Clare shook her head. “So, he was choosing the recipients, then making sure they did well.”

  “Worse,” Tig said. “He wasn’t just padding their grades. He was doing the work for them. He was giving out degrees for nothing. I’m assuming the four who took my classes were legitimate recipients. He probably chose a few who actually deserved the award to make it look less obvious that he was cherry-picking the rest.”

  She felt justifiably proud of that, too. Chase must have known she would catch on to what he was doing if he let his favored ones take her classes.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Kent said, looking at the list of her four.

  Tig was surprised at the endearment—not because Kent hadn’t used it before, but because she didn’t even seem embarrassed that she was saying it now, in front of Clare.

  “Yes?” she asked suspiciously, drawing the word out because she really didn’t want to hear what Kent was going to say next.

  Kent set the list down and tapped one of the names. “Jessica Bower. She took your Ancient Theater course last spring.”

  “Yes, I remember her,” Tig said. She had been a quiet girl but had seemed to adore Tig and enjoy the class. Her coursework had been mediocre during the term, but she had aced her final, proving to Tig that she had really absorbed the lessons during—

  “Fuck,” Tig said, as the memory of the Oedipus Rex file on Chase’s thumb drive flashed back into her mind. Now she really wanted to smash something. “A kind of shy student who didn’t contribute much, but managed to turn in a brilliant exam, thanks to the questions I willingly gave that bastard.”

  She rubbed her hands over her eyes, then pushed them angrily through her hair. “I’ve been so smug, feeling sorry for Luke because the poor guy had been fooled by Chase’s essays and lies, and here I was doing the exact same thing.”

  “But he only let four take a class from you,” Clare pointed out, kindly trying to make her feel better, even though it obviously wasn’t going to work. “And we only know about one of yours getting help. The other three might have been exceptional scholars on their own. Like you said, legitimate recipients.”

  Tig shook her head with a rueful laugh. “It’s humiliating.”

  “No,” Kent interjected, using her sergeant’s voice. “You will not feel sorry for yourself about this. You’ve been the one to figure out most of what we know in this investigation. You might have been tricked, but you have been instrumental in getting us where we are right now. You’ve understood clues that Sawyer and I wouldn’t even have recognized as meaningful. The vases, the papers. Now, let’s figure out what’s going on. Why Davies was doing this in the first place.”

  Tig appreciated Kent’s words, but she wanted to wallow some more, to protest that she had no clue how Chase could have managed to mastermind this scheme on his own. Or why he would have risked so much for a portion of a paycheck, even if it was a healthy one for a recent graduate—

  “Oh,” she said. “The vases, the papers…What if the vases were his payment?”

  “How?” Kent asked, leaning toward her. “Did he get money from their parents to help the kids through, then use it to buy them? How was he managing to import stolen…Oh, shit. Adel?”

  The man with money, connections at multiple ports around the world, and expansive pride in the way his degree had opened doors for him and launched his career. Tig nodded as she opened her email account and searched her inbox, running over past conversations in her mind. “Port of Tyre. That’s where you said the vases were being funneled out of the country.” She opened an email, then backed up and looked at the ones surrounding it. She was starting to get a headache as ideas popped into her mind with alarming rapidity.

  She opened the email from Max again. “When I first wrote to him and told him we were seriously considering switching to the Mediterranean Studies program, he sent this. He said he’d talk to me when he got back into the country because he was on a business trip to Lebanon. That’s where Tyre is. Then only two days later, I got an email from Chase saying he wanted to formally register his opposition to Med Studies. He hadn’t seemed particularly concerned either way before that, but after, he became sort of the leader of the faction that wanted us to remain purely focused on Greek and Roman studies.”

  Clare exhaled with a huff. “So, Davies was organizing this scholarship in exchange for the expensive ancient artifacts, doing favors for Max’s friends by helping their underachieving kids get this degree, and then…what, Max asks him to oppose the transition? I thought Adel supported you, Tig.”

  “In show, he did,” Kent added. “But maybe not in his heart. This way, he could continue to look open minded and like he was on the side of inclusivity and change, while Davies did the dirty work of fighting against the inclusion of these overlooked and marginalized cultures.”

  Tig nodded. “That was part of Max’s spiel every time he talked about his degree or the scholarship. What a proud place the Classics Department held at the university as a historically significant part of academia. How much the degree meant to him because of what it signified to other people about his traditional values and dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. Med Studies is meant to be relevant, to challenge preconceived ideas that certain cultures are more important or worthwhile than others just because history tells us that’s how it should be.”

  She shook her head, wondering why it hadn’t struck her as odd that the same man who always talked about the proud history of Classical Studies would also be supportive of significant changes to it. Maybe it was because she had been the same way—loving the way the department had always been, but reluctantly moving forward because it was the right and important thing to do. She had lived with that paradox and had been sympathetic when she saw others doing the same.

  “He cared about the degree itself,” she said sadly, “and not what he was actually learning along the way, which is the opposite of how it should be—and it’s the opposite of the ideals he claims to value so dearly.”

