Sitting on my hands, I resist shooting back a snarky reply. Instead, I consider her order. I would like to see him before Tuesday. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost midnight…

  Hopping up, I pull on black sweatpants and a black hoodie. I’m a professional. I can sneak over to his house in the dark and tell him I couldn’t sleep. Maybe we’ll watch Goblet of Fire together. Maybe we’ll make our own fire.

  The fact I have no idea how it will play out squeezes my stomach, making me smile.

  Tennis shoes on, I head out the door, jogging down the stairs and out into the night.

  Students are milling around the quad, so I stick to the trees, hanging back when a couple or a group of friends passes on the wide sidewalk lining the lawn in front of the fraternity houses.

  Faculty housing is further back, behind the academic buildings, with a row of Bradford pear trees lining the sidewalk that runs in front of them.

  Rick sent me the details on this small block of private residences the week I arrived. Two of the houses are empty, as most of the faculty lives in town or on Miranda Beach. The one on the end belongs to a professor in the history department. The one beside it is a married couple who have no children, and on the end is Dirk’s, 211 Faculty Row.

  Hesitating at the tree line, I look up and down the street. It’s pretty late, and all the lights are off, which makes this even better for me. Hustling into the trees, I quickly slip around to the back of Dirk’s residence, to a small, fenced-in yard.

  Hopping the fence, I duck into the shadows under the covered patio, pressing my back to the wall and waiting. I’m breathing fast, but I don’t hear a sound. No one is stirring or seems to have noticed. Why would they? It’s a college campus on a Friday night. Nothing to see here.

  A metal door with a window is in the back, and I carefully place my hand on the knob, turning it slowly and hoping he doesn’t have a house alarm activated. As I expected, it’s locked, and I chew my lip, thinking.

  Straightening, I pull the hood off my head and just knock. Seconds slip past as I wait, and I cup my hand to peer through the glass. A single lamp is on beside a leather couch, but it appears no one is home.

  Sneaking around the side of the house, I check the driveway. Empty. Stepping up on a box, I look through the windows on the garage door. Empty. My brow furrows… Where is he?

  I didn’t expect this, but it’s actually a golden opportunity. If I do manage to get through these doors with him, I’m not going to want to spend time searching when I could be fucking him. That means I have to break in and do my searching now.

  Hesitating a moment, I scratch my neck as I think about the kind of man he is. Defying external appearance, he’s supposed to be a computer geek, which means he might have security cameras, an intricate system protecting against intruders. At the same time, he’s on campus, in this cloistered environment.

  He’s not expecting me.

  With that in mind, I go to the door, reaching overhead, feeling all around the jamb. Nothing. Stepping back, I chew my lip, looking for unusual ornaments. Not even a plant. He does, however, have a mat, and lifting it up… Voila!

  “Oh, Professor Winston,” I shake my head affectionately, picking up the hidden key. “You know better.”

  It slides easily into the lock, and in one turn, I’m in his world. It’s like walking into your teenage crush’s bedroom for the first time, getting to know if he’s a clean freak or a slob, learning if he puts his dirty clothes in the laundry bin (almost—a small pile is on the floor), learning if he cleans up after himself in the kitchen (yes—I’m impressed).

  Walking down the short hall, I go to his bedroom, straight to his closet. His clothes are arranged on hangers or folded neatly on shelves. The faint scent of his citrusy cologne hangs in the air, and I pull off my hoodie. Taking a thin, navy sweater off a shelf, I pull it over my head, burying my face in his clean scent. His closet is too neat, and I have the devious urge to rearrange it all.

  Instead, I fold my hoodie and put it where the sweater was, then I drop to my knees, feeling around behind his shoes, searching for a safe or a fireproof box. Nothing.

  Standing, I turn and scan his room, looking for a desk or a filing cabinet or any type of place books might be stored or hidden.

  Despite Natasha’s insistence I do this, I don’t believe the ledger is here. It’s most likely at his office in Hamiltown or at Hugh van Hamilton’s estate. When she suggested this plan, I already knew I’d have to find some way to get there and search those key places without being caught.

