Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I said something, didn’t I?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. Finally he shook his head. “I’m getting the feeling you’re more interested in the investigation than you are in me. You and I are never alone, Madison. Your father’s always here, too.”

  “Isn’t your father?” she shot back.

  “No. I’m letting go.” Troy’s throat worked. “He was a good man, he screwed up and I’m willing to admit it. I love him anyway, and I miss him like hell. He’s not alive and present.”

  She squeezed her arms around herself, trying to hold in the pain and fear. “Shouldn’t I feel protective about my dad?”

  His gaze was even more remote now. “I’m not in the mood to do this tonight.”

  “Please don’t go.” The words came out small and husky, perhaps because of the lump in her throat. She scrambled off the sofa. “Not like this.”

  “How should I leave?”

  She took the leap. “Don’t leave at all.”

  * * *

  OH, GODDAMN IT, Troy thought. There’d been nights he’d have cut off his right arm for that invitation. This one wasn’t any different—except he didn’t trust her motivation for asking him to stay.

  “We both know you’re conflicted,” he said flatly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Or offer her body to—what, to make sure he kept talking to her? Had she been stringing him along all this time and only now was desperate enough to go the last mile?

  God, he didn’t want to think that.

  She shook her head frantically. “Dad’s not here, Troy. I feel like I’m losing you. I can’t. Please. Please tell me you still want me.”

  Were those tears in her voice? He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she cried because she thought he was rejecting her. Not this woman who never cried, who kept all her pain inside.

  With a groan he took the couple of strides to her and gripped her shoulders. “Of course I want you. Are you kidding? But it has to be mutual, not...” He couldn’t even figure out how to say it without insulting her unbearably.

  She gazed mutely up at him, waiting for him to say what he meant. The caramel brown of her eyes was filled with anxiety. There she was, laid bare—the little girl who had never been able to trust in anyone’s love.

  Troy couldn’t do anything but draw her slowly into his arms, bump his forehead gently against hers and whisper, “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life.”

  She shivered and turned her face into his neck. “Please,” she said, just audibly. Then she kissed his throat, openmouthed. He felt the damp tip of her tongue against his skin, and a shudder racked his body.

  “Madison.” That was the last thing he said before his mouth found hers. He kissed her with desperation and the aching hunger too long pent up. She rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and answered him with equal urgency. He’d never been part of a kiss that felt like making love without either of them having removed a stitch of clothing. Their tongues stroked and teased and dueled; she sucked on his and he could have come right then. He gave up needing to breathe; it would have taken a force of nature to make him rip his mouth away from hers. Short as his hair was, she had a good grip on it, and the pain of that hard tug was part of the pleasure. He was squeezing her buttock, lifting her, trying to position her to ride his thigh.

  She writhed, and as they grappled, he realized there was no way in hell they were making it upstairs. Still kissing her, he lifted her from her feet and laid her back on the sofa, his knee planted beside her. She was tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, and he finally backed off enough to let her wrench it over his head. She cooperated as he peeled her T off, too.

  At the sight of her sexy, low-cut black bra, Troy groaned. Madison’s breasts swelled above the lacy edge, and he couldn’t do anything but nuzzle the lush curves. He slipped a hand beneath her to find the clasp, struggled with it and finally triumphed. He lifted himself enough to look as he stroked her shoulders, sliding the bra straps off, down over her arms, freeing the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, round and creamy, the nipples dark and hard.

  He tried to tell her how gorgeous she was, but wasn’t sure how it came out. Mostly he was making ragged sounds. He had to kiss her breasts, lick and finally suckle. She was the one making the sounds then, gasps and whimpers and a few pleading words.

  “Troy. Yes. Oh, please. Oooh,” she groaned as he tugged hard, his mouth filled with her.

