unease.
At the top of the stairwell she heard voices coming from down the hall, murmuring, even though the lights in the corridor were down to half-power. Someone was in Brendan’s office with him.
Katrina? she wondered instantly. Her face flushed hot, and she was just as instantly ashamed of the thought.
Nevertheless she was compelled. She walked down the corridor, slowing her footsteps, and placing her feet carefully so that she was making no noise.
She stopped just outside the doorway—and was startled to hear not Katrina’s, but Tyler’s voice.
She hovered, straining to hear.
The voices suddenly stopped, and Brendan’s voice called out sharply. “Is someone there?”
Laurel stepped into the doorway.
Brendan looked startled, then said, too heartily, she thought …
“Dr. MacDonald, I’m so glad you came back. First of all, we’re in luck. Apparently Mr. Mountford here is much more accomplished in audio and computer technology than I am, so we won’t have to bring in an outside tech expert.”
Laurel remembered Tyler mentioning that he’d run light and sound for the theater department. If that wasn’t just another lie, she added to herself grimly. She looked at Tyler and he had the grace to look flustered.
“It’s not rocket science,” he muttered.
She turned away from him, back to Brendan. “And second?” She asked coolly.
“Second?” Brendan repeated, confused.
“You said, ‘First of all.’ I wondered what ‘second of all’ was.”
“Oh, I see!” Brendan’s laugh sounded forced. “Well, second, I should have offered to walk you to your car to begin with.”
“It’s all right,” she said coolly.
“I insist,” he said, and stood gallantly. “We’ll meet to requisition the equipment tomorrow, Mr. Mountford.” Tyler shifted in his seat and mumbled assent.
Moonlight spilled across the deserted lawn of the quad as Brendan and Laurel walked on the paths under the shadows of oaks. Laurel was silent and stiff beside him, too aware of the heat of his body.
There was a touch of chill in the air, a hint of coming winter. She shivered, and the next thing she knew Brendan was taking off his jacket.
“I don’t—,” she started, but he already had it off and was draping it over her shoulders. His hands lingered for just a moment on her shoulders, then dropped to his sides again.
They continued to walk in silence. The scent of his aftershave and his skin rose from the leather of his jacket, enveloping her.
Don’t … , she warned herself, and walked more stiffly.
They were almost to her car when Brendan suddenly spoke beside her. “I can’t tell you what all this means to me, Mickey.” His voice was husky and low. “I feel like my life finally makes sense. All of it. I’m so glad—”
He paused, and she looked at him, in spite of herself. He shook his head slightly, but smiled at her.
They stopped beside her car and she fumbled for her keys.
She zapped open the lock and Brendan started to open the door for her. She tried to step by him but he looked down at her. She froze, her heart in her throat, her pulse pounding in her head …
Then he touched her hair, the lightest touch. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.
He closed the car door on her and she sat trembling in the front seat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Move-in day was blanketed with clouds. They had decided to drive down to Five Oaks separately; the house was isolated enough that multiple cars seemed prudent.
Laurel got on the road early. She stopped in to leave the cat with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Morgan, explaining that she was doing a three-week research project without actually saying where she was going. Uncle Morgan looked at her with sad reproach, which both tore at her heart and made her wonder just how much he knew, both about the past and about what she was about to do, but he refused to answer when she spoke to him.
Laurel closed her eyes briefly, thinking about it.
The cat, however, had gone to him immediately and jumped up in his lap as if she belonged there, and Uncle Morgan cradled the animal to his chest and disappeared with her into his library as if she were the only thing he’d been waiting for.
On her own behind the wheel, Laurel paid much more attention to the route. She passed through sleepy towns with no more than a thousand inhabitants, and some obviously with far fewer. “Town” was sometimes no more than a Food Lion, a Family Dollar Store, an Auto Zone, and two or three gas stations along the highway.
With each mile, Laurel had