  Still, I’ll do my diligence. I’ll search this residence the way I’ve been trained to do, and if it is here, I’ll find it.

  His bed is a queen size, which doesn’t surprise me. This house is one step above student apartments. Still it’s neat, with a simple, off-white duvet and a collection of matching pillows. Sitting on the bedside, I pull one onto my lap and hug it to my chest, burying my face in the cover and inhaling deeply.

  Is this the one he sleeps on? I pick up another, sniffing, then another, searching for that distinct fragrance that makes it feel like he’s here with me. I wonder if his scent is really enticing or if I’m obsessed with him or is he legitimately obsess-inspiring? (Is that a thing?) Chasing these thoughts in circles makes me smile like a teenager with a crush.

  What I’m doing is dangerous. I’m hugging his pillow like I’m falling for him, like he’s not a mark. I’m ready to shake myself and continue looking for that book when my eyes fall on a battered paperback sitting on the nightstand.

  I pick it up, and an old photograph falls to the carpet. Leaning down, I hold it under the light, and a smile curls my lips. It’s a picture of an adorable blond boy standing beside a taller teenage boy with dark hair and a lowered brow. The younger boy is holding up a large paperback, and the older has his hands behind his back like he’s a soldier at attention.

  It’s clearly Dirk and Hutch, and it looks like they’re in a bookstore or a library. I wonder who took this… One of their parents? A teacher? Hutch’s expression is focused, disciplined as always, but I see that flicker of mischief in Dirk’s grin. My lip catches between my teeth, and I trace my finger over his image. He’s perfect. I’d have had a crush on him even then.

  Turning the battered paperback in my hand, it’s an old-school copy of The Goblet of Fire with the original, cartoonish picture of Harry holding a shiny bowl and waving his wand on the front. It’s the same book in the photograph. He must be using this as a bookmark, but I’ve lost his place. Slipping the photo into a random spot, I hope he won’t notice it moved.

  Lying on my side in his bed, I open the cover and read the first line, The villagers of Little Hangleton called it “the Riddle house…”

  Dirk Winston is strong and dominant. He won’t let me get away with shit, and yet he has this soft side, this connection to nostalgia. I want to know why. I want to know what draws him to this story.

  Pulling a blanket over my shoulder, I roll onto my back and continue reading, wanting to know what secrets about him are hidden in the words of this book…

  “I’ll protect you, Rainey.” He reaches out, cupping my face in his hand. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore. I’m here, and I’ve got people to help us.”

  Straining for his touch, the cold bands surrounding my heart are slow to break. It’s hard to believe someone might care for me, might really want to help me.

  “I dreamed you would say this.” My voice is strained, wistful. “I never thought it could happen…”

  His words are lost in the fading mist. Pale light glows in the windows, awakening me with a start. Dirk is gone, and I'm alone, but his voice still feels so close. I sit up fast, looking around the empty room, my heart beating out of my chest. No one is here to help me. I fell asleep reading, and dawn is breaking.

  Hopping up, I do my best to shake the dream away. I place the book on the nightstand and quickly straighten the bed and the pillows. I’ve got to get out of here before I’m trapped in his empty house, and I didn’t even finish searching it. I quickly circle the room, methodically searching drawers, feeling behind books in the bookcase. Nothing.

  Returning to the living room, I scan the space quickly, looking for any type of hiding place or study area. It’s pretty sparsely decorated, and he doesn’t have many personal items here. It makes sense with him being a new professor in temporary housing.

  The daylight is growing brighter, and I’m out of time. Dashing to the bedroom, I quickly strip off his sweater and put my hoodie back on. I straighten the stack of clothes, making sure everything looks as it did when I arrived.

  Grabbing the key off the kitchen table, I head out the door, quickly dropping it under the mat again. Then I sneak to the edge of the house, my back to the brick wall, and peek around the corner. No one appears to be awake yet, so I hop over the fence and dash right up to the sidewalk, walking confidently to my dorm.

