Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  No. That made zero sense. Other than their make out session under the mistletoe, which he’d abruptly blown off, he’d never showed any interest in her outside of CORE.

  She chanced a glance at him. He sat straight, as if someone had slipped a yardstick down his sweater, clutching the steering wheel, his jaw shoved forward, and his eyes narrowed on the road. Back at Joy’s, he’d narrowed his eyes at Jake, too. At the way the sheriff had draped his arm along the back of her chair.

  Jake had been sitting a little too close. She hadn’t thought much of it, though. He was a nice guy. They’d had a nice conversation last night. Maybe that was the problem with Jake. He was just too damned nice.

  Slipping the pencil from behind her ear, she placed it into her mouth and bit, then reached in her computer bag for her notepad. Rather than worry about Owen and whatever might have him wearing his crabby face, she should be thinking about their upcoming interview with Dean Xavier Preston, and the questions they would ask him.

  “Must you chew on that thing,” Owen said, breaking the silence. “It’s not only hell on your teeth, but annoying.”

  “I’m not annoyed by it,” she said. “Besides, what do you know about teeth? Oh, wait. That’s right. You went undercover as a dentist when you were in the Secret Service, so now you’re an authority.”

  “Har, har. And I didn’t go undercover as a dentist…I was an oral surgeon.”

  “Oral surgeon? Then in that case you must know what you’re talking about.” She gnawed on the pencil, exaggerating her bite. “Did you look over the list of questions I have for the dean?” she asked and flipped open the notebook.

  “I did and added a few suggestions.”

  Thank God, she thought and slipped the pencil from her mouth. The interviews with Bill Baker and Professor Stronach had given her some confidence, but after they’d brainstormed some ideas this morning, the nervousness she’d felt yesterday had returned, knotting her stomach. They had little to no evidence, only “what if” possibilities. Like what if the kidnapper worked for the university?

  She read his suggestions. Why didn’t the university hire extra security during Hell Week, or cancel Hell Week altogether? “These are good questions.” Why hadn’t she thought to ask them? Probably because, last night when she’d written them down, she’d been too busy thinking about Owen. How sexy he’d looked. How much he made her want more than she should.

  And that kiss.

  The kiss she should have completely forgotten about and purged from her memory.

  Instead of traveling down that path again, she added a few more questions, based on ideas generated from their brainstorming session, to the notepad. If she ever expected to be promoted to a field agent she had to keep her concentration on the investigation, not some juvenile longing for a man who—

  “So,” he said.

  “So, what?”

  “So you could have let me apologize.”

  “For?”

  He glanced at her, his blue eyes unreadable. “What I said about you and Jake. I…was out of line. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t sound sorry. At all. This wasn’t an honest, heartfelt apology. She knew Owen, had witnessed the superficial persona he’d sometimes don when dealing with certain clients. Right now, he was being superficial. Could he honestly be jealous of Jake? Again, that made no sense to her.

  “Hello, I just apologized,” Owen said. “Aren’t you going to at least say something?”

  “You pulled a DB move, but I’m over it.”

  “Great, so now I’m back to being a douche bag.”

  She cracked a smile. Last year, after the mistletoe incident, she’d begun the whole DB, douche bag thing. Yes, absurdly childish on her part. In her defense, he had acted like a total DB. Any guy who kisses a woman, then turns around and walks out with another on his arm deserves the nickname. Not only was it rude, but…heartbreaking.

  As she looked out the window, her smile fell. Up until that night, she’d had the biggest crush on Owen. Hell, she’d been half in love with him. She’d looked forward to working with him whenever he’d been at the CORE offices, she’d anxiously await his calls whenever he’d been on assignment. Considering he tended to travel more than the other agents, she’d spent a considerable amount of time on the phone with him. Before, and even after, the mistletoe incident, he was usually the first person she spoke with in the morning and the last person at night. There had been nights, too numerous to count, where she’d lie in bed talking Owen through an investigation. She loved brainstorming, especially with him. They usually ended up on the same page, which had resulted in success.

