“Welcome, Professor Winston.” A smiling, younger woman in a calf-length tweed skirt and long-sleeved brown turtleneck strides into the room. Her long, dark hair is smooth with bangs, and she gives off a very Allison in Umbrella Academy vibe. “I’m Sharon Stead, Ph.D. candidate and graduate assistant, a.k.a., department slave.”

  “Call me Dirk.” I shake her hand.

  “Now, Sharon, it’s not as bad as that. You have a stipend and housing.” Dr. Bowerman hands her a drink.

  “It’s the very least you could do.” She gives the old guy a wink.

  Sharon is fresh-faced, and her turtleneck shows off nice curves, which I notice O’Toole studying a bit too long. Interesting.

  “I think you’re the first faculty member we’ve ever had with real-world experience.” Then she cups her hand beside her mouth as if sharing a secret. “Definitely the most handsome.”

  Dr. Bowerman blusters something between a cough and a chuckle. “Now don’t make the man uncomfortable.”

  “I can take a joke.” I deflect quickly, hoping to put him at ease. “Being a professor is new to me, so I’m just as impressed by all of you.”

  “Mm-hm.” Sharon arches an eyebrow, and it’s clear she likes to stir up the mothballs in this ancient establishment.

  I like it, and I’m ready to join in the fun, but O’Toole cuts us off.

  “As long as we keep such jokes inside these four walls. Remember what happened to Effington last year—the reason we had an opening in the first place.”

  I look at Dr. Bowerman, and he pats my back. “Your predecessor forgot the invisible line between professors and students, and we had to let him go.”

  “He was screwing our wealthiest donor’s daughter,” O’Toole expands loudly. “A parent busted him in the faculty bathroom with his head between her legs.”

  “Whoa.” My eyebrows rise, and I sip more bourbon.

  “Our college operates through a strict endowment,” he continues. “If we lose it, we all lose.”

  Frowning, I glance from him to Dr. Bowerman. “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t shit where you eat.” O’Toole’s tone is flat.

  “That’s enough, Landon.” Dr. Bowerman waves a hand, brushing him aside. “We’re all professionals here. We know how to behave, and as for teaching, Dirk, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. If you need anything, just reach out. Sharon divides her time between the three full-time faculty, and she knows where all the bodies are buried.”

  Sharon smiles up at me, and I realize she’s more Naomi than Alison. Her attention to me clearly irritates the Tool, and it makes me want to mess with him, although not in front of Dr. Bowerman.

  I’ll have to tell Scar he was wrong—he predicted the students were going to be the assholes, not my coworkers.

  “Thank you. I’m ready to get started.”

  “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry, Dr. B.” Sharon slips her hand into the crook of my arm. “I’m looking forward to your class. I can’t wait to get a glimpse inside the criminal mind and understand how it works.”

  I pat her hand, and for fun, I turn on a little extra charm. “I warn you, it’s pretty basic stuff. If I had all the answers, there’d be no unsolved cases, and then I’d be out of a job.”

  The clap of a tumbler on wood draws our attention. “We’d better get going. Classes start early.” O’Toole starts for the door, and the old man follows slowly.

  I see a maintenance worker waiting outside the door and decide he has a point. We’d better wrap it up and let everyone go home.

  “Thank you again for the warm welcome.” My tone is only slightly sarcastic. Only one member was less than welcoming.

  Sharon follows me into the hall. “Sorry it’s such a small group. Dr. Bowerman, Landon, and Pamela, er, Dr. Chase, are the only full-time faculty besides you. The part-timers typically don’t hang around for these after-hours things.”

  “I’m sure they have a lot going on.”

  She hands me a card. “Here’s all my contact info if you need anything. Feel free to call… whenever.”

  A little wink, and she turns, walking slowly away from me, up the hall. I’m pretty sure she adds an extra ass-shake with each step. Studying her card, I turn back with a grin…

  Right into O’Toole.

  “The invisible line between faculty and students is real.” His pompous voice annoys me. “Any hint of impropriety is grounds for immediate dismissal. Our good, Christian alumni won’t tolerate it.”