  The more steps I take, the less suspicious my presence becomes. I’m an early-morning jogger or a student up early, going for coffee. I feel so refreshed I could go for a jog, and I realize I did it again. I slept like a baby, wrapped in Dirk’s blankets, wearing his clothes, dreaming of him. No vodka to kill the nightmares, because there were none, only his voice offering to help me.

  I don’t have time to think about what it means. I need to get back to the dorm before Ali does. She won’t believe I’m out of bed this early, and I don’t have an alibi.

  11

  Dirk

  Big brown eyes gaze into mine, and I scrub my fingers under the curtain of white hair hanging down her neck.

  “I think Dancer misses you when you’re gone.” Hana walks up to where I’m standing at the stall, a Palomino horse’s face in my arms. “Blake rides her, but she never hangs over the door like this for us.”

  “It’s because I rode her when she was a yearling. Hugh asked me to take her out for him when I was home from college for the summer.” Sliding my hand down her nose, I remember those days.

  My father was pressuring me to join his investment firm, but I didn’t like the vibe of Wall Street. I didn’t like their greedy world of hard parties, cocaine, and high-end hookers.

  My college girlfriend was pressuring me to settle down. She wanted to get married, live in the suburbs, have babies, but I didn’t share those feelings. She would tell me her plans, and the back of my neck would grow tight. I felt the distinct urge to run.

  I wanted to be free, and that summer, riding all over the county on this golden horse, I did what I wanted. I slept under the stars, I cooked over a fire, and I had no commitments or rules, for a few weeks at least.

  “That’s the reason.” My little sister-in-law tilts her blonde head. “You were her first love.”

  That makes me chuckle. “You think horses fall in love?”

  “I think everything falls in love, including you.”

  “I just wanted to be a cowboy.” Me in another life.

  “You’ve been different since you’ve been back. Something happened at school—is it your graduate student?”

  “No,” I answer too quickly, and Hana laughs, poking my arm with her finger.

  “Got you—so there is someone?”

  “There’s no one, Hana.”

  I push the memory of Reanna and the alley from my mind. It’s been a struggle since that lapse of judgment happened, waking up with a tent in my sheets, the echo of her moans in my memory. I’ve been in relationships before, but this feels like obsession. I’m not sure how I’m going to finish the semester.

  You and I are adults. That’s all that matters… Her words torment me. It’s not all that matters. My reputation matters, the school matters, my position.

  “Well, something is definitely on your mind, and I can tell it’s got you on edge. If it’s not a woman, I can’t imagine what else it could be.”

  “It’s so good to be home.” I slant an eye at her. “Always love playing twenty questions.”

  She holds up both hands. “Fine! No more questions. You should go for a ride, though, since I can’t do it now. Dancer needs the exercise.”

  “I think I will.” Giving the horse a pat, I start for the tack room.

  Hana stays at the stall, calling to me. “Blake thought it would be fun for us to do a little girls’ weekend before I’m too big to enjoy myself.”

  I toss a bridle over my shoulder, lifting a saddle and blanket off a wooden sawhorse and carrying them back to where she’s standing. “That so?”

  She lifts the latch, opening the door for me, and I put the blanket and saddle on top.

  “I think it’s the same weekend you have fall break. Maybe you could come home and check on the horses while we’re gone?”

  “Where will Hutch and Scar be?”

  “Scar thought they should tag along in case I go into labor. You know how he is.”

  “And Hugh?” Not that her elderly uncle rides much anymore.

  “He’s visiting his friend in North Carolina—the one with a place near the Biltmore.”

  The one he ran off to when we were first pulled into this mess. Sifting through the dates in my head, fall break is a few weeks away, and I don’t have anything on my calendar, no reason to stay on campus… besides her.

  “Yes, I’ll come back.”

  “Such a good brother.” She gives my arm a playful squeeze. “Thank you.”