  Too bad he’d screwed with her heart. They made a great team. Based on the way he’d kissed her, the passion he’d ignited—passion she had no idea she’d been capable of experiencing—they probably would have made even better lovers.

  “I told you I wouldn’t call you a douche any more. While what you’d said was definitely out of line, I’m over it.” A lie, but there was no way she’d tell him the truth. He wouldn’t laugh in her face if she confessed she’d been crushing on him for years, or if she told him that he’d hurt her that night under the mistletoe. Owen had too much class, was too considerate of others. Still, opening herself up, exposing her emotions could strain their professional relationship. She loved her job and didn’t want her juvenile crush to interfere with her career.

  “Good. So…what did you and Jake talk about last night?”

  Furrowing her forehead, she looked away from the passing trees and stared at him. “The investigation.”

  With a slight shrug, he asked, “Anything else? It sounds like you two were on the phone for a while. Plus with the way he was acting this morning…”

  “And how was that?” She tapped the pencil against her lips, while her stomach did a huge somersault. He had her head confused, her heart hopeful and her body suddenly sizzling with anticipation. Holy crap. Owen was jealous of Jake. Why else would he drill her about the conversation she’d had with the sheriff, or comment on how Jake had acted at Joy’s? Then again, she’d read Owen wrong before, had thought he wanted to take their relationship from professional to personal. She’d been dead wrong then, and was likely wrong now.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I don’t know…friendly.”

  “What’s wrong with friendly?”

  “Nothing. Except if he’d gotten any friendlier, his tongue would have been down your throat.”

  “Oh my God,” she half-laughed, while her stomach did another flip. “You seriously did not just say that.”

  As they drove through the gates of Wexman University, he smiled. “I was just joking. I mean, if you like Jake and he likes you…” He turned the Lexus onto the main drag, which led to the university’s administration buildings.

  Disappointment had her stomach knotting. She glared at him for a moment. So much for the jealousy theory. “The dean’s office is in that building,” she said instead of commenting on his ‘if you like Jake and he likes you’ crap. Apparently the whole business and pleasure BS he’d spouted off about last night had been his way of giving her advice. Now he was giving her his blessing. How freaking thoughtful.

  After he parked the Lexus and killed the ignition, he turned to her. “I know it’s none of my business, but—”

  “You’re right.” She opened the car door. “It’s none of your business who shoves their tongue down my throat or makes my headboard slam against the wall. So why don’t we just pretend this and last night’s conversation never happened. Now, let’s go meet the dean. I want to wrap up these interviews in time to have lunch with my brother.”

  Owen caught a quick glimpse of her ass just before she slammed the car door. As much as he’d like to blame Jake for yet another wedge between Rachel and him, he couldn’t. After she’d blown him off this morning, he’d told himself to let it go. To not bring up last night. With the image of Jake touching her, kissing her, coaxing moans from her sassy, sexy mouth, he couldn
’t leave well enough alone. And now he could add slamming headboards into that cluster of erotic images that didn’t include him.

  After he climbed out of the Lexus, he followed Rachel into the building. They signed in with the security guard, then took the elevator to the dean’s the third floor office. As they traveled in the elevator, and then walked through the third floor halls, Rachel remained quiet. The tension radiating from her body thickened the air and served as a reminder that he’d screwed up again where she was concerned. He’d rectify things, though. Later. Right now he needed to regain the professionalism he’d lost when he’d questioned Rachel’s intensions with Jake.

  They approached the dean’s secretary. “Good morning,” Rachel greeted the other woman, then gave her their names.

  The secretary rose. “Dean Preston is expecting you,” she said as she escorted them to the dean’s office. After delivering a soft knock against the closed door’s etched glass, she turned the knob and motioned for them to enter.

  Dean Xavier Preston sat behind an enormous, and incredibly neat, mahogany desk. With a nod and a wave of his hands, he silently invited them to sit in the two leather office chairs before him.

