18. Knives & Pastries

18

A t eight in the morning, on a Saturday, I was abruptly woken up by a sharp knock at my door.

Too tired to think straight after a fitful night of sleep, I tumbled out of bed, stomping to the door to answer it in nothing but a tank top, sans bra, and my pajama pants, one leg still stuck around my knee from all the tossing and turning the previous night.

I looked like a complete mess.

"Hi," Chance greeted me with a cheerful smile. A cup of coffee in one hand and a bag of what I presumed was some sort of breakfast food in the other. He shoved the items into my hold and waltzed right past me into my room.

"I have…"—I looked around, panicked— "...knives in here," I sputtered.

"Really?" He chuckled, looking inexplicably dapper in his regular uniform of slacks, a sweater, shiny wingtips, and his wool coat, having likely come directly from outside. I wasn't sure where he had procured the food, as it definitely wasn't from the dining hall. "That's what you're going to go with? Knives?"

"Shut up, Chance," I barked. "You can't just barge into people's rooms without asking." I set the coffee and bag of what I could see were actually pastries on the kitchen counter, trying to ignore the lovely smell that wafted from both items, setting my senses alight.

"I knocked." He shrugged, taking a seat at the small table next to my kitchen.

"What do you want?" My fingers twitched with the impulse to straighten my hair, or at least wipe the sleep from my eyes, but instead I folded them over my chest in a poor attempt to hide his view of my nipples through the thin material of my tank top.

"I want to finish our conversation from last night, and I want an answer from you." He folded an ankle over the opposite knee. He had no right to look so casual and yet so goddamned attractive at my kitchen table, uninvited.

"What answer?"

"If you'll help me find out what happened to Daniel," he said. "You cared about him. I can tell. So help me."

His tone was so sincere…his argument so simple, it caught me off guard. I slumped against the counter, giving in and grabbing the cup of coffee, relaxing slightly as the sweet liquid warmed my throat.

Would it really hurt to hear him out?

I glared at him in realization. "How do you know how I take my coffee?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's hard to miss you spending an hour pouring so much sugar into it that there's none left for anyone else."

I scoffed.

But he wasn't wrong.

"What did he mean to you?" he asked cautiously.

"I didn't know him that well, but all the students take a class with me each year." I took another sip.

He waited, knowing there was more.

"He reminded me of myself, I suppose—he was determined and scrappy, and never let his circumstances get him down." I frowned, worried I'd given too much away about my own insecurities.

So much wasted potential. Both he and Claire were gone, their lives snuffed out too soon. And for what?

"He mentioned you once." Chance's eyes were trained on the ground.

"He did?"

"He liked your Greek mythology class."

I blushed, tickled by the idea that anything I taught mattered to my students. So many of them seem disaffected, but it was all worth it, if it mattered to even a single one.

"What do you know about the article he was writing?" I turned to pull two plates from the kitchen cabinet.

"Only that it was something big. He wouldn't even tell Claire about it because he was worried she'd get caught up in it."

"I overheard you talking to her in my classroom that morning, then I saw Claire give you the laptop." I plucked a pain au chocolat from the bag and placed the bag with the remaining pastries and the second plate in front of Chance on the small table.

"You devious little thing." He flashed me an impressed smile.

"You weren't very discreet." I shrugged, licking some errant chocolate off my fingertip, trying to ignore the triggering adjective he had again used to describe me.

Chance's gaze turned hungry as he watched my tongue dart over my lip to catch the last of the chocolate. The desire in his expression sent shivers down my spine.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing in response, and averted his gaze, seemingly aware that I had caught him not just staring, but coveting.

"As previously admitted, I have grossly underestimated you. I promise I won't make the same mistake again."

"What was on the laptop?"

"I don't know. Claire was supposed to help me figure out the password, but she…" He trailed off. "We never got the chance." He cleared his throat, visibly affected by the thought of her demise.

My heart ached for him. He really did blame himself.

"I know this sounds callous." I took a step toward him. "But something came out of what happened to her. Now you know that whoever hurt Daniel is still here. Even more, you were on the right track, and they felt threatened."

He gazed up at me, his blue-grey eyes a stormy sea of emotion.