  I tuck Sharon’s card in my back pocket, leveling my gaze on this asshole. I might not be as tall as Hutch and Scar, but at six feet, I can hold my own. “Thanks for the tip, Landon. I’ve been taking care of my shit a long time.”

  He holds up both hands. “Just trying to help. Workplace politics can be tricky, especially when wealthy donors are involved.”

  “I got this.”

  He huffs a smile and falls back. “Like I said, just trying to help.”

  I watch as he quickly strides away in the direction Sharon went. I follow them out at a slower pace. It’s not what I expected on my first night, but I’m a fast learner, and I don’t put up with bullshit.

  A cool breeze lightens the air as I walk back to my small cottage. Laughter and music echo from the large fraternity houses lining a long, grassy rectangle, and I slow my pace, taking in the sounds of college life. Thornton is a small campus. The entire place covers about ten blocks, which makes it feel close-knit and welcoming.

  I stroll past a group of kids in the quad beside a giant statue of a dog. The distinct aroma of pot drifts through the air, but I’m not here to play narc. Continuing on, I pass couples lying on blankets looking up at the stars. A few guys are throwing a football.

  A sharp whistle cuts through the noise, and I glance over to see a group of girls sitting in a circle on the grass watching me. When our eyes catch, they collapse inward, giggling, and I exhale a laugh, shaking my head as I continue walking.

  It’s night, but with all the lights and the back to school festivities happening, it’s not dark. I pass the open doors of a frat house and see kids crowded around a keg with red cups. Streamers and balloons dangle from the rafters, and a guy has his arm around a girl, his face buried in her neck.

  My stomach tightens, and I remember the feel of soft skin against my cheek, under my lips. It’s been a long time since I was in a relationship, and a phantom heaviness presses on my chest. It would be nice to have the secure satisfaction of someone to go home with, to sleep with, but I made choices that precluded such a thing years ago.

  I walked away from it in New York, and I don’t regret my decision. I don’t like being alone, but perhaps things will change.

  Turning away, I continue in the direction of my house when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  Taking it out I see a text from Hana on the screen. Hey, big brother. We’re all dying to know how it’s going. Has anyone given you an apple yet?

  It’s such a silly question and so Hana. I pause to tap out a quick reply. No apples—did get a giant tin of gourmet popcorn from faculty housing.

  Gray dots precede her answer, which makes me smile. Popcorn is the new apple.

  Like orange is the new black?

  Orange will never replace black. She inserts an eye-roll emoji. We miss you, but I hope you have a blast.

  Heart emojis line the end of her sentence, and I add a thumbs up to indicate my approval.

  I know my brother is annoyed by my choice to come here. Blake is supportive, while gently trying to woo him around to my side. Scar has a one-track mind these days, and it’s focused on Hana and the baby.

  I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of this experience. Maybe it’s only a break from the routine. Maybe it’s the start of a new life. One thing is certain, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

  I’m not insane, and I’m ready for something new.

  Later, after I’ve had a sandwich and a shower and changed into shorts and a tee, I navigate over to a streaming service to find a Harry Potter film. It’s dark, the colors and music are calming, and it’s my go-to when I’m too keyed up to drift off on my own.

  Harry, the Weasleys, and the Diggorys all put their hands on an old shoe, and I’m asleep before they even make it to the Quidditch World Cup.

  4

  Reanna

  “Have you found Jesus?” An earnest young woman with braids and a crocheted poncho holds a pamphlet directly in my path.

  I’m pushing a canvas bin containing my suitcase, all my toiletries, and everything I expect to need for a semester on campus across the quadrangle in the direction of the girls’ dorm, where Rick placed me.

  “I didn’t know he was lost,” I quip, and her eyes narrow as she turns away with a scoff. I call after her, “Jesus would’ve laughed at that.”

  I continue rolling, pushing the bin to Amanda Egret dorm. It’s an ancient building with soaring ceilings and dark-marble floors. I’m pretty sure it’s a hundred years old, especially when I board the rickety elevator taking me to the tenth floor.

