“You thought she was what?” Michael asked.
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “What does it matter?”
It mattered, but before I could come up with a rational explanation for needing the information, Michael’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, read a text, and then stood. “Sorry, Bryce,” he said. “I have to go.”
Bryce shrugged. Clearly, she wasn’t going to be pining away for him anytime soon. Michael turned toward the door, catching my eye as he passed. Lia, he mouthed.
“I should go, too,” I said. “This was…intense.”
“You’re leaving?” Geoffrey sounded genuinely surprised. Apparently, he’d been under the impression that he had this one in the bag. Dead girl. Freaky lecture. Sensitive eyes. Clearly, I was supposed to be his for the taking.
“Tell you what,” I told him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Why don’t you give me your number?”
Lia’s text didn’t lead us back to the party. Apparently, she hadn’t been quite as cautious as I was about going off with her quarry alone.
“What exactly did Lia say?” I asked.
Michael held up his phone for my inspection. There was an off-center picture of Lia with two college boys: one tall, one round, both slightly out of focus.
“‘Having a fascinating chat,’” I read the accompanying text. “‘Heron Hall, roof.’” I paused. “What’s she doing on the roof of some random building?”
“Interrogating suspects who don’t know they’re being interrogated?” Michael suggested, an edge creeping into his voice.
“Any chance the boys in the picture aren’t suspects?” I wanted to believe that Lia wouldn’t go off alone with someone she thought might be capable of murder. “Maybe they’re just friends of Emerson’s.”
“She sent a picture,” Michael replied flatly.
In case something happens, I filled in. Lia had sent us a picture of the boys she was talking to, in case we got to the roof of Heron Hall and she was gone.
We shouldn’t have left her at that party alone. I’d been so caught up in getting information out of Geoffrey that I hadn’t even told Lia I was leaving.
Lia did a very good impression of someone who could take care of herself—but Lia could do a good impression of just about anything.
Dean wouldn’t have left her, I thought, unable to stop myself. That was why he was the one person in this world that she’d walk through fire for, and Michael and I didn’t make the cut.
I walked faster.
“She’d mock us for worrying,” Michael said, as much to himself as to me. “Either that or she’d take it as a personal insult.” He picked up his own pace. With each step, I imagined the ways that this could go badly.
Lia was ours. She had to be okay. Please be okay. Finally, we made it to Heron Hall. The towerlike building was clearly Gothic in design—and just as clearly, it was closed and locked down for the evening.
NO TRESPASSING.
Michael didn’t miss a beat at the sign. “Do you want to trespass first, or should I?”
I heard Lia laughing before I saw her. It was a light, almost bell-like sound, musical and delighted—and almost certainly a lie.
A step in front of me, Michael opened the door onto the roof. “After you,” he said. My stomach muscles unknotted themselves slowly as I stepped out and into the moonlit night. My eyes searched for Lia. Once I’d seen for myself that she was okay, I registered the fact that her flair for fashion apparently extended to her choice of rendezvous points. Not just a tower, not just a locked tower, but the roof of a locked tower. From here, we could see the entire campus stretched out below, a splattering of lights in the darkness.
From the other side of the roof, Lia spotted us. There were two people with her, both of them male. “You made it,” she said, weaving on her feet toward us in a way that would have made me nervous even if we’d been on solid ground.
“Don’t worry,” Lia whispered, throwing her arms around me like the very happiest of drunks. “I’m on the clock. Nothing but Gatorade since we arrived. And if anyone asks, my name is Sadie.”
Lia turned back toward the boys. I followed her, unable to keep from thinking that Sadie was Lia’s real name. None of us knew why she’d changed it.
Only Lia would use the name she’d been born with as her fake name.
“Derek, Clark, this is…” Lia hiccuped, and Michael took that cue to take over the introductions.
“Tanner,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake the others’. “And this is Veronica.”
The boy on the left was tall and preppy, with politician hair and classically handsome features. There was a distinct chance that he was flexing his pecs. “I’m Derek,” he said, slipping his hand into mine.