  Her nipples glistened by the time he roved lower, kissing her smooth, bare belly, feeling muscles shift beneath his touch. He used the heel of his hand to rock between her thighs until her hips rose and fell and she did some more whimpering. He skimmed her thin knit pants down, taking skimpy black panties with them. Then he had to stop for another long look at the woman sprawling wantonly, one knee raised, hair spilling over the sofa cushion. Her mouth was soft and even swollen, her eyes somewhere between shocked and dreamy.

  The words I love you came closer than ever to spilling out of his mouth, but he stopped himself from saying them. He wanted her desperately, and believed she wanted him, but the doubts were still there, forming a hard ball in his gut that would have made him sick if he let it.

  She startled him by sitting up. “You, too,” she said in a throaty voice he’d never heard from her before, and reached for his belt buckle. He stared down at her hands as she worked to free him from his trousers. Those hands were so much smaller than his, delicate but strong, the fingernails painted today with a red gloss. She managed to stroke him as she eased the zipper down. For a moment Troy had to close his eyes and drop his head back, fighting for control.

  “Wait,” he said as she pushed the trousers and boxers down. “Condom.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think.”

  He wasn’t doing one hell of a lot of thinking right now, either. Lucky he’d planned ahead. He pulled a packet out of his wallet and let the wallet fall to the floor. It only took a second to shed pants and socks. Getting the condom on was becoming a desperate matter, the way Madison kept smoothing her hands over his thighs and belly, grazing her knuckles down his erection and watching in apparent fascination as it jerked at her touch.

  Somehow he managed to last long enough to slide his fingers into her wet, warm center, working her until her eyes were dilated near black and she was grabbing for him, trying to pull him over her. Troy lifted her legs and sank into her body, a spasm shaking him at the purest pleasure he’d ever known.

  One of her feet ended up braced on the sofa back; he hooked her other leg over one arm as he drove into her. Gotta hold out was all he could think. Wait for her, wait for her, but damn, he didn’t know if he could.

  And then she arched, convulsed and cried out, and he buried his face against her neck and let himself go. Every muscle in his body locked tight, his teeth were clenched, and somehow still a guttural groan escaped.

  When the tide let out, he sprawled heavily on top of her, too weak for a minute to move.

  I love you. And his next thought—prayer—was, Please don’t let this have been a payoff.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I’M SORRY. I DON’T understand why you want to talk to me,” Margaret Chaffee nee Berlongieri said, voice stiff. Troy would swear he heard alarm.

  Damn, he wished he could see her face. Unfortunately, she lived in Boise, Idaho, so he’d decided to make this first contact via telephone. Once Madison had called him with Margaret’s married name, he’d been able to track her down even though she’d had no contact with the college in twenty-plus years.

  “I’m trying to talk to everyone who was at McKenna Center that night,” he explained yet again.

  “I didn’t see anyone else.”

  “You did see Sally Yee.”

  Silence.

  “Ms. Chaffee, I’m making no accusations here. Please talk to me.”

  “I can’t do this,” she said, and hung up on him.

  Well, now, wasn’t that inter
esting? He’d scared this woman. So far, Troy had gotten a lot of reactions from the people he’d interviewed, ranging from friendly interest to hostility, but he didn’t think he’d scared the crap out of anyone yet.

  Tomorrow... No, damn it, he’d have to wait and see. But sometime in the next few days, he was either going to drive or fly to Boise and surprise Margaret Berlongieri Chaffee.

  An hour later, he was deep in conversation with a more cooperative Wakefield alum.

  “Yeah, I’d have to think about who I was living with that semester.” Art Hampton made a humming sound. “There were four—no, five rooms in the suite.”

  Troy hunched over, notebook on his knee, one eye on the receptionist at the psychologist’s office, where he was waiting for his mother. He didn’t want to be overheard, but he couldn’t afford to waste the hour she was in there, either, especially not during the middle of the day.

