2. Millie
“We should take advantage of this situation and go snoop around the house. Check out what the dean hides in his bedside drawer.”
The flute of champagne in my hand paused halfway to my lips as I shot Carol, the psychology department’s admin and the only person in the crowded room I considered a friend, an incredulous look before taking a small sip of the bubbly liquid. Last year at the university’s New Year’s Eve party for the staff and professors, she suggested we strip and jump into the dean’s enormous pool, so maybe I should be thankful this absurd idea had our clothes staying where they were.
“I actually think I’m going to head home and?—”
Carol groaned and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Millie, it’s New Year’s Eve! You’re free to do whatever you want. The divorce is final. Go find a hot colleague to fuck in one of the seventeen bedrooms.”
My nose scrunched at the suggestion. After taking another sip, I set the mostly full glass down on the high-top table between us. “You know I won’t do that,” I muttered. “Besides, I should go because I have things that need to get done before school starts back.”
She arched a perfectly defined brow and drained the rest of her drink before sliding mine closer. With the delicate stem pressed between two fingers, she spun the flute, making the bottom vibrate along the table.
“That new book you’ve talked nonstop about releases this weekend, doesn’t it?”
I faked an incredulous scoff. “No.”
It will be released in three days. My exciting plans were to reread the previous six books in the series. Sure, I had a photographic memory, but even though I remembered every word, I still experienced the stories differently every time I read them. There were times, with books that touched a forgotten place in my soul, that I hated my memory. Wished I could forget the story altogether to read it again for the first time, to experience that pulse of excitement with every page turned.
“What about McDonnell?” Carol waggled her brows. “He’s a cutie and close to your age.”
Close as in being a decade younger than the average professor, which still put him years older than my thirty-year-old self. Sure, the anthropology professor that my chipper and way more outgoing friend pointed out was attractive, but in a bland way.
My breath never caught when our gazes clashed. He didn’t make me feel like the most important person in the room, tracking me with a stealthy gaze like one would a precious jewel surrounded by dangerous thieves. Only one male ever did that, and he was gone.
Vanished.
Taking my feeble heart with him.
“You should go for him,” I suggested. “He’s cute and close to your age.”
Carol’s laugh was easy and carefree. “You’re getting so much better at that.”
Thatbeing intended humor. Not me misunderstanding a conversation and taking their words too literally.
“Oh!” she exclaimed and smacked me on the shoulder. “Who sent the gorgeous black roses that were delivered on the last day of school? Those had to have cost a fortune.”
My lips parted, ready to tell her I didn’t know who sent the stunning arrangement of my favorite flower. Every December 17, except for the year Bronson and I were married, a beautiful arrangement found their way to me, and I’d yet to learn who they were from. The only note was a basic type-printed Happy Birthday. No signature, ever.
Was it creepy? At first, yes. But now, being back on my own, it made me feel not so alone in the world. My parents didn’t care enough to even call me on my birthday, much less send me flowers or a card.
Finding comfort in my flower-sending stalker versus being frightened needed to be added to the very long list of things that made me abnormal compared to the rest of society. Not that I particularly wanted to be like everyone else. It took a few years, and one amazing friend, for me to be proud of my differences. Those oddities that others deemed awkward or unusual are what made me me.
And I was the best me on the planet.
Clearing my throat, I scanned the room, hoping Carol wouldn’t pick up on my small lie.
“My parents sent the flowers.” My smile was tight as I worked to make my words believable. “They send them every year. Listen, I’ve got to go. See you on campus next week.” I took one step away before looking over my shoulder, my smile genuine this time. “Happy New Year.”
“I have a good feeling about this year for you, Millie. It’s going to be the best yet,” she said, tilting the flute my way. “Just you wait.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” I muttered as I offered a small wave before beelining it toward the exit. Time for comfortable clothes, a roaring fire, and reading until I fell asleep. Now that was a New Year’s Eve party.