Definitely flexing, I thought.
Derek elbowed the boy on the right, hard enough that the boy actually stumbled. Once he regained his footing, he held out his hand. “Clark,” he mumbled.
“You sound like a duck,” Derek told him. “Clark, clark, clark!”
I ignored Derek and focused on Clark. His handshake was surprisingly firm, but his hands themselves were soft. In fact, soft was the best adjective to describe him. He was small and round and looked like he’d been made out of clay that had never quite set. His skin was blotchy, and it took him several seconds to actually meet my eye.
Suddenly, it clicked. “Derek,” I said. “And Clark.”
Hadn’t Bryce said that one of the guys she was assigned to work with in the Monsters or Men class was named Derek? And the other reminded her of a roly-poly….
How in the world had Lia managed this? She met my eyes slyly, and I realized that I’d underestimated her. I shouldn’t have—not when the reason she was doing all of this was Dean.
“Brilliant deduction,” Derek told me, with a trademark smile that he’d probably practiced in the mirror. “Call Mensa,” he said. “This girl’s a genius!”
The patronizing tone in his voice told me that he didn’t expect me to recognize the put-down for what it was. I suddenly knew exactly what Bryce had meant when she’d described him as “that guy.” He almost certainly came from a wealthy family—I was going to guess a long line of successful lawyers, most likely with an Ivy League pedigree. He liked the sound of his own voice even more than Geoffrey did. He was the type who’d debate an issue in class just to prove that he was the better man. He probably whitened his teeth.
“Clark and Derek knew that girl,” Lia said, slurring the words. “I met Derek at the party. He called Clark. I asked him to.” She leaned into Derek’s chest and reached a hand out to Clark’s cheek. Clark flushed a brilliant red. Derek nodded at me over Lia’s head, as if her presence on his chest was proof that I should want to be there, too.
I was officially never wearing this dress again.
“What girl?” I asked.
“The girl who got killed,” Derek answered. “Emmie.”
“Emerson,” Clark muttered.
“What was that, Clark?” Derek said, shooting the rest of us a grin, like Clark’s inability to speak up was the world’s cleverest joke.
“Her name was Emerson,” Clark said, flushing even brighter than he had when Lia had touched him.
“That’s what I said.” Derek raised one of his palms upward in a gesture I translated to mean, roughly, What’s this guy’s problem—meh, what are you gonna do?
Clark mumbled something in reply. Derek ignored him.
“She was in our class,” Derek told me.
“I think I met your TA tonight.” I measured their responses to that. Derek stiffened. Clark didn’t appear to move at all. Beside me, I could practically feel Michael cataloging every detail of their expressions.
“That guy’s a tool,” Derek replied.
Quite frankly, I thought that tools who lived in tool houses probably shouldn’t throw stones.
“Geoffrey seemed into death,” I said. “Like, really into death. And the way he talked about Emerson, it was like he di
dn’t even care.”
Agreeing with Derek was like throwing water onto a grease fire. It just made this situation that much worse.
“TA Geoff thinks that frowning and wearing black is a substitute for genuine intelligence. I bet he told you he knew Emerson.”
I nodded, willing to see where this was going.
“He didn’t know her,” Derek said. “He just sits up at the front of the class and grades papers. Clark and I, we knew her.” He leaned back on his heels. “That stuck-up blond chick in our group, she knew her. Hey, even Fogle knew her. But TA Geoff is just blowing smoke.”
“What do you mean ‘Fogle knew her’?” Michael asked. “Isn’t it a pretty large class?”
Derek turned his attention to Michael. Whatever he saw there, he liked. Given Michael’s background, he’d probably known a dozen Dereks growing up.
“When I say that the professor knew Emmie, I mean that he really knew her,” Derek said. “Biblically.”
I looked at Lia. She nodded slightly—Derek was telling the truth. Beside her, Clark’s face was growing red again.
