Goddess Rising (54 page)

October—Wednesday Morning

Criminal Psychology Lecture, Texas A&M

S A M A N T H A

P
rofessor Hammond’s class
seemed to drag on mid-week—unusual, considering how interesting Sam typically found it. But everything was feeling a little less bright, a little less engaging, since she’d returned from the ranch over the weekend, and Wes had all but disappeared.

Sam wasn’t the cloying, needy type—not by a long shot—so she’d tried to overlook it, but it had been nearly three days since she’d seen or heard from him beyond a couple of hasty calls and quick emails citing work or class or the article he was working on with Miranda. Sam fought to ignore the nagging worry lodged in the back of her mind, worry that something was wrong in their still-budding paradise, and she began to question whether bringing Wes home with her had been too bold a move too soon in their fledgling relationship.

“You okay?” Chris asked after class as she was shoving her book and notes into her bag, distracted.

“I think so,” she answered, not at all sure if she was lying to him or pretending for herself.

Chris paused, considering her.

Sam sighed, recognizing the jig was up without him having to say anything. “I haven’t seen Wes in almost three days. That’s all.”

“You haven’t?” Chris replied, clearly surprised.

“He said he had to work and get caught up on a couple photography projects when we got back Sunday.”

Chris’s brow creased as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s not what’s happening, is it?”

“Uh…” Chris made a show of looking at his watch. “I’m running late for my next class.”

“
Jesus
, Chris. You can’t lie for a damn,” Sam huffed, cheeks reddening as she slid out of her desk chair. “If there’s something going on that you think I should be aware of—I’d rather hear it from you.”

“I just wasn’t sure is all,” Chris replied, backpedalling. “I haven’t seen him much either over the past few days.”

“Then why did you ask if I’m okay?” Sam responded.

“Ms. Wyatt, a word?” Professor Hammond asked as she and Chris filed past the podium, heading for the door.

Chris glanced back at the professor, visibly relieved.

“I’ll catch up with
you
later,” Sam told him with a pointed look.

Chris nodded, leaving class at a fast clip. Professor Hammond waited patiently at the front of the class, organizing her lecture notes into a polished leather portfolio as Sam approached.

“Professor Hammond, great lecture today,” Sam lied, switching gears from vaguely anxious girlfriend to serious student. She couldn’t really recall much from the lecture, as distracted as she’d been. But she wasn’t about to admit that.

“Thank you.” Her teacher smiled briefly. “Have you gotten around to the Reid manual I gave you?”

Sam nodded. “I’m almost done. I was actually thinking of using it as the main reference for the next paper, identifying people suffering from malignant narcissism.” She smiled grimly. “I think I know a few people who’d fit that profile pretty accurately,” she said, thinking of Alejandro.

Professor Hammond smiled. “Don’t we all?”

“Yeah, well, I have to admit that it’s pretty interesting,” Sam went on. “I didn’t know much about criminal behavior profiling or archetypes before this class. It’s been eye-opening. I was actually going to schedule an appointment with you as soon as I was done with the book.”

Her teacher nodded. “Good to know you’re getting something useful out of it. I’ve done a little fact-finding since we last spoke, Ms. Wyatt, and I hear you’re pretty serious about enlisting as an officer when you graduate,” she commented, crossing her arms as she leaned against her desk.

“That’s right,” Sam confirmed with a nod.

“Assuming you graduate with honors, you’d have the unusual and enviable position of pursuing a specialty almost immediately, would you not?”

“I believe so.” Sam tucked her hair back. “I mean, I certainly hope so.” To her mind, that was the point of all this intense training—being good enough to pick and choose where she wanted to be an officer candidate.

“And have you given any more thought to my suggestion of considering a double major in linguistics and behavioral psychology?”

“I have.” Samantha nodded. “I’m seriously considering it, depending on how I do in this class.”

“You’re one of my top students, Ms. Wyatt,” Professor Hammond told her frankly. “And since you find the topic of criminology interesting, I wanted to discuss your final paper, due in December, since it’s worth a third of your grade.”

“It’s a little early to discuss that, isn’t it?” Sam asked. “I have some time before we get there, don’t I?”

“Technically, yes, though logistically, no,” Hammond responded. “I’d like to suggest that you write your paper on the work they’re doing at the Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center in Houston.”

“Ma’am?” Sam asked in confusion. She could have sworn the syllabus said the final term paper would be open topic. Why was Hammond assigning her a topic now and in October?

“You’ve never heard of it, have you?” Hammond asked her, crossing her arms.

Sam shook her head.

“It’s the United States Navy’s preeminent center for warfare-centric intelligence. They support the Navy, the Department of Defense, and Naval Special Warfare groups.”

Sam’s mind rushed to connect the dots. “Like the Navy SEALs?”

“The SEALs can be the instruments used to carry out the recommendations and decisions made at the Kennedy Center,” Hammond confirmed. “This program is actually very unique. The Center is host to a combination of military and civilian intelligence specialists. They have far more than mere analytical capabilities—they can be deployed to support missions and expeditions that require a certain level of sophisticated specialization.”

“Like what?”

“That’s what I’d like you to research and find out.” Professor Hammond cocked her head. “Specifically, I’d like you to outline how a person with demonstrated skills in linguistics and an avid interest in behavioral and criminal psychology could benefit and be benefited by this program.”

Sam wondered briefly if her father had something to do with this recommendation.

“How do you know about this?” she asked cautiously.

“I know someone who works there.” Hammond smiled briefly. “My husband, actually. I can ask him to make himself available for an interview with you,” Hammond told her. “Thus the reason why I’m bringing this up in October.” She shrugged. “I never know when he’ll be stateside or out on mission.”