  Kent nodded. “And when Davies failed, and the department transition was confirmed, the degree didn’t mean as much to him, so why go through the expense and effort of offering it as a special favor anymore?”

  “So, Davies becomes a liability,” Clare added. “And without him holding Morris in line, what’s to keep him from blabbing?”

  Tig thought back to Kam’s frantic conversations with her. She hadn’t recognized the hints, then, but she could understand them now. “He wanted to tell me. I think he would have if he hadn’t been killed, too.”

  She sighed and continued. “I asked a friend to send me a list of the current jobs the Adel Scholars hold. I’d be willing to bet we find that most of them are working with other alums, maybe even Max himself. And they probably have better job opportunities than most graduates can expect.”

  “So, how do we catch him?” Clare asked.

  Tig shrugged. “We offer to give him back his degree, along with a professor who really needs his help and will likely do whatever she needs to in order to keep her job.” She looked at Kent, who glared back and shook her head firmly.

  “We offer him me,” Tig finished.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kent somehow managed to compartmentalize her life for the evening. Tig’s suggestion that she offer herself to Adel as a Davies substitute—and the subsequent, foolhardy plan she and Clare hatched—well, those belonged to her work life. Sergeant Kent would deal with them the next day, when she would be comfortably in uniform and prepared to ignore everyone’s entreaties as she utterly rejected the idea of Tig going to a bar to meet with a potential cold-blooded killer. Tonight, she would just be Kent, deliriously happy to spend the evening with her girlfriend, and without a care in the world.

  No cares, except for the fact that said girlfriend was likely moving across the country soon, and that she was currently planning on an ill-conceived rendezvous with a murderer, and that Kent wasn’t sure she really had the power to stop Tig from doing anything she set her mind to.

  Okay, maybe she wasn’t compartmentalizing as well as she thought. Still, she was managing not to discuss the topic—aided by Tig, who seemed to have the same goal of not discussing murder cases or sting operations outside of regular working hours.

  Kent was glad when Tig suggested they stay at her house for the night. A new environment with rooms to explore would help keep Kent’s mind occupied and off the prospect of tomorrow’s battles. And any opportunity to learn more about Tig was welcome. Kent didn’t really need more evidence to prove to herself how devastated she was going to be if Tig walked out of her life, but she was prepared to find more when she saw Tig’s home. Everything about her was special, and the more Kent learned about her, the more she found to admire and respect.

  And love. But that emotion was going in its own special compartment because it had no place in their temporary relationship.

  She followed Tig’s directions and parked in front of a small Craftsman style home, painted cobalt blue in a neighborhood full of brightly colored houses. Willow branches draped over Tig’s porch, and massive rhododendrons lined the borders between her and her neighbors. The yard would be a riot of color in the spring, and for a moment, Kent found herself longing to see it in that season. She certainly wasn’t going to drive by if Tig was gone, just to see the flowers, and the hope that Tig might still be there, ready to give her a tour of her gardens, filled her with a sharp pang of hope. She shook it off and followed Tig into the house.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, pausing on the threshold and looking around. When Tig told her that her home was basically an extension of her office, Kent had pictured it in browns and dark cherry wood, with books piled everywhere and photos covering every wall. The reality was much brighter and tidier than she had been expecting, and much more colorful. She stepped farther into the room and examined one of the mosaics on the wall, this one of an owl with a Greek key design around it.

  “This is gorgeous,” she said, running her fingertips lightly over the tiny glass tiles. They were stuck directly onto the wall and not on a canvas or other surface, as she’d first thought. “Did you make this?”

  “I did,” Tig said, coming to stand next to Kent. “It’s a hobby of mine, ever since I was a little girl. I recreate Greek and Roman mosaics. It’s a good thing I own my home now, because I’ve never gotten a security deposit back in my life.”

  Kent smiled, sliding her arm around Tig and pulling her close until Tig’s back was pressed against her chest. “So, you have to leave them behind every time you move?”

  “I do, but I know it when I make them. It’s sad, but I leave them for others to enjoy and I make more of my own.”

  “You’re amazing,” Kent said. “It’s lovely work.” Tig sighed in her arms, sinking closer against her. Kent loved the way Tig’s body moved against hers, and she had no doubt the feeling was mutual, but she thought she knew why Tig had wanted her to come here tonight. Tig was immersed in the world of classics, from her job to her hobbies, to her home and family. Kent thought this might be Tig’s way of reminding her about that—that she would follow her career because that’s where her soul would lead her. She might have built something here with Kent, but she’d willingly say goodbye when it was time for her to go.

  Kent understood. She had known from the beginning that Tig would follow her heart, and her heart was devoted to the world of classics more than to any one person. But that was just another thing for her future self to deal with. Right now, Tig was in her arms. She bent her head and kissed the top of Tig’s shoulder before dragging her tongue lightly up the column of her neck. Each small bit along the way earned her a soft moan from Tig, and the sound of her obvious pleasure in Kent’s touch was more arousing than anything Kent had ever heard before.