“The dead girl was involved with the professor,” Michael said. “That kind of thing could get a guy fired.”
“No kidding. Person of interest?” Derek scoffed. “Try he did it.” Derek laughed under his breath. “He did her, and then he did it.”
“Shut up,” Clark said, the words exploding out of his mouth as his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sucked in air like he’d just run a mile. “She wasn’t…she wasn’t like that.”
“Whoa there, buddy.” Derek held up both palms this time. I didn’t bother mentally translating the gesture. “Simmer down. I get it. Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Derek turned back to the rest of us and proceeded to continue blessing us with his wisdom. “I promise you, once the police find Fogle, the university will be looking for a replacement teacher for our class. Guy’s guilty.” Derek blanched. “I hope they don’t hand the class over to TA Geoff.”
Beside him, Clark sucked in another audible breath. Lia met my eyes, then Michael’s. We’d gotten what we came for—and more.
The ride home was quiet. Lia was in the back, her legs stretched out the length of the seat. Michael was driving the speed limit. I stared out the window into the black.
“That actually went better than I expected it to,” Lia said finally. “If we can sneak back in without getting caught, I’m willing to call it a win.”
“I thought you never got caught,” I told her, pulling my eyes away from the window and turning to look at her.
Lia inspected her fingernails. “We live in a house with a trained FBI agent and a former military sniper. I’m stealthy, not magic. Call it an acceptable risk.”
That was a very different tune than the one she’d been singing when she talked me into this.
“Are you sorry you came?” Lia gave me a pointed look. “Or, given the opportunity, would you do it all over again?”
I couldn’t be sorry I’d agreed to this. We’d learned too much.
“What did you think of the TA?” I asked Michael.
“Yes,” Lia said, yawning and fanning her hand over her mouth. “Do tell, Michael. What did you think of the TA who was such a promising lead that Cassie left the party to go with him, with you on her heels?”
That was the first time Lia had referenced the fact that we’d left her. She tossed the words off like she couldn’t be bothered to care.
“The guy was looking at Cassie like she was some kind of specimen under a glass.” Michael eyed Lia in the rearview mirror. “You really think I should have let him take her off alone?”
“I’m surprised, that’s all.” Lia executed an elaborate shrug. “I mean, following Cassie worked out so well for you last time.”
The last time Michael had followed me, he’d gotten shot.
I deserved that. For leaving her at the party, for not even thinking twice about it, I deserved whatever verbal darts she threw out. “We shouldn’t have left you there,” I said.
“Puh-lease.” Lia closed her eyes, like this whole conversation was boring her to tears. “I can take care of myself, Cassie. I saw you leaving. I could have joined you. I chose not to. And if Michael had bothered asking, I would have told him to go with you.”
“I told you to stay at the party,” Michael muttered.
“Excuse me?” Lia shot back. “What was that?”
“I texted you when I left. You were supposed to stay at the party!” Michael slammed the heel of his hand into the steering wheel, and I jumped. “But no, you went off with not one, but two strange—”
“Witnesses?” Lia supplied. “Trust me, I had a handle on it. I could handle the Dereks and Clarks of the world in my sleep.”
I read more into those words than I would have a week ago. Lia was certain she could handle the Dereks and Clarks of the world—because, in all likelihood, she’d seen and handled much, much worse.
“Now, Michael, dearest,” Lia continued, her words designed to grate, “concentrate. Cassie’s TA. What were your impressions?”
Michael ground his teeth for a moment, but eventually answered. “He wasn’t happy when I showed up. He was even less happy to see me with Bryce. I caught a flash of guilt when he saw her, followed by possession, condescension, and titillation.”
I said a brief and silent thanks that Michael had been focused on Geoffrey’s reaction to seeing him with Bryce—and not mine.
“Geoffrey considers himself above it all.” I forced myself to focus on the issue at hand. “He likes holding a position of power in the class.” I paused, sorting through my impressions of him. “He chose me because I look young. He expected me to lap up every word of that lecture, to be a little bit afraid of him, but also drawn to the things he could teach me.”