  “I remember three of us hooked up,” his informant said. “Buddies of mine, I mean. We were trying to find five so we didn’t get stuck living with someone we didn’t like. We ended up bringing a couple of guys in we didn’t know that well. Juan Hernandez—man, I’d almost forgotten about him. He was okay. The other one was Gordon Haywood. You know, the guy who is a senator now, from—I forget what state.”

  “Utah.”

  “Right.” Hampton sounded amused. “Conservative as all get-out.”

  “Was he then?” Troy asked out of curiosity.

  “He was a stuffed shirt, all right. Not that bad, though. He’d just retreat into his room if the party got too loud, or we lit up...” He cleared his throat. “Guess I shouldn’t say that.”

  Troy repeated his usual line about not being real interested unless the drug use—or substitute whatever crime the interviewee was getting shy about—pertained to the murder under investigation.

  With a few conversational nudges, he moved Art Hampton around to the night in question. Hernandez hadn’t been there at all; he’d had a girlfriend in a house off-campus and by late in the semester had been spending most nights with her. One of the other guys had been at the library studying for an Organic Chemistry final with some classmates.

  “But Gordie, Drew and I all had Constitutional Law. Another guy from the class joined us. Bob Schuler. Hey, he’s an attorney there in Frenchman Lake. All four of us went to law school. Anyway, we stayed up till...had to be three or four in the morning.”

  “None of you left for any length of time?”

  He laughed. “No, why would we have? We had a refrigerator and a john. I didn’t even hear about the murder until after the final the next day. I don’t think any of us did. Maybe Bob, I don’t know, but Gordie, Drew and I walked over together.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Troy told him. “You’ve saved me having to talk to any of those people, since I know they weren’t anywhere near McKenna Center that night.”

  “Glad I could help,” the other man said. “You really think you’re going to figure it out, after all these years?”

  “Yes.” Troy heard the steel in his voice. “It’s past time.”

  He ended the call and brooded over his notes for the remaining ten minutes of his mother’s appointment. She came out smiling, although he thought she looked a little shaken. This was her first appointment. But they had taken a couple more short walks—the last time they made it all the way around the block.

  He took her arm on the way out of the restored brick building that housed several doctors’ offices and gave her a gentle boost into his SUV.

  “I suppose having lunch would be pushing it?” He couldn’t help noticing how tightly she was gripping the seat belt strap.

  “I think maybe, if you don’t mind.” Then she took a breath. “You know what I’d love?”

  Troy cocked his head at her tone, which was mildly defiant. “What?”

  “A cheeseburger and French fries. And a root beer float. I haven’t had a lovely, greasy, fast-food meal since... Well, in a long time.”

  He grinned at his mother. “Now you’re talking my language.”

  Of course, she lectured him on his eating habits and cholesterol all the way to Dairy Queen, but the price was worth paying.

  He knew when they ordered that she wouldn’t come close to finishing her entire meal, but he liked the way she laughed and slapped his hand when he stole some of her fries.

  When he pulled up in front of her house, she sighed. “Oh, that tasted so good. I’ll probably be queasy half an hour from now, but it was worth it.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “When’s our next appointment?”

  She met his eyes squarely. “You don’t have to take me to every one, you know.”

  “I probably won’t be able to,” Troy said honestly. “You know how it goes with my job. But for now, I’m mostly talking on the phone and making charts. These first visits have got to be the hardest for you. I’d like to help as long as I can.”

  “You’re a good son.”

  “I’m not sure I have been.” Being honest felt more important these days than it ever had.

  “Nonsense.” Mom shook her head. “If you think you should have noticed sooner, I can only tell you that I worked very hard to make sure you didn’t.” She paused, sadness shadowing the gray eyes so like his. “I almost succeeded in fooling myself.”

  Maybe fooling ourselves is a family talent, Troy thought grimly as he drove away a minute later.

  He yanked himself back. He’d made up his mind he wasn’t going to think about Madison today, and by God he’d stick to his vow. He’d call her one more time—once he reached her father, so she’d know the plan—but after that, she would have to decide for herself how much Troy mattered to her.