  No breakdowns, and I actually have a brass key in my hand to unlock the door as I wheel the squeaky bin down the black-marble hall. I’m in Room 1013, but when I arrive at what I’m pretty sure is the place, I’m startled to find the door wide open.

  “Sorry, is this Room 1013?” I hesitate, pretty sure it is.

  “Are you Reanna?” A petite girl with platinum-blonde hair turns from hanging posters on the wall to approach me with her hand outstretched. “I’m Ali!”

  She says it like Ah-lee, the boxer, and I shake her hand carefully, still frozen in the doorway. “I’m Reanna, and I… I wasn’t supposed to have a roommate.”

  Now that I’m saying it, it seems pretty wasteful when you consider the size of this room. It only has two beds, but it could easily fit four. A bathroom is between this room and another, technically making it a suite.

  “Reanna! That’s such a pretty name.” She puts a hand on her chest. “And I know, it’s a last-minute switch for me, too. Surprise!” She does a little cheery, jazz-hands movement.

  I don’t like surprises. “What happened?”

  “Not sure exactly.” Turning away, she goes back to hanging a poster of a young male singer-turned-actor on the wall. “It seems my assigned roommate found somebody she liked better… And she has the connections and the money to get me bumped to your room. Sorry I’m the turd in your punchbowl.”

  My shoulders drop, and I push the large bin into the room to start unloading. I’m ready to call Natasha and let Rick have it. A roommate is going to make my job infinitely more complicated, and it was already a gamble.

  Still, dressed in jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater, Ali is a beam of sunshine in the clouds darkening my mood. “I’m from Savannah, so not too far from home. Where are you from?”

  She finishes taping the last poster and turns, dropping on her bed and facing me expectantly. This is exactly why I don’t need a roommate. A semester is a long time to keep details straight, and I’ve never been a great liar.

  So I draw on my childhood experience. “Odesa.”

  I lift my suitcase out along with a plastic kit holding my toiletries. Placing both on the desk, I return to the bin to dig out sheets, so I can get my bed made and start stacking stuff on it.

  “As in Texas?” Her brow is furrowed, and she sits on her perfectly made Hello Kitty comforter.

  “As in Ukraine. I’m a transfer student.”

  “Oh!” she gasps, cupping both hands over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! Were you like in the fighting?”

  Her blue eyes are so big, and now I don’t have the heart to tell her I lived there ages ago, when I was a child. “No, not where we were. My family sent me here just in case, for safety.”

  “That’s so scary.” Her voice is a soft whisper, and I’m sorry I went there.

  “It’s really okay. I promise. We’re all good. Really.”

  “Okay.” She nods, lowering her hands. “I guess you won’t have any family visits, then?”

  That almost makes me laugh. “No, but I’m good with that. You?”

  She shrugs. “My mom has a store near the art school in Savannah. She sells a lot of their stuff in it, so during the semesters, she’s pretty busy.”

  “That’s cool.” I nod, continuing to unpack my few belongings. “Is she an artist?”

  “She does some things, but mostly she works with the students now.”

  Carrying my clothes to the narrow closet, I sort them out on hangers. “You didn’t want to go to art school?”

  “I’m no artist.” She laughs. “Much to my mother’s dismay!”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I’m not so sure.” She shakes her head. “But I try to meet her halfway by being mystical.”

  My brow furrows, and I take the small bucket of toiletries out of my case. “You’re a witch?”

  “No, I’m majoring in psychoanalysis. I’m all about digging into your psyche and finding out where you’re broken.”

  Great. I’m glad my back is turned. “Got any favorite theories?”

  “Well, it’s pretty dated, but I love studying dear old Siggy.” I cut her a confused look, and she clarifies. “Freud. Sigmund.”

  “Ah.” I lift my chin, and the last of my shit is unpacked. I push the bin to the door, glancing from her sparkly pink, Sanrio surprise explosion to my relatively bland, beige side, and I state the obvious. “My half looks pretty sparse.”