“A leader in search of followers?” Lia said. “What does that make the professor?”
“If I had to guess,” I told her, drumming my fingers contemplatively against the side of my seat, “I’d say that Professor Fogle has a magnetic personality. Geoffrey was reading his lecture slides. The professor is a performer. And if Derek was telling the truth about Emerson’s relationship with Professor Fogle—”
“He was,” Lia confirmed.
“—the good professor is not opposed to groupies.” I turned that over in my mind. “That’s part of what attracts him to this area of study. It’s there in the title of his class. These men are larger than life. They’re legends. They’re the train wreck we can’t stop watching, the forbidden, dangerous other.”
Michael accepted my appraisal at face value. “I’d have to see the man to tell you anything about him,” he said. That was one of the key differences between Michael’s ability and mine. Michael read people. I read personalities and behaviors—and I didn’t always need a person present to do it. “But I can tell you that TA Geoff enjoyed talking about Redding’s MO just a little too much,” Michael continued. “He wanted to see an expression of horror on Cassie’s face, and when he didn’t get it, he turned the topic to Emerson.”
“And what did his face tell you about Emerson?” Lia asked.
“No guilt,” Michael reported. “Not even sadness. A tiny sliver of fear. Satisfaction. And loyalty.”
“Loyalty?” I asked. “To whom?”
“I truly hate to say it,” Lia said with a sigh, “but Derek might have been right. Maybe the professor is our guy. The entire time I was talking to the dynamic duo of God’s Gift to the Planet and the Blushing Wonder, I only caught one interesting untruth.”
“Derek?” I guessed.
“Clark.” There was no question in Michael’s voice. “When he was talking about Emerson.”
“Point to the emotion reader,” Lia drawled. Their gifts overlapped with each other’s more than either’s overlapped with mine. “When Clark said that Emerson ‘wasn’t like that,’ he was lying.” Lia twirled her ponytail around her index finger. “If you ask me,
Clark knew that she was doing the horizontal mambo with Professor Creepy.”
I turned to Michael. “What did you see?”
“In Clark?” Michael pulled off the highway. Soon, we’d be home. “I saw longing,” he said. “Fear of rejection.” He flicked his eyes over to mine. “Rage.”
Not just anger, but rage. At Derek, for speaking badly about a girl that Clark had cared about? At us for asking the questions? At the professor? At Emerson?
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “Assuming we don’t get caught the second we get home.”
“We need to figure out if the FBI knows about Emerson’s relationship with the professor.” Lia flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “If they don’t, we have to find a way of passing that information on.”
“What about Dean?” I asked.
“We don’t tell Dean.” Lia’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a whip. “He needs this case solved. He doesn’t need to know what we’ll do to see that happen.”
Dean wouldn’t understand why we would go out on a limb for him, because deep down, he believed he wasn’t worth saving. He would have taken a bullet for any of us, but he wouldn’t want us risking anything for him.
Most people built walls to protect themselves. Dean did it to protect everyone else.
For once, Lia and I were in total agreement. “We don’t tell Dean.”
“Deviant Behavior, Criminal Minds: An Introduction to Criminal Psychology, Eighth Edition.” Bleary-eyed and only half awake, I looked from the textbook sitting on the kitchen table to Dean, then back again. “Seriously?” I said. “Agent Sterling wants us to read an introductory textbook?”
After the night Lia, Michael, and I had had, my head was pounding, and all my body really wanted was to go back to bed.
Dean shrugged. “We’ve been assigned chapters one through four.” He paused, his eyes drinking in my appearance. “You okay?”
No, I thought. I’m sleep-deprived, and I can’t tell you why.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. I could see Dean piecing his way through the dozens of ways that I was just a shade off this morning. “I just can’t believe Agent Sterling’s idea of training us is…this,” I added, gesturing toward the textbook. From the moment I’d joined the program, I’d learned by doing. Real cases. Real crime scene photos. Real victims.