Page 44 of The Queen's Knights

“We get free admission to a few events a semester. Swimming is one of our favorites. Less violent, you know.” He wrinkles his nose as if the idea of violence is distasteful.

“It is definitely not a contact sport,” I agree.

“So, I have a personal question,” he says, adjusting his glasses and leaning a little closer. “I hope this doesn’t seem inappropriate, but I wondered if you could settle a little disagreement between Garrett and myself: Are you naturally hairless, or do you shave for meets?”

Garrett groans. “Emil, seriously? You’ve hadone drink.”

Dr. Tong’s eyes widen at his husband. “What? It’s not lewd to ask.”

I can’t help but laugh. “It’s okay. I actually wax before every competition.”

“Everything?” Dr. Tong asks, his gaze sweeping over me. Man, this guy isnotsubtle when he’s buzzed.

“Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere,” Garrett says.

“Um… yes, actually. It reduces drag. Plus it’s a whole psychological prep thing,” I say, trying to suppress a laugh.

Dr. Tong tries to ask something else, but Garrett cuts him off. I’m too amused to be offended, but excuse myself when the pair start bickering.

I tap the button to stop recording on my way back through the party, looking for Percy. I find him chatting with his target, Professor Weltz, not far from where I left him. I scan the room, but there’s no sign of Gwen. She insisted on doing her part and chose Dr. MacArthur, since she’s better acquainted with him than the others.

Not trusting my people-reading skills at all after discovering Dr. Tong is gay, I stand unobtrusively off to the side by a bookshelf, pretending to peruse the selection while I eavesdrop on Percy’s conversation. Dr. Weltz teaches Sociological Theory and comes across as a typical academic, complete with the tweed blazer with elbow patches. He’s currently bending Percy’s ear about Sigmund Freud’s theories on sexuality. Percy looks interested, but when I catch his eye, he slow blinks, and I get the distinct sense he’s a hostage to the conversation. But nothing about his manner suggests he believes this guy is our man.

Dread settles in my belly, and I’m scanning the room for Gwen when Percy finally extracts himself from Weltz and joins me.

“What’s the verdict on Tong?”

“Gay and happily married.”

“You heard some of that lecture just now. Weltz is too detached about sex. He’s the kind of man who gets off on hearing himself talk. Where’s Gwen?”

“Not sure. But if Tong and Weltz are ruled out, we need to find MacArthur.”

Percy’s jaw spasms and his gaze sweeps the room. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her talk to him alone. Let’s split up. You look down here, I’ll head upstairs.”

ChapterTwenty-Five

Gwen

I’m buoyed by my conversation with the dean when I head off to find Dr. MacArthur. Dean Preston as good as promised me a better office, and he complimented me on the quality of feedback the department receives every year from the students who take my classes. I stop by the drinks table to pour myself a glass of wine, then wander through the house, positive I saw MacArthur somewhere near the library when I arrived.

Percy and Lance have already split up to go ply their targets with conversation. I try to ignore the little ball of anxiety that flares in my belly and remain detached. One of these men might be my attacker, but I have a hard time imagining any of them doing what was done to me. Is it possible some outsider gained access? Ambrose was cautious when I asked that question, suggesting that yes, it’s possible, but not likely; he believed we needed to rule out the people I know first.

The dean’s home is fashioned in a modest Arts and Crafts style in a nice neighborhood. I’ve been here once before, but it was during the winter when it was dark and icy outside and everything was closed up tight. It’s early May now and just past sunset, so the French doors at the rear of the house are open to a view of a garden, its stone paths winding through foliage exploding with spring flowers.

When I reach the doors to admire more of the garden, I see Dr. MacArthur in profile, standing at a corner of the path and speaking with someone out of view. I step out, marveling at the intricate landscaping details, and decide I need to ask Dean Preston who did the work out here. I have a small square of yard at the back of my brownstone that I’d love to make as magical as this.

I head toward him, pausing when I remember I need to record any conversation we have, no matter how benign. I’m thrilled my dress has pockets cleverly obscured by the drape of the skirt when I stash my phone in one.

The person he’s talking to appears to be a young woman, a student I recognize from one of my classes, who looks distinctly relieved when I come into view.

“Hello, Ms. Brennan,” he says, and I have to school my features to obscure my annoyance over the fact that he always fucks up my title.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” I reply. “Such a lovely spring evening.”

He nods, cutting his eyes to the student, then back to me, giving me the sense that I’m interrupting something.

“Yes, it is, and what better place to enjoy it than Preston’s garden? I was just about to show Bethany the most alluring part. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

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