Chapter 65 #2
She blinks, color touching her cheeks. “He doesn’t have to,” she says, eyes gleaming with near-sadistic glee. “A picture’s worth a thousand words, Professor. His video is easily worth an essay or two.”
Cold certainty washes through me.
Kai wasn’t just there.
He has evidence.
But it’s worthless unless he uses it…which he never will.
My hand is around her throat, already squeezing. She digs her fingers in behind mine, trying to loosen my grip. The shock in her eyes sends a vicious pump of blood through my cock.
“Ever stop to wonder why he hasn’t sent it to the authorities yet?”
She frowns, but doesn’t stop tugging at my hand.
I click my tongue. “And here I thought you were a smart girl.” I grab her pussy with my other hand, squeezing just as hard. “Guess you don’t deserve the scholarship after all—“
I cut off as the door opens behind me.
We both move at lightning speed.
I take two quick steps back. Haven shoves away from the wall with wobbly legs, clapping her arms over her chest, clenching her jaw, blinking furiously like she’s coming out of a trance.
We turn to the door as a cop walks inside, and pure instinct has me shoving both hands in my pockets. One clenched to fight a sudden wave of heart palpitations, the other holding down my dick so he can’t see how fucking hard this girl made me.
It’s the perfect moment for Haven to step forward and tell this cop everything I’ve done to her.
But she’s too busy coming up with excuses for Kai in her head. Until she realizes there aren’t any that will explain him holding onto the evidence she claims he has.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” The cop’s eyes are on me first, but they flicker to Haven a second later. “Miss Lee?” He throws me a confused look, mouth turning up in the corners like he’s about to smile.
“Yes?” Haven blurts out. Guiltily.
Jesus, girl, keep it together.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” the cop goes on.
“Oh, uh, I didn’t know,” she says. Weakly. “I thought—”
“She’s trying to find some clothes to wear,” I cut in, before Haven gets us both thrown into a holding cell. I’ve never seen a guiltier face in my fucking life.
The cop gives me a wan smile. “And you’re her…personal shopper?”
I chuckle, but when the cop’s face doesn’t shift one iota, I realize he wasn’t joking.
“I’m Miss Lee’s teacher.”
He says nothing.
And I’m compelled to fill that silence.
“Here to supervise, of course, since her room is still technically off limits.”
Just like she is.
Should be.
Jesus.
Why the fuck can’t I keep it together?
Cocaine, of course.
“Was it the yellow tape that tipped you off?” he asks. He should have smiled, chuckled maybe, but his face is still dead serious.
“There weren’t any officers outside, so I assumed you’d already done your thing.”
“Done our thing?” The cop leans back on his foot like he can stand here all day pretending not to interrogate us.
Haven’s eyes skip between us, but she remains quiet and troubled looking.
I wave my hand. “You know. Dusting for fingerprints. Collecting evidence. Photographs. Hell, it’s your job, you tell me.”
“Oh. Well, lucky for you, I did my thing yesterday,” the cop says. “Else I’d have to arrest you for obstruction.”
Was that a threat?
Is this fucker seriously threatening me?
If he knew the pull I had at this college, he’d—
—definitely be wondering what the fuck I was doing alone in a room with one of my students.
“Glad we’re not inconveniencing you.” I sweep my arm toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind…”
He ignores my universal ‘fuck right off’ gesture, narrowing his brown eyes as he openly studies me. The grim, hardened face beneath his trooper hat is tanned, making it difficult to place his age. The longer he stares, the deeper his crow’s feet become.
I’m guessing he’s in his late thirties. Definitely not old enough to be staring at me like he’s wondering how long to ground me for.
“Hmm,” he muses quietly, then shakes his head. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
I tilt my head, my eyes flashing briefly into slits before I give him a rueful smile. “Were you in my cognitive neuroscience class at Brown?”
“Brown?” Thatcher gives a self-deprecating chuckle that ends with a low whistle. “No, sir.”
My smile turns smug.
Of course not, you fucking imbecile. You can barely hold a pencil.
The cop rolls his lips together, shrugging a little. “I served my time at Cornell.”
I feel the muscles in my face go slack before I can prop them into a warm smile.
Jesus Christ, Cornell?
What the fuck is this guy doing investigating petty college vandalism?
I tell my coke-fueled mind that none of this shit matters, but I know I’m going to spiral about this tonight when I’m supposed to be catching up on sleep.
Teeth gritted, I stick out my hand for him to shake. It takes effort to ease open my jaw so my voice sounds natural.
“Professor Bastian Rooke.”
He ignores my hand, instead taking a small black notebook out of his pocket and flipping it open like a habit. A stub of a pencil emerges next, and it’s like I can feel that blunt nib dragging down my spine.
“Professor Rooke. Excellent.” He points the back of the pencil at me. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you. Why don’t we go have a chat in the hallway while Miss Lee gets her things?”
Then the cop does smile, and I go from wanting to punch the smug fuck right in his passive-aggressive face, to wishing I’d never laid eyes on Haven.
Or joined Agony Hollow College.
Fuck, from the way he’s staring at me, I’m wishing I had never set foot in this pathetic little town.