Standing outside the mansion’s oversized wooden front door, I wrapped both arms around myself and tilted my face toward the falling snow. Closing my lids, I tried to ignore the growing ache in my chest that bloomed every time I thought about him.
“Happy New Year, Killian,” I whispered into the night. “Wherever you are.”
“Dr. Anderson, you cannot be serious,”the young woman huffed from the other side of my desk. Setting the pen down, I turned my full attention to the clearly frustrated student. “You cannot expect us to write this paper over spring break.”
I blinked. “Why not? You’ll have all the time you need to research the three groups, choose one to assess the leader’s mindset, and create a theory about what will happen if the government or local authorities do not shut that group down.”
“But it’s spring break,” she whined while stomping her foot. When I didn’t respond, the pout on her face turned into a sneer. “This is why everyone hates taking your class. Learning about cults should be fun, not this.”
“Fun is Netflix documentaries,” I responded with a sigh. “Not a graduate-level psychology course at Harvard.”
Her lips parted, no doubt ready to argue more, but a sharp knock on the doorframe of the classroom drew our attention, stopping her retort. My teaching assistant, Jeremy, and a man in a black suit filled the doorway, a manila folder clutched in the latter’s hand. My heart rate spiked as I took in the stranger, and understanding snapped into place. The chair slowly rolled back when I stood. Fingers on the worn desk, I leaned forward and inclined my head toward the hall.
“Sorry, but we have to cut this discussion short. I have another meeting. Good luck with your paper. Hopefully, you put more effort into this one than you did the last.”
I shouldn’t have said that, but holy hell, I was so tired of these students thinking they could push me around because we were nearly the same age. Maybe I was a little over teaching, too. Becoming bored quickly was a flaw of mine. I needed to keep my brain active, constantly learning new things to stay intrigued.
With a curious stare, she skirted around the man, glancing over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall. Jeremy cleared his throat, drawing my attention from the stranger to himself. Lips pressed in a tight line, hands balled into fists at his side, he appeared pissed. My dark, straight hair grazed along my chin as I tilted my head, confused about why he would be angry.
“This guy came by our office?—”
“My office,” I grumbled under my breath, too low for him to hear.
“Demanding to see you. But he wouldn’t tell me his name or why he needed to see you. Want me to kick his ass out of here, Millie?”
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from screaming. Too many times to count, I told him to address me as Dr. Anderson, but he continued to use my first name, thinking we were friends or, worse, that he had a chance at me saying yes to a date.
“It’s Dr. Anderson,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. His nostrils flared in what seemed like annoyance. “And it’s fine, Jeremy.” I motioned the stranger forward. “Please close the door behind you. This is a private and confidential meeting.”
“But—”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, fingernails biting into my palm. “While I appreciate your concern, it’s unnecessary. That will be all.”
I swallowed a laugh when the man turned and shot Jeremy a cocky smirk, staring him down until the door finally closed with my angry assistant on the other side. With a chuckle, he turned back to me, features settling into that blank mask once again. The squeak of the soles of his dress shoes was the only sound as he drew closer.
“Dr. Anderson. I assume you know why I’m here.” He held up the file in his hand, which had the FBI’s logo stamped on the front, and inclined his head. “When I was told to drop off the file, they mentioned you’ve consulted with the local FBI office in previous cases.”
I nodded and curled both hands behind my back to keep from making grabby hands at the folder. Excitement thrummed through my veins, making my breathing choppy. As the few prior cases had, consulting on a case for the FBI would bring the challenge I desperately needed. “What group does the FBI need help with this time?” There was no hiding the interest in my tone. Months had passed since they needed my insight regarding the many organizations and groups I studied and documented across the country.
What could I say? I got bored easily. What else was I supposed to do with my free time besides study various cults and high control groups around the country? It was my specialty, after all.
Without a response, he tossed the folder onto the desk. Not caring that I looked overly eager, I pulled the file close and flipped it open, thumbing through the pages, quickly skimming the words but retaining every one.
“Finally,” I breathed. “This group is beyond dangerous and has operated in plain sight for too long. Their followers grow by the thousands every year.” I shut the folder and tapped the center. “What made the FBI finally deem the group important enough to warrant an investigation?”
