CHAPTER 32

Athens, Georgia

PROFESSOR NATHAN CARVER OF the University of Georgia School of Law finished up a lecture on the separation of powers in the U.S. Constitution. Forty-five, a full-blooded American Indian, and a stirring speaker, Carver engaged with several inspired students afterward, then excused himself. He had to meet an old and dear friend for dinner.

The professor hurried to an off-campus bistro, where Elaine Holmes, a fellow graduate of the law school and a very successful attorney in Washington, DC, was waiting.

“Elaine, you look fantastic!” Carver said after giving her a kiss on each cheek.

“It’s a miracle what makeup and a good dye job can do these days,” she said. “But look at you! You’ve lost weight!”

“Twenty-five pounds since the divorce,” he said proudly.

“And I’ve gained five since mine,” Holmes said. “Dating anyone?”

“Tried a couple of times. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“My three attempts have been nightmares. Did you know men put up fake photos of themselves on dating sites as often as women?”

“I can’t imagine,” Carver said, laughing.

Faking a shudder, Holmes said, “I don’t have to. I saw them in the flesh.”

They shared a bottle of wine and ate dinner, caught up on each other’s lives. Though she was paid insanely well, Holmes had grown to hate her job and was itching for something new.

“I still love my job …” Carver said.

“Why do I sense a but coming?” Holmes asked.

“Just a little nonsense I can’t talk about at the moment.”

“Nonsense?”

“Something that is extremely unlikely to happen, hence it’s nonsense.”

“You’ll tell me if it proves more than that?”

Carver cocked his head at her and smiled. “Actually, you’ll be the first to know.”

The professor felt a nice little tension between them, a little spark, especially when she asked if he was interested in a nightcap at one of their favorite hangouts as students. But then he remembered how raw he’d felt when his ex-wife had followed through on the little tension, the little spark, and their marriage had come apart.

“I’m good for tonight, Elaine,” he said. “Early classes.”

She nodded a little sadly. “I understand. You get up to DC, you call me.”

“I’m coming next week, as a matter of fact,” he said. “I’ll text you the particulars. I’d love to get together. I had fun tonight.”

“I did too,” she said, brightening. “We’ll go out to one of my favorite spots.”

They hugged a little too long on the sidewalk, had an awkward peck of a kiss, and promised they’d see each other next week.

Carver walked home beneath leafless oaks feeling pleasantly drunk and better about his personal life than he had in a long time. Elaine Holmes. Who would have thought? Well, why not? She’s smart as hell. Good-looking. Funny. Single. And I’m not a bad catch.

He felt a little dizzy and in need of water and sleep as he turned onto the quiet street a few blocks from campus where he lived. It was well past eleven. Many of the brick homes were dark. The sidewalks were empty.

As he walked up his driveway, he heard a car door open and shut behind him on the other side of the street.

He didn’t turn because he was thinking, I could do a lot worse than Elaine Holmes. And I could not do much better. Or any better.

Carver felt a little goofy inside, a good goofy. He thought, I wonder if I should text her something before I go to—

“Professor Carver,” a woman said in a thick accent.

He frowned and felt a little wobbly as he turned to find a woman in her thirties, short blond hair, wearing jeans and a dark hoodie. She was standing about twenty feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do I—”

She said something, raised a suppressed pistol, and fired two shots.