“Married to a Navy man?” Sam asked in surprise.

“Fifteen years,” she answered with a smile. “I’m a sucker for a man in a uniform.”

“No, I get it,” Sam returned with a grin. “But I think you should know that I’m actually thinking of joining the Army when I graduate.”

“And perhaps you will, Ms. Wyatt,” Hammond responded with a shrug. “But you don’t have to decide that today. I’m asking you to consider using this research to help expand your knowledge base as well as to think of how you can best integrate your intellectual interests with your natural proclivity for truth seeking. How you choose to implement that in the future will be up to you, naturally.”

Sam thought about it for a split second before reaching into her messenger bag for her notebook. She snapped it open it and clicked open her ballpoint pen. “May I have your husband’s contact information?” she asked, back to business. “I’ll reach out to him this week about setting up a time.”

Hammond smiled. “I thought you might say that.”

*

October—Wednesday Afternoon

Language Lab, Texas A&M

S A M A N T H A

A few hours
later Samantha sat in language lab, far too distracted by her conversation with Professor Hammond and Chris’s slip-up about Wes’s disappearance to pay attention to the rapid fire dialogue.

On the one hand, Sam was excited and intrigued by the idea of talking with Professor Hammond’s husband about his work with the Kennedy Center. On the other hand, she wanted to put Chris into a headlock until he told her what the hell was going on with Wes—and Sam completely missed the conversation she was trying to translate—
again
. Sighing, she pressed the stop button and tried to figure out how far back to go as she hit the replay a few times, perhaps a little harder than absolutely necessary.

“You break it, you buy it,” Miranda drawled as she sat down in the empty seat next to Sam.

Sam pulled off her headphones, sending Miranda a tired smile. “At this rate, I probably should, so I can just take the whole damn thing home with me and try to translate it, because I’m absolutely no good trying to do it right now,” she admitted.

“I know what you need,” Miranda told her with a knowing look.

“A Xanax?”

“A coffee!” Miranda replied, smacking her leg. “Which is basically the same thing for students the world over. Come on—I’m buying!” she offered cheerfully. “I just finished my translations, and we could both use a break.”

Sam followed her outside to their beloved and much-frequented coffee cart, blessedly free of the usual line. Miranda ordered sizable lattes for the two of them, looking like her usual glamazon self in sky-high espadrilles and hot pink shorts. Sam swiped a hand over her messy ponytail, wishing she looked a little less like the tomboy she was.

“You look tired, honey. What’s going on?” Miranda asked, doctoring her drink with a bit of sugar.

“Name it. That’s what’s going on,” Sam replied, rubbing her brow as she took a deep drink. “Class is a bear with midterms coming up, and the Ranger Challenge is this weekend.” She didn’t mention Wes. “I feel like I’ve been playing catch up ever since I got back in town Sunday night.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Miranda nodded sympathetically. “Wes told me you’re not doing the Challenge. You okay?”

“I am and I’m not,” Sam answered honestly as they sat down on the grass outside the language building. “I mean, I’m ready to go and cheer on the team, but it’s hard going there knowing I’m not one of them when I got so damn close, I could practically taste it.”

“Of course it’s hard!” Miranda exclaimed. “You busted your butt from what Wes told me. It’s a crying shame what happened—seems to me like you have every right to feel that way.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it,” Sam replied, waving it off. “Besides, it gives me just that much more incentive to pull it together for next year.” She sipped her coffee, shading her eyes against the bright afternoon sun dappling the ground. “So how have you been?” she asked. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in a while outside of class.”

Not since Wes and I started dating
, she thought to herself. Wes had assured her it was fine between them, and Sam had seen Miranda in passing during their classes. Sam hadn’t sensed any weirdness or tension, but she hadn’t gone out of her way to look for it either.

“I’m good,” Miranda responded with a rueful smile. “I wish I could say I’ve been busy having fun, but between classes and this article series for
The Statesman
, all work and no play has made Miranda a very dull girl.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sam replied, smiling at her friend. “You and dull just doesn’t compute.”

Miranda pushed her vivid red hair back. “I keep telling myself that if Wes and I can just turn these articles in, then I can kick back a little.”

Sam chewed on her lip a little.
I’m not going to ask
.
I’m not going to ask…
“So how are things going with Wes this week?”
Dammit, I asked.

Miranda glanced at her, brows raised. “You don’t know?”

“We haven’t seen much of each other this week,” Sam admitted. “I figured you two were pretty slammed, and I’m busy myself, so…” She trailed off, looking away.

Miranda put her hand on her arm. “Honey, I thought you two were dating.”

“We are, but—” Sam bit her lip. “I took him home with me this past weekend.”

A dawning light hit Miranda’s expression, then a commiserating look of sympathy. “He’s gone AWOL, hasn’t he?”

Sam hid her wince behind a quick sip of coffee.

“I’ve seen him a couple times this week, but he hasn’t mentioned anything,” Miranda told her. “He did seem distracted, come to think of it, but Sam—Wes can get really into the project of the moment. Maybe he’s got some new irons in the fire. Don’t worry yourself about it,” she advised.

Sam just nodded, feeling insecure and all the more foolish for it. This
so
wasn’t her—sitting around and worrying herself sick over a guy. “I guess you did warn me about him,” she admitted, looking across the campus lawns.

Miranda patted her arm. “How Wes feels about you seems altogether different from anything I’ve seen, Sam.”

“I never asked you if you were cool with it—us dating,” she clarified.

“Well, once I finished your voodoo doll, I got right over it,” Miranda replied with a little laugh.

Sam swatted her arm. “I’m serious, Miranda. I never wanted to hurt you. I know you two were more than friendly, but still—”