Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead (27 page)

Troy shook his head and dialed 911.

* * *

N
OT
UNTIL
T
ROY
ended the Sunday
morning call so abruptly did Madison realize he was upset with her. She
immediately had the awful, sinking realization that he hadn’t known her father
had decided to stay for the whole weekend. He must have assumed she’d ignored
him since Friday because she was mad about how he’d treated Dad. And then what
did she do but seem completely uninterested in him when he phoned her!

I am an idiot,
she thought, wanting
only to call him back immediately. But her dad was waiting impatiently, they had
reservations at the restaurant, and she needed privacy when she talked to Troy
anyway.

But after Dad left midafternoon and she finally had a chance to
call Troy, he didn’t answer. Unlike most people, he never went anywhere without
his phone. He once told her that it was the most important tool he carried for
his job.

He might be in the middle of an interview, she tried to
convince herself.

Uh-huh. On Sunday afternoon?

Okay, maybe he was with his mother.

The alternative was that he’d glanced at the screen, seen she
was the caller and muted the ring. As in, he didn’t want to talk to her.

No!
She didn’t believe it.

Maybe she should have left a message, but he must check to see
what calls he’s missed, right? Madison hated the anxiety that gripped her as she
debated calling again, leaving a message, or...
Or
what?

Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer and did call again.
Still no answer, but this time she waited for his prompt and started
talking.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk this morning. It was sort of a
strange weekend, but good. Um, I don’t think you said where you were going.” Oh,
God, what did she say now? “Well, I guess I’ll wait until you call.” She winced,
thinking how lame that had sounded, and hastily ended the call.

Her phone didn’t ring all evening. Or the next day. There were
calls at the office, but none on her mobile phone. She checked it half a dozen
times to make sure it still had battery life.

By evening, she was mad. Troy hadn’t said the words
I love you
but he’d made her think he did. And then
what? Did he think she shouldn’t have let her father stay with her? She had
absolutely no idea. She kept thinking back to when he said her father was always
in the room with them. He couldn’t possibly resent her for spending time with
Dad, could he? If so, well, then he was a jerk and she didn’t care if she ever
heard from him again.

By morning, mad segued into worried and even scared. Where had
he gone? He must have found more people to talk to. About Dad? Oh, dear God,
what if he’d
arrested
her father? No, Dad would have
let her know, surely.

What if something had happened to Troy? He was a police
officer, at high risk of getting hurt or even being killed. Would anyone let
her
know?

But there was no way she was embarrassing him or herself by
calling the police station to check up on him. His mother? She shuddered at the
thought. He hadn’t even introduced the two of them.

I could leave another message.

Pathetic.

When he finally did call, wouldn’t you know she had been in the
shower and didn’t hear the phone ring. Once she was dressed, she compulsively
checked the screen and learned there was one new message.

“Hey,” he said. His voice sounded a little strange. Thicker
than usual. “I just got back in town. I was hoping to see you. Uh...I’m at home.
Call me.”

Not a little strange, Madison decided. A lot strange. Her
eardrums seemed to shiver with the beat of her heart.
It’s
Dad.
Troy must have found evidence that he thought proved her
father’s guilt. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk to her, to tell her.
Considering their relationship, those words would be hard for him to say.

I’m sorry. I have to arrest your father
for murder.

She stood stock still in her kitchen, absorbing his message,
then snatched up her purse and raced out of the house. She had to see him.
Otherwise she had a very bad feeling Troy would distance himself to save her
from... Him? Or did he assume she’d hate him?

Oh, God. She’d given him enough reason to think she would. Be
honest—she hadn’t known herself how she’d feel if it came down to it.

Now she did.

Maybe they
shouldn’t
have gotten
involved. Maybe her first instinct had been right, but it was too late now. She
didn’t know if she could bear it if Troy was working his way up to ending things
with her for
any
reason.

She found his block but wasn’t positive she’d have known which
town house was his if his SUV hadn’t been parked in front. Madison pulled in
behind it and barely remembered to turn off the engine before she hurried up the
walk. Not until she was on his doorstep did she feel a thump of fear. What if
she saw dismay on his face when he opened the door and saw her?