  I give her a tight smile. She has no idea. I finish dressing the horse, and lead her out of the barn. Once we reach the open field, I give her an encouraging nudge, and she takes off at a brisk canter, covering the lush pasture at a smooth clip. It’s not long before we reach the backwoods of Hugh’s immense property.

  Dancer and I know these grounds so well. The value of a good horse is lost on most people these days, but Dancer was my faithful friend. No one could steal her. She wouldn’t go anywhere with anyone but me or Hugh.

  Harry had a broomstick, but growing up with an absentee dad and a mother who tried very hard, I felt like I had a lot in common with that boy wizard. My problem was I didn’t have any magical powers. Still, we could ride fast and far, and it felt like flying.

  A narrow creek divides the pasture land from the start of the denser trees. When we reach it, I slide off and allow her to drink while I glance up at the surrounding foliage. It’s a beautiful setting, and without warning, I imagine bringing Reanna here. It’s peaceful, a little like she described her life before her father was killed. I have no reason, but I think she would love it like I do. I think she would understand why I want to share it with her.

  It’s when I know this is not simply an obsession. Her intelligence appeals to me. She’s beautiful, yes, and sexy as hell, but she’s also determined and strong. We’ve both lost loved ones, but I had Hutch. I wasn’t completely alone. I don’t want her to be alone.

  Climbing onto the large beast, I return to the barn at a more leisurely pace. I remove Dancer’s saddle and blanket in the breezeway, and I carry the bridle and all the tacking to the storage room, grabbing a brush on the way out.

  Hugh has a groomsman who cares for the horses, but I like to brush them down. It’s calming, almost like meditation. I slide the coarse bristles over her body, and with every stroke, the tension in my mind relaxes.

  “You headed back this evening?” Scar’s low voice breaks the silence.

  “Yeah, I gotta get back for class.” Glancing up, he’s looking over the horses, hands in his pockets like he’s concerned. “Something on your mind?”

  Straightening, he holds the door as I exit the stall, fastening the latch behind me. “I didn’t expect you to come home this weekend. I thought you might pursue that other interest.”

  Scar moved here not long before Blake and Hana came into our lives. He showed up needing a place to live, almost like he was on the run, and it was a long time before we knew why. “That other interest is like playing with fire.”

  His arms cross, and he nods. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”

  “I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

  “Have you decided if she’s the real deal?”

  I consider the question. I consider my thoughts while riding, and I try to classify what’s happening as concrete or ephemeral. Our sexual attraction is undeniable, the unmitigated possessiveness I feel towards her is inexplicable. I want to rip the arms off any man who touches her—and it seems I’m not the only one. She was furious when she saw me with Sharon.

  A half-smile curls my lips, and I glance up to see my oversized partner watching me. “That was a long pause.”

  Clearing my throat, I look down. “It’s a lot, and I’m not sure I trust it. It’s too fast and too…” I can’t say too primal, so I go for the obvious. “I’m her professor.”

  “A temporary setback.” A tease is in his tone, but he has a point. “Like I said, if it’s the real thing, it’s worth giving it a chance.”

  But how can anyone know what’s real? Only time can prove if something is worth fighting for, and we only have a few months. “The risks are all I see at the moment.”

  He nods, and we walk to the house. “You’ve always been good at managing risk.”

  It’s true—when it comes to concrete things, facts, figures, bad guys. Relationships on the other hand are uncontrollable, and there’s never a guarantee you won’t lose everything.

  Reanna Lorak might be a sensual distraction, but I’m not ready for that kind of loss.

  “A common element of criminal psychology is working with law enforcement.” We’re back in class, and I’m doing my best to keep my eyes on my work, not Reanna in the center row of the middle risers.

  Today, she’s in a short skirt. Her blue blouse makes her eyes seem to glow, and the scoop neck gives a hint of her cleavage beneath. It’s not a provocative outfit, but I’ve tasted what’s under that fabric, and my dick is semi-hard.

  The few times my eyes drift to hers, she smiles knowingly, and heat simmers in my veins. It makes me angry, which makes me fantasize about spanking her round ass, which makes me lose my train of thought.