"It's not your fault. If she really was killed…"—I paused; I didn't want him to think I didn't believe him, but the idea still felt so awful—"whoever hurt her is to blame."

"There was something I didn't get a chance to mention to you last night before you left." He took a beat, perhaps debating if he could trust me with the information.

I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"Daniel isn't the first student to go missing from Montgomery."

"What!?" My eyes went wide. But then it sparked a memory about something I had overheard the police talking about when I'd gone to the station in town trying to file an official missing person's report, which they had refused.

I couldn't remember exactly what they'd said, but it had been something about how it was lucky they couldn't afford to go to Montgomery so they wouldn't disappear too. I thought it had been odd at the time, but it hadn't made sense, so I'd assumed I'd misheard them and had quickly forgotten about it entirely.

"Over twenty years ago, two students—sisters, went missing. The school almost got shut down. I'm surprised Winston managed to keep his post. This time around, I think he instructed the staff to withhold information from the police and to keep the whole thing under wraps so they wouldn't lose funding, or worse."

"And the police have told you the same thing they've said to everyone else, that he ran away?" I asked.

Chance nodded. "I can't even get my hands on the police report for either of the cases because they're both still technically open. And I certainly don't have access to Montgomery's records."

I took a deep breath, carefully considering what I was about to offer; however, I truly felt that Chance was being honest with me and that there was nothing left to discover.

He seemed physically relieved now that the burden of his secret was shared by at least one other person he could talk to. I also felt like I owed something to Daniel and Claire. They didn't deserve what had happened to them, and if I could do something to help resolve this injustice, I felt a sense of duty to do so.

"I do," I replied meekly.

"You do what?" Chance was confused.

"I have access."

"You really think it's wise to bring Jolene into all of this?"

"We don't have to."

His eyes flashed.

"I know where she keeps the keys to all the administrative offices, including the records room." I pursed my lips in thought. "But we might consider asking her if she knows anything about the girls who disappeared. I don't think she was working here that far back, but maybe she saw or heard—" I stopped.

Chance had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

"What?" I snapped, placing my hands on my hips.

"You said ‘we.'" His grin grew impossibly larger. "Does that mean you're in?"

I huffed in annoyance. He was so aggravating. "Yes," I sniped.

"I'll pretend you put up more of a fight if it'll make you feel better," he mocked.

"I have a few conditions." I tried to mimic his tone from when he'd used the same words against me the night he had discovered my lounge.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"No funny business." I managed to say it with a straight face.

"Don't worry, you're not funny, so no funny business will be had," Chance quipped.

"I mean it." I glared at him.

It was bad enough I was still attracted to him despite everything, which should have had me running for the hills. I needed to be careful and keep protecting myself if we were going to work together, so I wasn't at risk of losing my job for violating the faculty code of conduct—whether or not it was frequently enforced remained irrelevant.

"Define ‘funny business' then," he challenged, folding his arms over his chest.

"You cut out all the flirting. I won't lose my job because of you."

"I had no idea my fondness for you was such a temptation."

He was incorrigible.

"And what if the policy didn't exist?" He leaned forward in his chair. "What then, Violet, darling?"

I clenched my teeth, refusing to answer, because I couldn't say out loud what he seemed to already know, that I was still very much interested in him, or at least my body was.

An awkward silence ensued. Our physical chemistry palpably filled the room.

"Can we at least be friends?" Chance finally broke the tension.

"Maybe—I haven't decided yet," I stuttered.

His lips curled into what had become his trademark smirk. I hated how entirely pleased he was with himself, knowing he had won me over, much to my chagrin.

"I would also like it on the record that you're practically unbearable, and that you're lucky I'm agreeing to this." I pointed my index finger at his face.

Chance captured my finger, forcing me to lower it, and twined his fingers through mine, causing heat to travel from his touch to other areas I wasn't exactly proud of. "It's been noted."

I pulled my hand from his grasp and took a step back.

"Get changed and come upstairs. I need to get you up to speed on my notes."

"How about you go upstairs and I'll go back to bed." I crossed the room, flopping onto the mattress.

He barked a laugh at my dramatics. "I'll see you up there." And then the asshole had the audacity to fucking wink at me before making a casual exit from my room, bag of pastries in hand.