No. Stupid. Why would he?
He’d
called, hadn’t he?

She rang the bell and heard it on the other side of the door.
It wasn’t more than thirty seconds before the door opened. Troy appeared with
bare feet, wearing nothing but faded, clay-stained jeans that hung low on his
hips. His hair was disheveled. And—oh God—he
had
been injured. His right cheek was red, scraped and swollen, and his mouth on
that side was swollen, too, making him look askew.

“Madison?”

“Oh, my God!” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

He lifted a hand self-consciously to his face. “I got punched.
It’s not a big deal. I barely felt it then. I’ll look better by morning.”

Aghast, she stared at him. “Who punched you?”

“Ah...long story. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to
you about.”

Aware she was still standing on his doorstep and he hadn’t
invited her in, she said awkwardly, “I got your message.”

His expression changed, became warier. Or maybe she was
misreading it, given the way the swelling changed his features.

“I...take it you have something to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

He shook his head and stepped back. “Sorry. Come in.”

She walked past him. “Were you working on your wheel?”

“What?” He glanced down at himself. “Oh. No. Just showered and
threw on the most comfortable jeans I could find. Let me go grab a shirt.”

Madison wanted to say,
Not on my
account,
but didn’t. She loved looking at his chest, but it might be
easier to talk if she didn’t want so desperately to touch him.

He left her in the living room and loped up the stairs,
returning a minute later wearing a T-shirt as faded as the jeans. “Coffee?
Tea?”

She shook her head, wishing he’d take her in his arms. After a
moment, she set down her purse on a side table and faced him.

“You were mad at me on Sunday.”

“Yeah.” A muscle on his jaw twitched. “It was dumb. I got my
feelings hurt. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m sorry.”

He said that so simply, her heart cramped.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I let myself get excited
because Dad really seemed to want to spend time with me, to talk to me and to
listen. I said things I should have told him years ago.” She tried for a smile.
“The fact that I could is thanks to you, you know. You...made me realize I
deserve better than the way he treats me sometimes. He told me what he was being
blackmailed for, and it made me sick.”

Troy took a step toward her. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“He convinced me he was perfect.” That was what she couldn’t
get past. “But I’m not, so I never felt I could measure up.” She shook her head.
“But you’ve heard all that, and you know what? I’m glad Dad and I talked, and
that I understand him a little better, but I’m done obsessing about it. You were
right. I was letting how I felt about him be a lot more important than it is
anymore. I mean, I love him, but my life isn’t about him. I’m good at my job,
and I like myself, and, well, I didn’t come to talk about my father.”

Troy gave a low, rough laugh. “That isn’t quite what I
expected.”

“What did you expect?” she had the courage to ask.

He only shook his head. “Come here.”

She moved, he moved, and the next instant they were holding
each other. The horrible tension Madison had been living with disappeared in the
huge relief of being able to lean against Troy, feel the strength of his
embrace, the heat of his body, his breath ruffling her hair.

“We should sit down,” he said finally, and when she nodded he
guided her to the leather sofa. He didn’t let her go, keeping her tucked under
his arm. After a minute he tilted his head so he could see her face. “There’s
something I need to tell you.”

“Can I finish first? In case...” She didn’t want to speak those
words out loud:
in case you’re going to say, “I have to
arrest your father.”

Troy nodded.

“Dad told me what happened that night, how Mitchell King was
already dead and Dad saw his body.” She didn’t wait for Troy’s face to change,
to become cop-guarded. Instead she hurried on. “I believe him, but I know maybe
you don’t.”

“Madison...”

She laid her fingers across his lips. Gently, not wanting to
hurt him. “Not yet. Please?”

A smile seemed to twitch at his mouth, swollen as it was. He
nodded again.

She took a deep breath and talked really fast. “What I came to
say is, whatever happens with Dad won’t change how I feel about you.”

Troy quit moving at all. He couldn’t possibly even be
breathing. All he did was stare at her, his eyes made more shockingly turbulent
in contrast to his complete stillness.