  She gently pushed forward until Tig’s body was pressed between her and the wall in front of them. Every breath Tig took echoed through Kent’s breasts and hips, her entire body, until it took every effort to keep from gasping the words I love you. That wasn’t what Tig wanted or needed, and Kent had to remember that even as her thoughts became less coherent and more wrapped up in the sensations she was experiencing. Tomorrow she’d have hell to pay, as she moved one step closer to watching Tig go, but tonight? Tonight, they could pretend nothing existed beyond this small pocket of time.

  Tig bit her lip as Kent rocked against her. She felt Kent’s nipples hard against her back, and her own breasts were pressed against the wall, so they were sensitive to every shift in their bodies. Kent’s hand traveled from her hip across her stomach, and Tig moved her hips a little away from the wall, nestling her ass closer against Kent in order to give her room to unbutton Tig’s slacks and delve between her legs. She gasped and arched her back as Kent’s fingers slid deeper, gently exploring inside her and moving through slick wetness. Kent seemed to sense when she had had enough of slow, and her touch became more insistent, driving against Tig with an irresistible rhythm until she came, crying out as her body shuddered against Kent’s.

  Tig slowly caught her breath, grateful that Kent kept a firm hold on her while she did, or she might have slid down to the floor on legs too weak to hold her up. Eventually she turned around and put her arms around Kent’s neck.

  “So, this is the living room,” she said, continuing on as if the tour of her house hadn’t stalled on the edge of the foyer.

  “I’m a fan,” Kent said with a laugh. “The other rooms have a lot to live up to.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tig said, starting to button her pants again, and then changing her mind and letting them slip down her legs and onto the floor. “I’m sure the rest of the house won’t disappoint. Especially the bedroom.”

  Kent stepped away but kept hold of Tig’s hand as they wandered slowly through the rest of the house. Tig pointed out the occasional item or photograph, but her mind was distracted. She had meant the house to be a message to Kent—well, to both of them. A reminder that she was a classics professor at heart, and she had been since before she graduated from high school and went on to earn her degrees. Her job was as ingrained in her as her personality or her hair color. No matter how intricate the life she had built in Seattle—with her home and her friends and her position on campus—she was devoted to her calling above all else and would leave everything else behind if she needed to. She had expected Kent to come into her home and seem out of place. A wonderful visitor to have, but not a permanent fixture, and definitely not a tether to keep Tig here even if she lost her job.

  Instead, Kent had walked in and looked immediately at home. She fit—and not just in the space, but in Tig’s life. She wasn’t displacing classics in Tig’s heart, but she had definitely nudged the subject aside enough to make room there for herself.

  Tig wasn’t sure how she was going to handle this. She had been prepared to feel sad about leaving Kent if she had to move, but she hadn’t expected to feel as if she was leaving a part of herself behind.

  They finally made it to the bedroom and undressed in silence, climbing into Tig’s bed and reaching for each other with the sort of desperation that let Tig know she wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of their uncertain future. She felt something else, too, as an undercurrent to their passion, and again when they lay in each other’s arms and talked quietly through the night about nothing in particular.

  It was something unexpected. Something ill-timed and potentially heartbreaking. It was love—and Tig was powerless to stop it.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “I’m not letting you do this,” Kent said, pacing back and forth in the small space behind her desk. Four goddamned steps each way. That wasn’t nearly enough to work off her anger. She had managed to tamp down every feeling except for love and passion last night, but in the light of day—and while Clare was off preparing her fucking wires and recording devices—passion gave way to fear and worry and anger.

  Tig sat calmly in the chair on the opposite side of her desk, watching her progress as she nearly bumped into the wall on one of her passes, wanting to break it down with her fists so she had more space to move.

  She wasn’t angry at Tig. Well, maybe she was, a little. Tig had no right to willingly put herself in danger, especially not since Kent was coming to care so much about her.

  Mostly, though, she was worried. If Max Adel had coldly killed those two men because they were no longer of use to him, and because they knew the truth about who he was, then what would stop him from taking Tig out of the way? If he at all suspected she was being disingenuous, why would he hesitate before harming her? He wouldn’t. Kent knew that with every instinct she had developed as a cop and as a person. Someone who had killed like she suspected Max had wouldn’t think twice about sending Tig off the same way.

  “We’ll find another way,” she said, turning to go the other direction again.

  Tig stood up and came over to her, pushing her gently into her chair.

  “You’re making me dizzy,” she said. “Look, Kent, this will work. Clare agrees, and you know she wouldn’t let me do this if she didn’t. Libby would kill her.”

  Kent refused to get sidetracked into her usual response that Libby had nothing to do with police business and shouldn’t be used in an argument of this sort. She had a feeling Tig had thrown her name into the conversation like tossing a piece of distracting steak to a ferocious guard dog. Guard dogs were trained to ignore such tactics, and so was Kent.

  “I’m not letting you do this,” Kent repeated. She held up a hand to stop Tig, who looked ready to protest again. “And yes, in this case I can tell you what you can and can’t do because it’s a police matter and I outrank you and Clare and Libby. In all other aspects of your life, you are a free human being who is able to make her own choices. Not here.”