  Once they’d settled into their chairs, the dean folded his hands, then raised his dark brows as if he had no clue as to why they were there bothering him.

  “Thank you for taking time to speak with us,” Rachel said, breaking the strange and uncomfortable silence.

  To his way of thinking, he didn’t see any reason Rachel needed to thank the dean for anything. The man should be on his knees begging them to make Hell Week go away.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, then leaned into his leather chair. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with your investigation, but Richard has asked me to make sure that you’re given top priority.”

  “Richard Lambert, the university president?” Rachel asked.

  “The very same,” the dean said with a slight tilt to his mouth. “I’m not only acting on his behalf while he’s away, I do have my own duties to carry out. So, please, let us make haste with this…” He waved a hand. “Conversation.”

  Rachel glanced at him, then looked to the dean. “Of course. I’d like to start this conversation by asking why Mr. Lambert, or any of the past presidents for that matter, hasn’t put an end to Hell Week? I would think that after the first few disappearances—”

  “Ms. Davis, is it?”

  She nodded.

  “You have to have full knowledge of the workings of the university to comprehend all that is involved. It’s not simply up to Richard, or even myself, to decide whether or not the fraternities and sororities can no longer hold their annual traditions.”

  “Then who makes that call?” she asked.

  “The alumni,” he said, his tone laced with disgust. “I’ve been with the university for eighteen years, first as a professor, and now as dean. Richard is the third president I’ve worked for. He and the other two had tried numerous times to cancel Hell Week.”

  “But the alumni wouldn’t hear of it,” Owen commented.

  “Correct. And alumni support is important to this university.”

  “By support, I’m assuming you mean their donations,” Rachel said.

  The dean nodded. “As you know, this is a small, private university. Eighty percent of our students participate in either a fraternity or a sorority. That being said, many of our alumni are also former members of these juvenile organizations. If we went against the alumni and cancelled Hell Week…not to sound cliché, but it would be like biting the hand that feeds.”

  Owen understood the dean and president’s dilemma. When he’d been a student at the University of Virginia, he’d had friends who had joined the same fraternities as their fathers. These fathers, all wealthy, prominent men, had played a vital role in some of the University of Virginia’s fraternities and had also been hefty donors to the university itself. Donations from alumni, like these fathers, had helped keep the tuition down, enrollment up and the athletics department financially sound.

  “Am I wrong to assume the alumni are aware of the missing students?” Rachel asked.

  “Your assumption is correct. I have been with each president when they addressed Wexman’s alumni association on the subject. Unfortunately, the general consensus has always been against doing away with Hell Week. Personally, I’d love to go further and not only rid this campus of such a ridiculous, childish tradition, but close the doors of every fraternity and sorority.”

  Rachel leaned forward. “Yes, these missing students must take a toll on campus life. Honestly, I had no idea about the disappearances until they involved my brother.”

  “Yes. Missing students aren’t advertised and never will be. The alumni, and even the president who had served prior to Richard, believed that eventually the disappearances would stop. Warning potential families of past occurrences that may or may not recur doesn’t make sense. To that, I agree. After two years with no disappearances, I had hoped the university had seen the last of the Wexman Hell Week. Unfortunately…”

  “What about campus security?” Rachel asked. “If you can’t shut down Hell Week, couldn’t the university supply extra security, for not only that week, but maybe even the entire month of January? I would think that preventative measures—”

  “Preventative measures have been taken.” Dean Preston adjusted his navy and gold tie. “A generous alumnus donated all of the necessary equipment to upgrade many of the campus buildings door locks, as well as dozens of security cameras.”

  Rachel pulled out her note pad. “Can you give me the name of this generous alumnus?”

  “I’ll have my secretary phone you with that information.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you have no clue who donated the security upgrade and cameras. I also find it odd that nearly every one of these upgraded locks malfunctioned the night before my brother and Josh Conway were kidnapped.”