  “It’s just the beginning of the year.” She jumps up, holding her arms wide. “You have plenty of time to express yourself!”

  “I guess.” Expressing myself is one way to put what I’ll be doing.

  “Check this out.” She takes a sheet from her desk, holding it to me. “Back to school frat party tonight. Let’s go!”

  I quickly scan the paper, not the least bit interested. “It says it’s happening right now. I’m not even dressed for a party.”

  Not to mention, frat parties are on my Not to Do list.

  “You’re dressed like a college kid. Just put on some lipstick, and let’s get out of here.”

  Hesitating briefly, I weigh the alternatives. I do need to get to know the campus better. “You’re on. Let’s go.”

  “Huskies, Huskies, Huskies for the win!” A group of very drunk frat boys hang over the railing at the top of the stairs chanting what I assume is the school’s fight song.

  I lean into Ali’s ear. “We’re the Huskies?”

  “I mean, they’re pretty cool dogs, you have to admit.” She leans away, quickly scooping up two red Solo cups full of beer. “To fall semester and the best roommates ever!”

  Everyone in this giant house is periodically either shrieking greetings to friends or boyfriends or shouting at the top of their lungs about how great it is to be back…

  “I don’t remember being this enthusiastic when I was in college,” I say, forgetting my earlier lie.

  Luckily, Ali doesn’t notice. “Probably because you were in a war zone. I imagine that would overshadow just about everything.”

  I don’t bother correcting her, noticing two guys heading in our direction.

  “Hello, beautiful ladies, I’m Ryan and this is Evan, and on behalf of Delta Rho, welcome back to Thornton.”

  “Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” Ali’s nose wrinkles, and she grins up at Ryan, whose curly brown hair is shoved behind his ears.

  He’s tall like a football player, dressed in a long-sleeved maroon Henley and jeans, and he sways a little closer to my roommate. “I am, yes. I am very sweet.”

  I snort into my cup, and he smiles at me, revealing an impressively straight set of white teeth.

  “You have really nice teeth,” I note over the music.

  “Thanks, it’s a long story, and you are?”

  Frowning at his odd response, I motion between the two of us. “I’m Reanna, and this is Ali.”

  “Roommates?” Evan speaks, and his player tone puts me on guard.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “I’m guessing you’re not as sweet.”

  Dropping his chin, he exhales a laugh. “I can be when I try.”

  “At least you’re honest,” Ali shouts over the noise.

  “Not always,” Ryan yells back, scooping four shot glasses of clear liquor off a passing tray.

  The guy with the tray shakes his head, heading back to the bar, and my eyebrows rise.

  “Don’t worry! The pledges are here to serve.” Ryan hands each of us a glass. “This beautiful new friendship calls for shots.”

  We shoot what turns out to be straight vodka, and I’m the only one who doesn’t squint and yell, or shriek as in Ali's case. It’s pretty cheap shit, but it’ll do the job.

  More shots follow, and as the night wears on, our small group tightens. Looking around, I notice the other groups leaning close enough to talk, drinking, holding up shot glasses and laughing. Excited energy hums in the air, and everyone’s smiling and ready to start the semester. It almost makes me forget why I’m here.

  Almost.

  I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to get to know a certain professor better and then take back what he stole—or what the old man hired Andre the rat to steal.

  “I think I’d better head back to the dorm.” Ali sways, leaning heavily on my arm. “I’m never going to make it to class this way.”

  Ryan and Evan follow behind us. “See you two later?” Ryan asks.

  I hesitate, but Ali nods enthusiastically “For sure. We’ll look for you on campus.”

  It’s small enough, I don’t think they’ll be hard to find. Evan starts to say something, but I put my arm around Ali’s waist, speaking with finality. “Have a great night.”

  With that, we head for the door, and start the short walk back to our dorm. Ali wobbles all over the place, pointing out the dog statue at the top of the quad, the lights on the library bell tower, the welcome back banners on all the frat houses. They were all there before, but she’s an amateur drunk. I’m not even feeling much of a buzz.