The Rookie. Julie Miller
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heart skipped a beat at the sound of his alias, as if he’d been caught condemning the unknown father out loud. But no, the professor wasn’t telepathic. And he hadn’t been broadcasting his appreciation with an admiring glance.
Had he?
It still took him a split second to assume the Josh Tanner persona and make himself think like a coed, even after a month and a half of campus life. But without allowing more than a smile of acknowledgment to crease his face, he pulled himself from the politically incorrect yet inevitable trail of his thoughts to listen to Dr. Livesay’s question.
“What do you think?”
Though he’d just turned twenty-eight, he knew a moment of juvenile panic. He broadened his smile until it dimpled on either side, buying himself some time to think. Technically, he’d been paying attention. He just hadn’t been listening to what she was saying. But he was getting better at covering his mistakes. He rolled the dice and gambled that he could fake his way through this.
“I agree with you.”
His answer earned a few snickers from his classmates.
Dr. Livesay shushed them with an upraised hand. Oh, great. What had he just agreed to?
She stepped closer, moving her hand from the small of her back to the curve of her belly. “You think training in classical music and the arts is a way to help young, displaced teens stay away from gangs?”
Josh shifted in his chair, straightening from his slouch. Lady Luck was with him today. He could do more than catch up with the discussion. He took the topic and ran with it.
“Sure. If the arts is something that interests him or her, that’s the way to go. For others it’s sports.” Like the group of teens he volunteered with at his neighborhood youth center. “Some do well helping out younger kids as a mentor or tutor. They like that sense of responsibility.” He braced his elbows on the tiny piece of Formica that passed for a desk and leaned forward. She’d touched on an issue near and dear to his heart. One that had put him in this seat in her classroom in the first place. “There’s no one way to reach every kid. But something clicks with each of them. It’s a matter of finding the time and the patience and the funding to discover and supply that thing that clicks.”
He began to move his hands in the same fluid way she had. “If they have nothing to live for or work toward, then the gangs and the drugs are there waiting for them. They all want to connect with something positive. Unfortunately, the trouble is usually easier to find.”
Too easy, he thought, remembering his other life. The life before this one. The one in which one teenage boy could lie lifeless in his arms and another could damn him for saving his sorry hide. Such a waste. He clenched his gesturing hand into a fist and silently consumed his anger. The grim memories threatened to steal his ability to even fake a smile.
Such a waste.
A smattering of applause and a couple of appreciative whistles gave Josh the opportunity to look around the room. He nodded at the blond girl sitting two desks over. Kelly, he thought she’d said. Nine years younger than he, though she seemed to think he was eligible material—judging by the hooded sweep of her bright-blue eyes. Josh grinned and she giggled.
He looked beyond her, at the end of the aisle, two rows back. Joey King. A long-haired loner who wore his thick nylon parka to class every day.
To Josh’s left, he glanced at David Brown, king of the class, surrounded by two thick-necked jocks, a nerdy-looking accounting major and a changing variety of pretty girls. Today there was a redhead. On Friday, his conquest had been a brunette.
Behind him, probably dozing in the top row, he’d find Larry, Moe and Curly. Okay, so he knew they were really Nathan, Rod and Isaac. But the nicknames fit them only too well.
He was watching them all. Slowly but surely getting to know each student. There were others in the class. He recognized every face. Knew them each by name. But those were the ones he wanted to know better.
One of them he wanted to get to know better than he knew himself.
Because one of them could lead him to a killer.
But not today.
Today he’d do well to keep his cover intact.
“I don’t think I can top that speech.” Dr. Livesay clapped her hands together and commanded their attention. “Don’t forget that Wednesday you have your next quiz. Be sure you’ve read all the chapters and reviewed your notes.”
An answering medley of moans and groans made Josh smile again. He added his own complaint to the chorus for good measure and reached for his backpack to load up his books and pen.
“David?” As the students filed toward the exit, Dr. Livesay singled out the self-proclaimed leader of the class and motioned him down the stairs. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” Judging by the tight expression around her mouth, Josh figured David wasn’t going to like what she had to say. She thumbed over her shoulder toward the door behind the speaker’s platform that led into a wing of smaller, private rooms. “In my office?”
David Brown was a wiry young man in his early twenties with dark-brown hair and eyes. He stood a head shorter than either of his pseudo-bodyguard buddies, though Josh suspected he possessed the explosive strength of a bantamweight boxer. His face was nothing remarkable to look at, but today’s redhead sure seemed clingy. Josh supposed David was heartthrob material in a future-C.E.O. kind of way.
Josh noted the lack of visible tension in the young man’s body. His laid-back nonchalance bordered on rudeness.
While Josh zipped his bag shut and reached for his padded leather coat, David Brown nudged his girlfriend du jour up the stairs and nodded to his linebacker friends.
After Dr. Livesay had gathered her things at the podium and exited through the rear door, the three young men traipsed down the stairs. Before the door closed behind them, Josh noted David’s hand signals to his buddies.
Strange. What kind of college student needed the protection of two oversize jocks stationing themselves like guards at the end of the hallway?
Josh zipped his jacket and lingered a moment, digging into his pockets for the matching black leather gloves. The commonsense warnings of Lieutenant Cutler told him this was none of his business. Curiosity told him otherwise.
Trusting his instincts over his training, Josh grabbed his backpack and hurried after them.
He pushed the locking bar on the door and entered the oldest part of the building, onto which the lecture hall had been added. Sure enough, Jock One and Jock Two were pacing like sentries at the water fountain across from Dr. Livesay’s office.
Boldy testing his theory, Josh walked right up between them and took a drink. They stood their ground as if ordered to do so, instead of scattering to a polite distance.
Josh was definitely sticking around to figure this one out. Stepping back, he pulled his research paper from his backpack and crossed the marble floor to Rachel Livesay’s office.
He had the doorknob turned before Jock One tapped him on the shoulder. “You can’t go in there.”
Jock Two framed him on the opposite side. “Yeah. The professor’s got somebody with her right now.”
Josh grinned his best good-ole-boy smile, pretending he hadn’t heard the threat in their helpful comments. “No sweat. I can wait.”
He sat on a bench beside the office door and evaluated the would-be guards. Intimidating in size, perhaps, but not terribly observant. He’d left the door nudged open a crack to hear what was being said inside. If the twin jocks had the brains to go along with that brawn, Josh would have his hands full justifying his presence. As it was, they dismissed his unassuming slouch and he faded into the woodwork.
“You can’t kick me out of class for that.” David Brown’s too-cool voice shrilled with an unexpected whine from Rachel Livesay’s inner