  Owen hid a smile as the dean narrowed his eyes at Rachel. Even this blowhard had to admit that Rachel not only pointed out a damning coincidence, but that checking into the background of this generous alumnus was important to their investigation. With little leads, they needed to cover all conceivable angles. Could be this alumnus had attended Wexman twenty years ago and had intimate knowledge of the disappearances.

  “Ms. Davis,” Xavier Preston began in a placating tone. “I understand that you are emotionally vested in this investigation.”

  “Of course I’m emotionally vested,” Rachel said, her voice rising. “I allowed my brother, my only family, to attend this school. If I had known about these disappearances…that would have never happened.”

  She cleared her throat, then looked at her notepad. Owen had the sudden urge to put an end to this interview, take her outside and hold her. He hadn’t considered that she might feel guilt over her brother’s beating. Which she shouldn’t. The university didn’t advertise the disappearances, so how could she know?

  She was a hacker, CORE’s forensic computer analyst and one of the brightest women he’d had the pleasure of knowing.

  Shit. Yeah, he could understand the guilt and why she might hold herself accountable for what had happened to her brother. Rachel had been known to hack into places thought impenetrable. Knowing her hunger for knowledge, he’d bet she had researched the hell out of Wexman University. Why didn’t these Hell Week disappearances pop up on her radar? He’d ask her later after they were through with the dean, which would hopefully be soon. Other than the alumnus who had donated the upgraded security equipment, the dean wasn’t giving them anything new.

  “You said you’ve worked at the university for the past eighteen years,” Rachel began, her voice strong, the earlier emotional edge gone. “Is there anything you can add to help us find Josh Conway? Anything unusual that might have happened on or around the other disappearances?”

  Xavier Preston leaned forward, set his elbow on the desk, then rested his chin in his palm. Seconds late
r he covered a yawn, then when finished said, “Didn’t the sheriff share this information with you?”

  Rachel sent him a quick smile. “He certainly did, but thanks to his predecessor, there wasn’t much to share.”

  Still appearing uninterested in the conversation, Preston leaned back in his chair. “He wasn’t a particularly good sheriff, or man for that matter. He tended to let incidents…slide. Wexman Hell Week wasn’t of particular interest to him.”

  Rachel raised her auburn brows and half-smiled. “Given the little evidence we have prior to Sheriff Miller’s retirement, that doesn’t surprise me. Why do you think that was? I mean before Jake Tyler took over as sheriff, Miller had dealt with seven missing person cases. I would think this would hold top priority to him.”

  “Yes, one would think. Unfortunately Tom enjoyed the title of sheriff and the power and respect that went with it, not the actual responsibility of being an agent of the law.” He checked his watch then said, “As for your initial question, I have never noticed anything unusual before, during or after the disappearances.”

  “Weren’t the students nervous?” Owen asked. “With the university’s history, I’d think every male freshman preparing to join in on Hell Week would have taken extra precautions and made sure—”

  “Have you spoken with students or the Bola Townies?” Preston asked, the last word said with a hint of loathing. “If you haven’t had the chance, you really must. I assure you that you’ll find their answers both ignorant and amusing.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the ridiculous Bigfoot festival slated for this week. If you’re a believer, I apologize in advance for insulting you. Legends are unverified stories that are thought to be historical. Some people believe Bigfoot is no different than Wexman Hell Week.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like Professor Stronach,” Rachel said with a shake of her head. “Thank you for speaking with us. We won’t take anymore of your—”

  Dean Xavier Preston stood, pressed his fists against the desk and leaned forward. Although not overly tall, Preston’s build surprised Owen. With large shoulders, arms and chest, the dean looked as if he lifted weights on a regular basis. He also looked seriously pissed and offended. Gone was the dean’s earlier boredom. As he glared at Rachel, his face red and twisting in outrage, his lip rose in a snarl. If the dean’s anger hadn’t been directed at Rachel, Owen would have thought his reaction almost laughable. The man had gone from haughty and dispassionate to gnashing your teeth mad in a split second. All because Rachel had compared him to Stronach, another haughty ass.