Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (9 page)

“Life is real and happily-ever-afters only happen if you make them. Fast is relative. We’ve been sleeping together for a year and neither one of us chose to sleep with anyone else. Does that mean nothing?”

“It means that we’re compatible sexually.” I narrowed my eyes and backed away as he advanced on me.

“It means a lot more than that and you know it.”

He trapped me between the wall and my refrigerator. I could get away if I wanted to. He knew that as well as I did. Part of me wanted him to pull his cuffs back out and hold me down until I said yes to him. Yes about everything, but that would be a lie. I would hate him eventually for making me give up everything and I knew in my gut, he couldn’t give this life up either. We were built differently from normal people. We were missing something inside. My only real fear at the moment was that maybe he was what I was missing.

“Your sister wouldn’t want this for you.”

“Stop,” I ground out. “You are skating on thin ice. I’m doing this for her.”

“She’s gone, Candy. Do you really think she’d want you to exist in a living death for her? Haven’t you done enough to avenge her?”

“Stop it. Now.” He was tearing apart my walls and my reasons, and if too many came down, I’d be a shell. Hell, I was a shell, but I was a functioning shell. He didn’t care for me if he wanted to destroy me. “Leave,” I told him coldly. “Leave and don’t come back.”

“I’ll leave, but I will come back. This is so far from over, you have no idea.”

With that, he walked back to my room, grabbed his stuff, and slammed out the front door. As soon as I heard his car pull away, I slid down to the floor and I cried. Hard. He was wrong. He had to be, but if he was . . . why did my heart hurt so badly?

T
he rest of the morning was a wash. Standing in the shower for forty minutes until the water ran cold didn’t fix anything, so I moped around my house and cried. I tried to clean and do some needed housework, but focus was a problem. After washing the dishes with laundry detergent, I gave up. Grabbing my gun and my toaster, I went to the shooting range.

A handful of people watched me blow my toaster to smithereens. A large round of applause followed my performance coupled with an evil glare from Mel the owner. A group of people had rushed the desk demanding their own toaster target. I expected to be banned, along with the lesbians, very soon.

Snippets of my morning with Luke continually flashed through my brain, making me antsy and stressed. My need to pace and shoot appliances was wearing thin on me and most certainly on Mel, so I did what I’d been trained to do in difficult situations. I compartmentalized. I blocked it out. Pushing things away to deal with at another time was a talent of mine. The problem was, I rarely dealt with anything I pushed to the back . . . hence, I was a broken girl. Awesome.

Fuck him and everyone who wanted what I was unable to give. I had a job to do and some well-fed, pompous professors at the university to interview. Evangeline was off my list as a suspect. I was completely confident she had nothing to do with any threat to Shoshanna. As I replayed her interview in my mind, I couldn’t help laughing. I sincerely hoped she did send me an invite to her and Yvonne’s wedding. I would totally go.

Dressed in a conservative suit, low-heeled pumps, and pearls, I walked across the campus of the university toward the administration building. Fall was in the air and the leaves on the trees blazed red and gold in the mid-afternoon sun. I had informed Shoshanna of my schedule and asked her if she saw me to simply ignore my presence. It would do no one any good if she went into a diatribe on fuzzy handcuffs. I did have an answer for her on that subject, but I’d pushed that one to the back of my mind and had no intention of retrieving it.

Watching coeds in their bubble of academia made me wish for simpler times. I was happy at college. Well, not exactly happy, but I’d gotten away from my parents and was able to live freely without the hell that had been my home life. Observing the handholding couples and laughing sorority sisters, I shook my head. This wasn’t what I remembered and it hadn’t even been that long ago. I remembered loving my classes, but the people were a blur. I stopped in my tracks. Fuck, I hadn’t lived in a long time. Aside from my brother and my boss Steve, no one knew me.

With a smile on my face that I was sure resembled a grimace, I picked up my pace and ignored the things around me I had no way of relating to. No time for wallowing in what couldn’t be changed. Instead, I would focus on what I was good at. Although I was technically a temporary bodyguard, I was still doing the right thing. The good thing. The just thing. My brain could compute that—take care of those who are good and eliminate those who are bad. Black and white . . . no messy gray.