  His phone rang as he was pulling into the lot behind the police station. He braked and reached for it, immediately recognizing the number. Speak of the devil.

  “Detective Troyer,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Guy Laclaire. Returning your call.”

  Troy found a parking spot and turned off the engine. “Mr. Laclaire, I imagine you’ve heard that we have reopened the investigation into the murder of Mitchell King.”

  “My daughter told me,” he said tersely.

  “I’m going to need to speak to you, face-to-face. A witness places you at McKenna Center that night.” He braced himself for the blast.

  It never came. “May I ask what witness?” Laclaire sounded tense but civil.

  “My father. Joe Troyer.”

  “What the hell...?” The shock was easy to hear. “I understood he’d passed away.”

  “Yes, he did. However, he left a written description of the events of that night.” Troy had debated how much to say up front, and decided to keep it to the bare minimum. “I can come to Portland this week, if you’ll be available.”

  Madison’s father gave a harsh laugh. “Are you going to recommend I include my attorney in this interview?”

  “That is entirely up to you, Mr. Laclaire.”

  The other man swore. There was a long silence. “I’m sure you’re aware my daughter works at Wakefield College.”

  “Yes.” Shit, he thought—what if Madison denied to her father having any close acquaintance at all with Troy? His teeth ground together. So be it.

  “I think,” Laclaire said slowly, “that I’d prefer to come to you, Detective. Let me check my calendar.” Another pause ensued. “Would Friday work?”

  This was Wednesday. Friday suited Troy just fine. They made an appointment for early afternoon. Neither man said goodbye.

  Speaking of shit—it was about to hit the fan. Troy suspected Guy was calling his daughter even now.

  He rubbed his belly as he got out of the Tahoe and locked it. Fast food hadn’t been a good choice. Then he grunted. Maybe he should be glad he could blame a cheeseburger for the uneasy stirring inside.

  * * *

  “DID YOU KNOW this was coming?” were the first words out of her father’s mouth, cold and cutting.
<
br />   Anger burst in her chest, but Madison couldn’t trust it to last. Had she ever stood up to her father when he was in this mood?

  “What is this?” she asked carefully.

  “A goddamn cop has the balls to inform me that I’m a suspect in Mitch King’s murder.”

  Shocked, she repeated, “A suspect? He said that?”

  “Not in those words,” Dad said impatiently. “He told me his own damn father saw me running away from McKenna that night. What’s the department thinking, letting him investigate when he has that kind of bias?”

  “Why would that give him a bias?” she asked. “His father’s dead.”

  Silence. Madison realized her mistake.

  “You knew he was investigating.”

  “Of course I knew,” she snapped. “Everyone knows. I told you there was a witness. You blew me off.” The anger carried her on, however stunned she was to be speaking like this to him. “No,” she corrected herself. “You lied to me, didn’t you?”

  “Watch yourself.” This was close to a snarl.

  Madison discovered she was shaking. Cowed, the way he intended—but not so much that she wasn’t still mad.

  She didn’t have to listen when he was like this. She didn’t have to talk to him at all.

  Feeling numb and more than a little shocked at herself, she took the phone away from her ear, although he was now saying something else, and cut him off. She dropped the phone in her purse and didn’t even check to see who was calling when it rang again a moment later.

  Opening the file on her desk, she stared at it blankly for a moment, then with an effort of will made herself focus. Making reservations at a restaurant in Memphis, Tennessee, that had been recommended to her because it offered excellent food and a room large enough to accommodate an “On the Road With” evening. Yes, that’s what had been next on her to-do list.

  For this event, Wakefield Assistant Professor of Geology Jared Andrus would be talking about the confluence of science and man, specifically as it related to controlling the Mississippi River. Madison was considering joining him; she had yet to visit the South in her role as director of alumni relations. If she made the trip, she’d extend it with some meetings with prominent alums in a three- or four-state area.