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I stride from Dr. Bishop's office trying not to grin like a psychopath.
Because of Saint, I’m about to get promoted to a professor position with actual benefits and a reasonable salary. I no longer need to worry about getting groped by my horrible boss every day we have a class together.
Since Saint started stalking me, I’ve been eager to prove his guilt. To gather enough evidence that he’s stalking me, that he’s taken multiple lives.
Insanely, I’m starting to think that’s the last thing I want to do.
Which makes me just as damned for hell as he is.
A hard knock on the front door, and my heart leaps, hoping for Saint. I shouldn’t be excited to see my stalker, a serial killer, but I am.
I hurry out of the kitchen and peer through the peephole before sighing. The fucking cops.
I swing the door open. “Can I help you?”
Officer Rosario attempts a smile, while Officer Smith remains grim.
“Sorry to disturb your day, Miss Shea,” Officer Rosario says. “We’re investigating a missing persons case. Charles Barrett. You work with him, correct?”
Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell am I supposed to get out of this? “Yes, I did. Do,” I correct quickly.
Officer Smith lifts a brow and scribbles a note on her pad. I want to demand to know what she could already need to write down.
I step out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. If Saint shows up, maybe he can find a way to rescue me from this situation.
“Have you had any luck with your search? We’re all very worried.”
Rosario smiles gently, but Smith isn’t buying my act. “We’re still in the early stages of our investigation,” Rosario says. Which is his way of letting me know he’s not telling me shit. He refers to his notes, even though he’s already memorized exactly what he wants to ask me. “The university’s security cameras around the parking lot picked up you and Dr. Barrett leaving campus at the same time. Can you tell us where you were headed?”
“I came home.” Not a lie. I did go home to change and give myself a three-hour-long pep talk before leaving to meet Dr. Barrett at the bar.
“Did Dr. Barrett tell you where he was headed?”
“He didn’t. But I assumed home.”
“And where did you go after you went home?” Smith interjects brusquely.
If she’s asking, she probably already knows. She just wants to see if I’ll lie to hide some sort of guilt. “I went to the bar.”
“And you met Dr. Barrett there, correct?” Rosario asks.
“If you already know where I went that day, why bother asking me?”
Rosario’s smile falters at my tone, and Smith stiffens. I need to figure out when the fuck to bite my tongue.
“Could you tell us about your evening with Dr. Barrett?” The words that leave Smith’s mouth are more a command than a request.
I shrug, impatience building. “We sat at the bar, we ordered drinks, and we chatted. We sat there for maybe fifteen minutes before I went to the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was gone.”
All of it true, and none of it implicating me in his disappearance. If I tell them he groped me and I stormed off, maybe they’ll think that’s some ludicrous motive for murder.
“He just left?” Smith asks. “With no explanation?”
“I suppose he got tired of waiting.” I’ll let them come to their own conclusions about why I took so long in the bathroom.
“And you didn’t see Dr. Barrett again after he left the bar?” Rosario asks.
I shake my head, grateful I can answer honestly. “No, I didn’t. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.”
