Page 40 of Sinister Games

Even from across the room, I could see the tense line of his shoulders inside his navy and hunter green chalk stripe suit. The stern set of his jaw and the furrowed brow were also a dead giveaway.

Keeping my eyes downcast, I tried to blend in with the other fleeing students.

“Not you, Elizabeth.” His tone was quiet and horrifyingly controlled.

My shoulders hunched up as I stopped in my tracks.

Handleson finally found his tongue. Throwing his chest out in a rather pathetic attempt to look intimidating, he sputtered, “See here. What right do you have barging in here and ordering my students about?” He looked like one of those little birds that tweak and flutter around a lion.

Trying to become as invisible as possible, I shrank down into one of the now vacant seats in the back.

Immediately homing in on my small movement, Richard’s gaze swung to mine. The hunter spotting its vulnerable prey.

My throat went dry as he slowly straightened and walked toward me. My head dropped low, hiding my face behind my hair. It was childish and immature but I couldn’t help it.

His polished leather loafers came into view as I stared at the linoleum floor.

Clutching my bag close to my middle, I waited for him to speak first. I had no idea what he was angry about, I just desperately hoped it wasn’t at me.

A single strong finger slipped beneath my chin and forced my head up. He was already significantly taller than me but looking up at him from my seated position was tantamount to staring at a massive granite statue from flat on the ground. Granite was a good term for the stony look on his face. It was as if he was keeping his face deceptively passive by force of will alone.

He pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over my right eye. Tucking it behind my ear, he said, “What made you think you could touch what was mine?”

My eyebrows shot up. What? I didn’t understand. It was then I realized he wasn’t talking to me.

“Answer me, Handleson.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Professor Handleson stammered, “There was no… it’s close quarters… it might have seemed to the untrained eye….”

Pulling my messenger bag from my clutches, Richard set it aside, out of my reach, and placed both hands on my shoulders, lifting me till I was standing before him like an errant child.

Gesturing with his head, he said, “Just outside that door is a man in my employ named Harris, I want you to go with him.”

“Go with him? I can’t. I have another class.”

“Elizabeth, that wasn’t a request.”

My mouth opened in shock at his stern tone.

My mistake was not moving to obey.

Slipping his hand around my neck, he pulled me in close. The edge of his emerald green silk pocket square flicked at my nose. I could smell his sandalwood aftershave and just a hint of tobacco. Not stale and acrid like cigarette smoke; richer and spicier, like a cigar. I could easily imagine him having spent his afternoon lunch in some swanky men’s club smoking while discussing world affairs with other billionaire tycoons.

Leaning in, he murmured into my ear, his breath warm with a hint of peppermint, “Don’t make me punish you here.”

My hands began to shake as the blood in my veins went cold. Punish me?

Not daring to ask him to return my messenger bag, I backed away, one step then two, afraid to take my eyes off him. It wasn’t until I reached the door that I turned and fumbled with the knob before escaping to the cool interior of the hall.

A man dressed all in black with a bowler hat covering a slightly pock-marked face with a visibly misshapen nose stepped forward.

“Ms. Larkin, if you would come with me.”

Seeing no choice in the matter, I silently nodded.

As I followed Harris down the fluorescent-lit hallway, there was the unmistakable sound of shattering glass from within my classroom.

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