that was a definite mark in his favor. He’d been pleasant enough, and friendly enough. Polite. Respectful.
And oh so unrevealing.
That part she didn’t like. Quickening her pace, she reached her building and trotted up the stairs. Her computer was still on, and she dropped her keys on the table as she hurried to it.
She wished she had all the resources she had once had as a reporter. But at least she had enough to begin her search into his background.
She started at the college’s website, knowing they had to say at least something about his qualifications.
Maxwell McKenny, adjunct instructor, criminology. B.S. University of Michigan, J.D. Stetson University College of Law. Eight years law enforcement experience.
Good heavens, he had a law degree? A beat cop with a law degree? What in the world was he doing here in the back of nowhere? With that Juris Doctor degree he shouldn’t have wound up teaching at a minuscule junior college in Wyoming.
And Stetson was in Florida, her old stomping grounds. He couldn’t have gotten that degree while working for any Michigan police department. Which must mean he’d gotten it before he went to work as a cop, or after he had quit.
And why, when she had told him she’d worked as a reporter in Florida, hadn’t he made the natural comment that he’d gone to law school there?
Because he had indeed been deflecting her.
Her nose twitched and her curiosity rose to new heights. Leaning forward again, she began a search of the American Bar Association. If he’d been admitted to the bar, he should be there somewhere.
“I’m going to find out who you are, Max,” she muttered as she began her searches.
Because something is smelling like three-day-old fish.
Max rode back to the La-Z-Rest motel on his Harley, a hog he enjoyed immensely as the weather allowed and had missed during his last assignment. Soon he was going to have to find some old beater to get him through the winter, but for now he was free to enjoy the sensation of huge power beneath him and little to slow him down on the road. Not that he sped. He did nothing to draw unnecessary attention.
Although he’d evidently gotten the attention of Liza Enders, former journalist. Just what he needed: a reporter interested in him. Being noticed was anathema, and something he was trying very hard to avoid right now.
Then that temptress with the cat-green eyes had come striding across the room, and he’d stood there like a starstruck kid when he should have ducked, watching her rounded hips move, noticing her nicely sized breasts, drinking in her shiny, long auburn hair.
Idiot. He should have moved away the instant he realized she had focused on him. But how was he supposed to have guessed she was a reporter? All he’d noticed was that the loveliest faculty member in the room was walking his way.
Thinking with his small head, he thought disgustedly as he roared into the parking slot in front of his room. Responding with his gonads. He never did that. Not anymore.
It was too dangerous.
Frustrated with himself, he turned off the ignition, dismounted and kicked the stand into place. He gave the hog a pat then headed into his room.
Once there, he flopped on his back on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. On the ceiling above him was a water spot that looked pretty much like the state of Texas.
He played over the conversation in his mind again, recalling everything he had told her. Not much. That and the brief CV the college printed wouldn’t really tell her a thing.
Well, except for that freaking law degree. She would probably find that odd for a beat cop, but he couldn’t be the only one who had a J.D. So what if the reporter dug a little more? What would she find?
Very little. He wasn’t even using his real name, not that that would make a difference. He’d gone so far to ground that even his real name wouldn’t yield anything except possibly a birth date.
He was a man who didn’t exist. And it had to stay that way for a while yet.
So why the hell had he allowed himself to be blinded by a pretty face and a luscious figure into holding still long enough to have a conversation? She’d been trying to get information about him. He was smart enough to know that. Many had tried over the years.
But maybe her curiosity was just passing. Maybe she’d let it go.
He’d have to keep an eye on her, that was for sure. If she started prying too much, he would have to hit the road. Not that he wanted to. He kind of liked the gig they’d set him up with here, in a place where you could spot a stranger from a hundred miles.
He kind of liked the thought of teaching. And even though he’d been here for only a short while, he kind of liked this town, too.
Finally he pulled his cell phone out of its holster and punched a number he tried not to call too often. One he definitely never put on speed dial and always erased from the phone’s memory of recent calls.
“Ames here,” said a familiar voice.
“Max.”
“Oh, man, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I just got the inquisition from a reporter. Are you sure my background holds up?”
“Considering how many databases we had to modify, yeah. It had better.”
“A J.D. looks pretty funny hanging off a beat cop.”
“Not if that cop wants to be a detective someday. Or run for prosecutor. Or teach at a college. Take your pick.”
Max sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Okay.”
“Why? Did she say she was going to check into you?”
“No, but her eyes did.”
Ames surprised him with a laugh. “She must be pretty.”
“You could say that. Why?”
“You noticed her eyes. Okay, we’ll keep tabs on it. What’s her name?”
“Liza Enders.”
“Got it. What paper is she with?”
“None. She teaches at the college, too.”
“All right. I’ll blow the whistle if anything looks suspicious. In the meantime, I think one of our nerds can make sure she runs around the maypole a few times if she tries to crack your background.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Need anything else?”
“No, that was it.”
He put the phone away and resumed his contemplation of the ceiling. It wasn’t long, though, before he was seeing Liza Enders rather than the Texas water spot.
She
