Curious, she loaded up the Gwyn Ponth website and scrolled through to the faculty page. “All right. Who are you?”
“I’m not sure who you’re actually looking for on there, but I’m Colin Tapping. A little farther down the page, though.”
Alarmed, Ginny spun in her chair. The man from last night stood in her office doorway, arms crossed. “Uh...hello?”
He glanced around the shoe box–sized office. “I’ve owned refrigerators larger than this.”
“I spend most of my time in the library or teaching, and they give the best offices to tenured professors.” She stood, matching his stance. “But I doubt you’re here to talk about office space.”
He extended his hand and she reluctantly accepted, feeling an unpleasant gnawing of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. He’d touched her scarred face when trying to wipe away a tear last night. In the process, he’d unknowingly brushed aside the hair she always wore down to cover up the disfigurement her cheek had suffered in a car crash twenty years ago. That crash had effectively ended what her mother had thought would be a lucrative and fame-driven modeling career for her daughter. Her mother had never hidden her desire to live vicariously through her daughter’s success, after her own career had tanked years prior. Her mother had never said it outright, but Ginny had always suspected she was the cause of her mother’s career tanking. After all, an unexpected pregnancy in an early marriage would certainly complicate a modeling career.
“I’m Colin Tapping. Teaching in the Criminology Department this semester.” His handshake was firm and strong. “Though not for the rest of the week. I assume the college insisted the same for you?”
“As you can see, it didn’t stick. I’m Ginny Anderson, specialist in ancient languages and history. I don’t recall seeing you at the faculty briefing before the semester began.”
He pulled his hand back from hers and leaned against the door frame. His eyes flicked to the side of her face and back, but not fast enough to escape her notice. She felt her cheeks grow warm and she touched her hair, making sure it covered the scar. After the car crash, Ginny’s mother had let her know, in no uncertain terms, that Ginny’s beauty—which her mother had bitterly pointed out at a family gathering was her daughter’s only true redeeming quality—had been unequivocally lost forever, and thusly she would never really amount to much.
Ginny didn’t talk to her mother much anymore, but she’d worked hard to make a career for herself teaching and studying ancient history and linguistics. She’d become a specialist in ancient languages, and this morning’s meeting with the local history museum’s curator would bring her one step closer to securing a future at the college. A tenure-track position was up for grabs this year, and if she proved herself valuable enough to the college’s reputation to earn it, she’d be placed on the list of teachers eligible for a permanent tenure position after a few years of hard work. While there were at least six part-time professors vying for tenure track within the department, rumor had it the department head was leaning toward securing someone with a wide range of specializations in both language and history. Ginny shared this qualification with one other professor in the department, though she hadn’t yet formally met her. She only knew it was a woman who’d been a late hire to the faculty after the abrupt departure of the school’s Italian history and language professor.
“I was a last-minute addition to the team.”
Ginny waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing. She leaned over her computer and began scrolling again through the list of faculty members at the college. If he wouldn’t explain, maybe his bio on the website would.
A chuckle escaped as he must have realized her intentions. “I’m former Secret Service. I don’t know what they’ve put in my blurb, but I hope it also mentions my degrees in criminal justice. I promise I’m qualified, if that’s your concern.”
Ginny felt herself staring. Had he just said Secret Service? “Oh. No, obviously that’s not my call to make. But sorry, what are you doing here? In my office?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay, after last night. An event like that can shake a person up. I should also apologize for startling you.”
A deep sigh welled up in Ginny’s chest. She released it slowly, uncertain how to respond to the man in front of her. He seemed kind enough, and it was a thoughtful gesture to check on her, but she couldn’t shake the memory of surprise in his eyes when he’d touched her ruined skin. It brought forth an ache she thought she’d buried long ago.
“I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Tapping, but I have to head out to a very important meeting now and don’t really have time to chat.”
He nodded and stepped aside as she rose and gathered her things. “Where to?”
Were all Secret Service men so nosy? She immediately scolded herself for the thought. He’d been thoughtful enough to ensure her well-being. She could at least engage in polite conversation. “The Rhoads Museum, just up the road. I’m meeting the curator about a recent request.”
“Oh? I haven’t been up there yet. Didn’t realize it was so close.” She glanced sideways at him and he shrugged. “I know, I should visit. Haven’t seen much of the town yet, to be quite honest. Maybe I’ll hit the museum tomorrow. It isn’t like I have any classes to teach this week.”
Had no one taken him on a tour of the area? She suddenly felt bad for trying to brush him off. She recalled feeling disconnected and a little lost during her first semester here, and she’d had several months to acclimatize back then. How callous would she be not to offer what help she could? “What are you up to this morning? I can’t promise a ride back, but I can give you a lift to the museum since I’m going already.”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it’s no trouble? I do have my own car.”
“None at all, especially if you’ve not visited it yet. It’s a small museum but very well curated. I can point out a few local landmarks between here and there, as well.”
“In that case, lead the way.”
He walked alongside her as she left the Daviau Center, the building that housed her department, and headed toward her car. Ginny noticed that he didn’t walk looking forward as most people tended to—the rest of the way to the car and even on the drive, his visual orientation shifted constantly. Overcome by curiosity, Ginny couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing? Can’t you sit still?”
Colin’s sharp laugh startled her. “Force of habit. Guess you can take the man out of the Secret Service, but not vice versa.”
“Why’d you leave?”
He grew silent and Ginny wondered if she’d pried too deep. When he spoke, his words were clipped. “Made a mistake, got dismissed. The inquiry is ongoing.”
Ginny mouthed a silent “oh.” What could she say to that? Her curious nature tugged on her to ask for more details, but his rigid posture suggested he wasn’t comfortable with the topic.
As they trotted up the gray, hewn stone steps of the museum, Ginny realized she’d joined Colin in scanning their surroundings. After giving her statement to the police last night, they’d told her to be on the lookout for anything unusual in the days ahead, suggesting that she use the campus Foot Patrol service in the evenings. The advice was practical, but useless. The attack had happened indoors in a building that