“There has been a recent development, and you’ve been requested to consult on-site, where you’ll be debriefed on that new information.”
“On-site? That’s new.” I rapped my fingers along the top of the desk. “Okay, sure. Spring break is next week, so I can take the day to travel to Quantico and?—”
“Dallas.”
“You said Quantico wrong.”
A hint of a grin pulled at his lips before it disappeared. “The Dallas-based supervisory special agent over the behavioral analysis team requested the consult. She is handling the new information and is to determine if this is an FBI matter.”
“I can’t make that drive to Dallas from Cambridge.” The pace of my fingers picked up as my mind filtered through all the things that needed to be done. “Okay, I’ll book a flight today?—”
“No need. They have a jet.”
I gaped at him. “They have a jet.” He dipped his chin in acknowledgment before flicking his wrist to check the time. If possible, my jaw dropped even more. “You mean now? As in today?”
He arched a brow and glanced around the empty classroom. “If the schedule that I pulled before coming here is correct, that was your last class before the break. Unless you have more important plans than helping the FBI?”
Well, he had me there. I didn’t have more important plans; in fact, I had zero plans.
Guess I was going to Dallas.
Packing was a whirlwind,but thankfully, I didn’t need too much, considering it was only a single overnight stay. Two hours after the agent—who never gave me his name—stepped into my classroom, I was buckling the seat belt, relaxing back into the soft leather seat of the FBI’s private jet. Scanning the empty cabin, I didn’t hold back the wide grin that spread across my face.
This was new.
I loved a new adventure. There was something about the unknown, about having to prepare yourself for any possibility, that sent a thrum of excitement through my veins. I used to hate change and loved the constant that came with a solid routine. But that was before an aqua-eyed boy disrupted my life, changing the way I viewed everything, and ultimately altered my career path.
Not that it did any good. I still hadn’t found him.
Shoving that constant failure aside, I pushed an AirPod into each ear and hit play on the audiobook I downloaded on the drive to the airport. With the sexy male narrator’s voice pouring through the earbuds, I tapped the iPad, bringing it to life. I frowned at the multiple missed texts that popped up on the screen from Jeremy. The messages started as confused, then escalated to anger, making me snort.
Idiot. His infatuation with me was becoming a nuisance. No matter how many times I told him I wasn’t interested, he continued to press the issue. Last semester, he crossed the line, cornering me in my office to spill his unrequited feelings before attempting to kiss me.
That rewarded him with a bruised esophagus from a well-placed throat punch I delivered when my words didn’t work. I wasn’t a fan of physical violence, but I wouldn’t hold back to defend myself. Unfortunately, my clingy teaching assistant still thought he had a chance.
Like the throat punch was some type of love tap.
Rolling my eyes, I cleared the messages without responding and clicked on the document folder that held all my research. If the FBI was ready to investigate The Union of Blessed Souls, then I needed to be prepared. I had a feeling they wanted more than the basic overview of the group. No one would send a private jet for something they could find online. No, they’d want to know the ins and outs that I uncovered through months of research and that one brief trip I made to Georgia. Though no one knew about that.
Actually, they were the FBI, so they probably did know.
I chewed on my lower lip, the words blurring on the screen. This trip would put me in the heart of an FBI office, unlike previous consults that were conducted at my office or on the phone. Maybe while I was there, I could ask someone to look for my missing friend. They had all kinds of technology and agents with skills who could find him easily.
Or maybe help identify the secret flower sender.
My dark hair skimmed along my neck, and I quickly shook my head to dislodge that thought.
Did I really want to know who sent me the flowers? It was fun to fantasize at night that they were from the one person I missed the most. The one I searched for since the day he went missing.
Not knowing added a level of mystery I needed in my boring yet stable life. It wasn’t dangerous, or hadn’t been in the past, so what was the harm in hoping, knowing that there was someone out there thinking about me?
It was comforting to know maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.