shook her head. “My mother was quite traumatized by my father’s desertion. It made her so sad to talk about it that I stopped asking. I really have no idea where this story came from. Believe me, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this college.”
“Regardless, until it dies down, for the safety of the students, you need to go home and stay there.”
Kat’s heart sank to her toes. She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice as she asked, “Are you suspending me?”
“Not yet. But I’m not allowing you on campus. I’ll have your colleagues cover your exams and deliver them to your house for grading.”
Not again. Kat swallowed, trying to dislodge the big lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. It sounded like a reasonable course of action; they were a small school, and security consisted of old-man Pete and his sidekick. They couldn’t deal with the likes of CNN. But she knew this was the step before suspension. They’d let her grade the last papers and then fire her. If a big university took issue with a page-three newspaper article, a small-town college wouldn’t put up with national headline news.
And today of all days. “Dean, I hope this won’t affect the APT Committee’s discussion.” The Appointments, Promotions and Tenure Committee was scheduled to meet today to go over Kat’s record and determine whether she qualified to become a tenure-track professor.
“That remains to be seen.”
He stood, and Kat followed suit. “I recommend you not talk to the media unless you can conclusively refute what they’re saying and take the attention off yourself...and this school.”
She nodded dumbly. He left, and she collapsed in her chair. For two years, she’d been working toward the promotion by taking on classes that no other faculty member wanted, mentoring extra students on their dissertations and writing as many papers as she could. She had even learned how to blog, working herself to the bone to make tenure. Now this! Her luck couldn’t be this bad, could it? What if the story was true? Emilia had been moodier than usual for the past several months. Kat had chalked it up to a medication adjustment, but what if...
She stood and made her way to the back entrance of the building, the one the students used to cut through the large quad area between classes. Opening the door just a crack, she peeked out. There was a man in a business suit with his back turned to her and a phone pressed to his ear. He wasn’t dressed for a college campus, but he didn’t have a microphone or camera, so she stepped out and walked over the grass to the faculty parking lot.
As she hurried past, she sensed him move. “Miss Driscoll?”
Ignoring him, she kept walking as fast as her legs would go. His footsteps fell heavily on the concrete path behind her, so she broke into a flat-out run. The parking lot wasn’t that far; she could make it. Keys were clipped to the side of her purse, and there was a can of Mace attached to them. Always keep keys and pepper spray within easy reach. Her fingers closed on the metal and she automatically unlocked her car, comforted by the beep. Her pulse raced, and her finger was on the alarm button. Thankfully there was no one next to the car. So close, only a few more steps. The car was within touching distance when she felt someone grip her elbow. She froze for a millisecond, but then her self-defense training kicked in. She screamed and whirled, instinctively pushing out with her hand. Go for the nose, eyes or throat.
The man in the business suit deftly stepped back before she could connect with his Adam’s apple. He held out his hands. “Miss Driscoll, I’m Alex Santiago. I work for Senator Roberts.”
Her chest heaved, trying to squeeze air into her lungs. He wasn’t even out of breath.
Kat put a hand on the car and willed her heart to calm down. She studied him while she struggled to gain control of her breathing. Hair dark as night, styled and tamed. Taller than her five-foot-four frame. Lean, but he looked like he had muscle underneath his well-tailored suit. Big, dark eyes, skin the color of sand. A firm jaw, high cheekbones, the hint of a five o’clock shadow. He didn’t look like the typical congressional staffer, but he dressed like one. Dark gray pin-striped suit, light blue French-cuffed shirt, red tie, an American flag pinned to the lapel. He was senior staff. If he was legit.
“It’s Dr. Driscoll.” Kat crossed her arms. He stepped back, his lips twitching into something that looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a smirk.
“Dr. Driscoll, I’m sorry to scare you, but I need to talk to you. Urgently.”
He pronounced each word carefully, in the precise manner of someone who had had language training.
“And why should I talk to you?”
He put his hand in his breast pocket and removed a plastic-encased identification card. It was a federal ID that listed his name as Alejandro Santiago.
“We’re on the same side here.”
Really? I don’t even know what side I’m on. Definitely a Washingtonian. “How did you get here so fast from DC?” The capital was a three-hour drive away.
“CNN gave us a heads-up they were running the story.”
“Then why didn’t you give me a heads-up?”
“We didn’t know if you needed one. But we did try to reach you. No one answered your office phone, and we couldn’t find your cell number on such short notice. We even tried you at your home, but it just rang.”
Kat bit her lip. She vaguely remembered the phone ringing when she was trying to calm her mother. Usually only telemarketers called that number, so she’d ignored it.
“So what’s going on?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out. The story caught us by surprise.” He raised his brows. “I’m hoping you can shed some light on what they’re saying.”
“Me? What does Senator Roberts have to say about it?” she countered.
“He’s in the air, on an overseas flight. He won’t be landing for another few hours.”
“You don’t have a way to reach him?”
“We have to wait until he lands.” His gaze shifted a bit and she narrowed her eyes at him. He seemed sincere enough, but no way was she trusting him.
“I’m on my way home to talk to my mother. Give me your card and I’ll call you when I have some information.”
“So you didn’t leak this story?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you give this story to the media?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Do I look like some crazy woman, desperate for fifteen minutes of fame?” His eyes roamed her body and she reddened. “This story is ruining my life. I want it retracted, and as quickly as possible.”
“Then you and I have the same goal. I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not wise, Mr. Santiago.”
“Alex. And I don’t think you have a choice.”
He pointed behind her. She turned to see no fewer than ten people rushing toward her
