Page 76 of Claiming Pretty

We couldn’t find anything definitive to pin on them, not yet, but one of them—maybe all of them—had their fingers deep in the Sochai.

I glanced between my boys, suddenly glad for their overprotectiveness. But the knot in my stomach tightened. I couldn’t bring them with me. Not to this.

I had to see the deanalone.

I was already on edge as I entered the dean’s office, the smell of polished wood and old leather hitting me first.

The dean stood from behind his large mahogany desk.

“Ah, Ms. McKinsey. Thank you for coming so promptly,” Dean McCarthy said, his smile warm and practiced as he gestured at the single chair facing his desk.

“Of course, Dean McCarthy.” My voice was steady, but my pulse spiked as I walked farther into the room but chose not to sit. “Is there… a problem?”

The dean walked around the desk toward me. “We were just hoping to ask you a few questions.”

My stomach tightened. “We?”

The door clicked shut behind me, the sound sharper than it should have been.

I forced myself not to react as Commissioner O’Neill casually leaned against the frame, his broad shoulders an impenetrable wall between me and the hallway.

It was a trap.

“You know Commissioner O’Neill, of course.” The dean’s tone was conversational, as though I’d bumped into him at a garden party.

“Hello, Chief.” I forced a polite smile, even as my mind raced.

O’Neill didn’t return the smile. His eyes felt invasive, like he was already peeling back my thoughts and inspecting them.

I held my ground, standing until the dean waved toward the chair, his hand brushing the porcelain teacup.

“Please, sit.”

I hesitated but moved to the chair and lowered myself into it slowly.

To my horror, the dean dragged a chair over and placed it right next to mine, while the commissioner walked to my other side and turned to face me head-on, leaning against the edge of the desk like a chair.

The dean poured tea, placing a single cup in front of me.

“You’re very kind, Dean,” I said, matching his polite tone, even as my pulse raced.

He set the teapot down, pouring none for himself. None for O’Neill. Just me.

The steam curled toward my face as I lifted the cup and subtly sniffed the tea. Was that a medicinal note? Bitter, faint but unmistakable?

I only pretended to sip, letting the warmth brush my lips before setting the cup down in the saucer on my lap. My hands stayed steady, but my stomach churned.

“Are you here to update me on Liath’s case?” I asked the commissioner, my tone light.

“Liath was deemed a runaway. Case closed, Ms. McKinsey. You know that.” He chuckled, the sound dripping with condescension. “Unless you have any more disappearing evidence for me, Nancy Drew? Any more fanciful theories to entertain us with?”

I stiffened but forced a smile. “Then why am I here? Surely, the police commissioner has more pressing matters than entertaining a journalism student’s ‘fanciful theories’ around a secret society conspiracy concerning her missing friend.”

That landed. Both men stiffened, though the dean recovered faster, smiling faintly.

“I asked you here in a friendly environment,” McCarthy said, his tone like a father lecturing a wayward child, “because the chief has some questions concerning Cormac Foley, your boyfriend—”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected sharply.

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