I checked in at the front desk and waited outside Randall Steigmeister’s office. Single, fifty-seven, Professor of Religious Studies, lost sizable grant to Shoshanna’s department last year and was hell-bent on removing Shoshanna’s tenure. His picture led me to believe he enjoyed his food immensely, and the writings I had read led me to believe he was more a right-wing Christian than an open-minded professor of Religious Studies. This should certainly be enlightening.

“Miss Sanderson,” Randall Steigmeister bellowed grandly from his office doorway. “I am ready to see you.”

“Thank you,” I said, watching him try to take charge of the situation. I noticed his secretary discreetly glance down at her work in disgust as he snatched his mail from the basket on the edge of her desk. I was unsure if that look was aimed at me or him. “Hold my calls, Mrs. Sword.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This way, please. I’m a very busy man and I’ve a tight schedule today. I hope this meeting will be brief.”

“That depends on you, Professor Steigmeister.” I smiled brightly and followed a slightly put out idiot into his domain.

“So what can I do for you?”

“First of all, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. The research I’ve done on you is very impressive and I feel quite sure this meeting is merely a formality.” I smiled and squirmed nervously in my chair. His delight at my apparent inadequacy spurred me to drop and scatter all my papers on the floor. “Oh,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

I quickly and awkwardly gathered my paperwork with no help from the now more confident pompous ass sitting across from me.

“There, there, young lady,” he admonished, checking his watch. “Are you new to this, Miss Sanderson?”

“A bit,” I stammered.

“Let’s proceed. I am a very busy man.”

“Of course. How long have you been a professor at the university?”

“Twenty-two years,” he said. “Fourteen have been as a tenured scholar. I feel my mission in life is to open the minds of the population to the miracles of Jesus.”

“Do you teach only Christian Religious Studies?” Had I read his dossier wrong?

“No.” He laughed heartily and condescendingly at my question. “No, I cover world religions and the history thereof. I have a special relationship with Jesus, so that seems to permeate my rhetoric.”

Taking in his office, I noticed the rather violent religious art he seemed to favor. All Christian.

“Congratulations, that’s like, wow. And how long have you been acquainted with Professor Lumpschlicterschmidt?”

His nose wrinkled in disgust and his eyes narrowed slightly. “What is this interview about?” he demanded. “I thought you were here from the University Paper.”

“No sir.” Was he serious? “I’m from the DEA and you’ve been tapped as a possible suspect in some threats on the life of Professor Lumpschlicterschmidt.”

“What?” he shrieked. “That’s preposterous! What is she up to now?” He jumped up and paced the room. His bulbous middle strained against his several sizes too small faux suede elbow patched jacket.

“Please have a seat,” I said. “This won’t take long unless you refuse to cooperate.”

“I’ve made no threats on her life,” he hissed. “Yes, I have actively campaigned to have her removed from the university, but I would never lower myself to illegal or immoral means.”

I partially believed him—he did have his own super special relationship with Jesus—but his nervous manner and beginnings of flop sweat meant he hadn’t laid out the entire story. Sanctimonious asses like him bored me to tears. Give me a Porno Granny any day.

“What exactly do you have against Professor Sue’s work?”

“Have you read it?” he yelled, turning an unflattering red. “It’s filth. She is making millions off degrading filth and is dragging the reputation of this fine establishment into the gutter with her.”

“Have you read it?” I asked.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dirty my hands with base pornography,” he snapped, quite self-satisfied with his insult to Shoshanna’s work.

“It seems to me you don’t have much of an argument if you’ve not read the material you’re so adamantly against,” I stated calmly, and waited for him to bury himself a little deeper.

“I don’t need to. It speaks for itself.”

“I’m sure there are others who would agree with you.”

“You have no idea. The integrity of an institution is only as solid as its faculty and board.”

I nodded seriously and took a few notes. He relaxed, comfortable in my silent agreement with his philosophy, and played with his fountain pen. I wondered if all the parents paying big bucks for their children to be enlightened knew what kind of douchebags were doing the educating. He had no computer on his desk or any electronics other than a phone. Interesting.

“Do you teach any online courses?” I queried.

“Why? Are you interested?” He perked back up, assuming I was on board with his assessment of high moral standards.

“Possibly.”

“Well, no. I don’t. I don’t believe in computers and such. They are instruments of Satan. Creativity and true thought come from the hand. The hand God blessed us with. I only accept handwritten work and I grade exclusively with a quill pen,” he announced proudly.

Jesus Christ, this imbecile didn’t know how to use a computer.

“I see that you’re published, Professor Steigmeister. Certainly you didn’t handwrite your thesis.”

