Page 77 of Claiming Pretty

“Right,” the dean said smoothly. “Ex-boyfriend, who disappeared last term.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Surely another runaway. Like Liath. Case closed, Commissioner.”

O’Neill’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained clipped. “Unlike Liath’s case, Cormac’s disappearance showed no signs of premeditated departure. He vanished into thin air. Coincidentally, after telling his father he was going to see… you.”

My heart skipped. This had to be a ploy. I couldn’t fall for it.

I kept my expression calm, even as my pulse raced. “He said that, did he? What day did he disappear again?”

“Are you saying Cormac didn’t make it to your house at the end of last term?” Dean McCarthy’s tone was almost idle, but his gaze was keen.

“That’s what I’m saying,” I replied evenly.

O’Neill leaned forward slightly, his weight shifting like a predator circling. “We know he was in your area, Ms. McKinsey. His phone pinged off a cell tower near your house.”

“His phone pinged near my house?” I repeated with a hint of amusement in my tone. “Well, he wasn’t the only one in my area, was he? Hundreds of people live nearby. Maybe he was visiting someone else. Or just passing through?”

“Not all of those people had an ‘intimate’ relationship with him,” O’Neill said, his words cutting.

My fingers tightened around the teacup. But I forced myface into a serene mask. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I didn’t see him.”

McCarthy leaned forward, his smile disarmingly soft. “It’s better to clear these things up early, Ms. McKinsey. Avoid misunderstandings.”

“Were you angry after he broke up with you?” O’Neill pressed, his voice growing harder. “Wanted revenge? Pay back?”

“Ibroke up with him,” I snapped, the words sharper than I intended.

O’Neill smiled faintly. “That’s not what he told his father.”

I set the teacup and saucer on the table deliberately, letting the silence stretch before speaking. “College boys aren’t exactly known for being forthcoming with their parents. Especially boys with fragile egos and reputations to protect.”

McCarthy’s smile tightened. “You haven’t touched your tea, Ms. McKinsey. It’s Earl Grey. Your favorite.”

My stomach twisted. I don’t remember mentioning my tea preferences to anyone here. Was it a harmless coincidence—or proof that they’d been watching me? That they knew more about me than they let on?

“Where did you hear that?” I asked, my tone matching his fake politeness.

The dean waved a hand dismissively. “Goodness, I can’t remember where I heard that little tidbit.”

I smiled thinly. “It’s lovely, but the taste is… strange. Perhaps the leaves have been left out too long. I notice neither of you are drinking the… tea.”

The dean’s smile faltered. O’Neill’s stare intensified. Iknew that neither of them missed the hidden meaning in my response.

“So, am I right to believe,” O’Neill pressed, “that you didn’t see Cormac at all at the end of last term. Didn’t… talk to him? Go anywhere with him, say, in his car?”

“I didn’t,” I said calmly. “I was probably already gone. On my sailing trip.”

“Ah, yes,” the dean said, his tone almost too casual. “Your summer trip around… Greece, was it? Croatia?”

The words were laced with the kind of false nonchalance that felt like a knife sliding between ribs. Another ploy to unnerve me, to remind me that they knew too much—more than they should.

I returned his smile. “I see you’ve been chatting with Ebony.”

“She’s very proud of you, my dear. She talks about you any chance she gets.”

There it was—a flicker of something dark in his eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.

My heart thundered in my chest. Was he threatening Ebony?

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