Stauffer stated.
“I’m sorry but I can’t let you in there, not without permission from—”
“I mean your car keys.”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
“Yes. Is it a problem?”
She had no clue what they were looking for, but she knew objecting would only make her look bad in their eyes. She wanted this nightmare over.
“No.” Emma slid her purse across the counter, unclipped her set of keys from the clip holding them in place inside the sack, and removed her car key from the ring. “I thought we’d make an appointment.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said.
As she dropped her key into the detective’s hand, the idea they believed she could commit murder boggled her mind.
Glancing over her shoulder at the wall clock, she noted the minute hand jump forward. She slung her case’s strap over her shoulder. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” The younger cop tapped his pencil against the pad in his left hand. “We found the handbag we believed Denise had with her the night she died. Can you explain why your fingerprints were found on it?”
Emma knitted her brows together, wondering if his question was a trick of some sort. “Her purse?”
He pulled an evidence photo from his pocket and slid it toward her. “Yes. Can you explain why?”
Emma’s mind tumbled over itself while her fingers found the hem of her sweater. When had she last been in Denise’s company while she had the leather sling bag? Remembering, she went up on her toes slightly. “At our last study group together, Denise left her purse behind. I noticed it lying next to the chair she’d sat in. I picked it up and chased after her.”
“When was that?” Johnson asked.
“Last Thursday night.”
“The day you had an argument?” With arms folded over his chest, Stauffer looked down his narrow nose at her.
“We didn’t argue.” She bit her bottom lip, trapping the panic bubbling up inside.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight, she counted off to five before she assumed a stance that mocked the bad-ass cop and pinned him with a heated gaze. Then she continued to zero before turning to Johnson and caught the shift of his eyes from Stauffer to her. They were a team, playing her. Their goal was to learn the truth concerning De
nise’s death and put her killer behind bars.
“Two days prior to the incident.” Stauffer frowned. “It seems unlikely fingerprints wouldn’t rub off during that period.”
“Denise didn’t carry a purse often. She always had her backpack with her, but Thursday night she did have a small brown bag with her. Maybe she didn’t carry it over the following two days. You can ask the other members of the study group to collaborate my story.” She reached for a pencil and an extra copy of that day’s class outline which lay on the counter. “I can give you their names.” She flipped the paper over.
“Please,” the older man said.
Silence fell over the room while she scribbled the names of the four students.
As she handed the list to Detective Johnson, a bell chimed. Johnson dug his cell from his pocket and looked at the screen.
Stauffer took the opportunity to ask, “Do you have a passport?”
“No.”
“You’re not planning a trip home, or anywhere else are you?”
A ball of anger rattled inside Emma, looking for a way out. She shifted her eyes to him. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”
The man had a soul-piercing gaze. Cold. Hard. ‘No bullshit taken,’ like her daddy would say. A good characteristic for a cop, she’d guessed.
“Look. I know you’re just doing your job by looking at everyone who had contact with Denise, but it’s not logical to focus on me.”
“Why?”
“I had no reason to want to harm her,” she said, looking from one officer to the other.
“No reason we’ve uncovered yet,” Stauffer stated flatly. “Until all the questions we have concerning you are answered, we’re going to keep digging into your life.”
She was a very private person and didn’t like that every aspect of her life would be scrutinized by strangers.
Emma struggled to keep her fingers from curling into fists. There weren’t many people in her life she’d say she truly disliked, instantly, but it seemed Detective Stauffer itched to get his name at the top of the list.
‘Honey, kill them with kindness.’ She recalled her mother’s words of advice. “Ok. Any good cop would and I guess that makes you one.”
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