“Oh, but I did. Typing is what graduate assistants are for.”

I was sure his grad assistants would be delighted to hear that. Much as I didn’t like the jackoff sitting across from me, I didn’t think he was truly a suspect anymore. He didn’t have the technical skills to have produced the untraceable notes we’d received. His religious views were troubling considering the moral tone of the letters, but . . . time to fuck with him.

“What can you tell me about BDSM?”

“I’m sorry, what?” he blustered, and turned a much deeper shade of red. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

Oh, but he who protests . . .

“Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission?”

“Really, Miss . . . Miss Sanderson! Your point?” he demanded imperiously.

“Abrasion, animal play, wax play, butt plugs?”

“Enough!” He was now a mottled purple, but strangely turned on by the terms. Evidenced by the erection that he tried to hide. God. Gross.

“You’ve read her books,” I told him. “I think you take issue with her income. I think you know far more about BDSM than you’d ever let on. I believe your soapbox is rickety and jealousy can destroy people. I’d suggest you look up the word hypocrite.”

“You need to leave immediately.”

“I’m leaving.” I smiled and handed him my card. “Don’t leave town. Does your secretary type your correspondence?”

“Of course she does.”

“Have a lovely day, Professor.”

As I strolled casually out of his office, he shouted, “You can’t possibly think I have anything to do with this.”

I stopped and turned. “Actually, I don’t, but I’d suggest you end your campaign against Professor Sue. It would be just awful if your peccadillos came to light. Jesus would be terribly disappointed.”

Feeling nauseous yet strangely invigorated, I left his office and made my way down the hall to my next appointment. Mrs. Sword had happily handed over her hard drive. Normally I’d need a subpoena but a smile and a request did wonders when people didn’t like their boss. No, I didn’t think he’d written the notes, but I was fairly sure he’d back off his hate campaign against Shoshanna. I’d played a little out of the box, but who cared? Hopefully not Steve. My boss was very aware of my people skills, or lack thereof. I was getting the job done, and that was ultimately all that mattered. Right? Right. Plus, it was kind of fun. It was amazing to realize I was still useful when there wasn’t someone with a bag of drugs and an Uzi pointed at my head. One down. One to go.

“Hi, I’m here to see Professor Junsen,” I told the gender-ambiguous secretary. Was it a man or a woman? I couldn’t tell.

“She’ll be with you in a moment.”

The voice gave no clue as to sexual identity. I covertly scanned for breasts, but the shirt was too baggy. Fuck, this was going to drive me nuts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Because I didn’t give you one,” it stated logically, and rolled its eyes at me.

“Hmm, you’re correct.” I didn’t like the attitude and there was no way I could leave without figuring this out, so I flipped my badge and played my advantage. “Name?”

“Pat.”

I almost barked with laughter, but I bit down on my lip. Hard.

“Is that a nickname?” I asked.

“Nope.”

Fine, I was out of line. I despised not knowing things. My training was so ingrained, I had a hell of a time leaving stones unturned. But I was being rude. Pat’s gender was none of my business and had nothing to do with my case. I shut my pie hole and waited. Damn, that was hard.

A buzzer went off on Pat’s desk and Pat slapped it like a mosquito. “Professor Junsen will see you now.”

“Thank you,” I muttered still trying to unravel the Pat mystery. Oh well, some things were probably left better alone.

Professor Winnifred Junsen’s office was just as offensive as Randal Steigmeister’s, but in a vastly different manner. The walls were littered with feminist slogans and nude line drawings of what appeared to be very angry lesbians.
WTF?
There was clutter everywhere and an enormous pile of bras in the corner.

“I’d say nice to meet you, but from what I understand, you just terrorized a colleague of mine,” Professor Junsen snapped from behind a massive desk. She was clad in some kind of muumuu and her short graying hair stood on end.

“Well, word certainly travels fast.”
Fast was an understatement
. “I’m not one for feminine social graces. From my research, I’d assume you’d be quite comfortable with that.”

Her laughter was grating and she came around her desk with an outstretched hand and tits flying in the wind. I almost suggested she grab a bra from the pile in the corner, but remembered she’d been disciplined for a bra-burning party on the football field. Wonderful. As I shook her hand, her unharnessed bosom actually hit my wrist. Our height difference and her inability to put her arms to her sides due to her rotundness made her braless state dangerous to others.