“How do you feel about me?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Her fingernails bit into her palms. “I’m in love with you. You
have to know that.”

For a moment his lashes veiled those intense eyes. “I...wasn’t
sure.”

When he didn’t say anything else, she stiffened. “You must be
tired if you just got home. I won’t stay. I only came because I didn’t want you
to feel...I don’t know, worse if you still suspect my father.”

She didn’t make it to her feet. Troy’s grip on her arm stopped
her.

“You think I’m letting you get away after that?” The vibrancy
in his voice and the smile that lifted one side of his mouth—the uninjured
side—healed her hurt instantly. “I love you, Madison. God, I’ve been so afraid
you didn’t feel the same.” The smile was gone. He sounded shaken. “I thought, if
it came down to it, you’d choose your father.”

Suddenly tongue-tied, she shook her head.

“Will you marry me? Whatever happens?”

She felt as if something were breaking inside. It was as if a
giant dam had cracked and then split up, and the huge flood of emotions were
free to tumble out. It should have been painful, but instead the experience was
glorious.

“Yes. Oh, yes!”

Troy groaned and bent to rest his forehead against hers. Smile
shaking, she lifted a hand and slid it around his neck to his nape. She
squeezed, and finally bumped her nose against his, nuzzling. He did the
same.

“I want to kiss you, but, uh, I’m not in such good shape for
that.”

Her giggle felt like a champagne bubble popping. “I noticed.
But, you know, I bet we could make love without kissing.” A thought occurred to
her. “Unless...” She pulled back. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“A few bruises.” There was that tilted smile again. “There’s
nothing stopping
you
from kissing them. I’ll bet you
could make me feel a lot better.”

“I will.” Her rational brain had started functioning again at
the thought of his big body being battered. “But first, I’d like to know what
happened.”

“Ah.” Troy’s eyes gleamed with what she swore was triumph. He
started to grin, winced and cupped his cheek. “I arrested the man who murdered
Mitch King. He didn’t go quietly.”

Madison sat back, gaping. “What?”

“You heard me.” It was obvious how much he wanted to smile.
“It’s over, Madison. And no, I didn’t arrest your father.”

The air whooshed out of her. “Who?”

“Stephen Coleman.”

Weirdly, she didn’t recall the name. She would have sworn she’d
recognize the name of every single student who’d been at Wakefield then.

“He was a professor.” Troy kept talking, telling her every step
that had led to his conclusion. Professor Wilson mentioning his name. Sally Yee.
Margaret Berlongieri Chaffee. And finally, that morning’s violent confrontation
with Coleman himself.

“He said ‘Mitch King ruined my life,’ and it’s true, in a way.”
He shook his head. “It’s never easy seeing someone completely break down. He
told me he grabbed the first available job, thinking if he left Wakefield right
away he could put what he’d done behind him, but it’s not that easy. I talked to
many people who learned a lesson after King caught them in whatever petty
offense they’d committed. They didn’t like him, but after all this time they
were able to shrug because they had consciously set out to be better people
after that.”

Madison frowned. “Dad said something like that.”

“If Coleman could have walked away...” Troy shook his head.
“But I doubt he could, for a lot of reasons. He hadn’t been caught doing one
dumb thing. He’d likely been preying on female students since he was a grad
student. I can’t believe Sally Yee was the first, or Margaret was the last. I
suspect he did the same after he left Wakefield.”

“He couldn’t stop.”

“No, and didn’t want to. He didn’t have enough conscience to
believe he was doing anything wrong. When Mitch King dug his hooks into Coleman,
he had way more at stake than anyone else I talked to. He wouldn’t have just
lost his job, his career would have been dead in the water. But probably he
would have kept paying until King graduated and moved on to bigger and better
things. It was King who made the mistake, deciding he could turn the screws a
little more, not for the money but because he enjoyed doing it. So then Stephen
Coleman finally did do something that was completely impulsive. While he was
filled with rage, he grabbed a baseball bat and beat Mitchell King to death.”
Troy took her hand, holding it as if he needed the connection. “And then he had
to live with what he’d done.”