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“You bitch!” he wheezes, then lunges at me in a crouch. I take another step away, but my heel catches on uneven ground, and when I put my other foot back to regain my balance, I find nothing but air.
My stomach lurches as I lose my balance, arms flailing and a scream erupting from my throat. A second later, I plunge into the icy water of Dean Robertson’s koi pond with nothing but the darkening, sunset-streaked sky above me.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Gwen
The wave of panic that hits me has nothing to do with falling in the pond. I’m a fine swimmer, and it’s also only a few feet deep, so I don’t even get my hair wet. But my phone is in my pocket, and I hope to hell the water didn’t damage it.
When I emerge, I’m only vaguely aware of the alarmed partygoers emerging from the house. Then several figures dart into view from beyond the bushes surrounding the pond.
“Jesus! Gwen, are you okay?” Lance yells, then splashes into the water himself, reaching me in a second. I grab his arm for balance as he guides me back toward the path at the side of the pond closest to the house. More people rush past, some heading toward Dr. MacArthur, who’s curled into himself on the bench, muttering curses and crying assault.
“It was him,” I say, still too dazed from the adrenaline rush to express a coherent thought.
“I know. We figured it out. Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head, looking back over my shoulder as Lance escorts me toward the house and a bench just outside the French doors. “He tried, but I wouldn’t let him. He pushed me…” Lance urges me to sit, then crouches in front of me. “My phone. Oh god, please tell me it isn’t destroyed. I was recording him. I think I got him… He admitted to what he did to me.” I scrabble at the sodden folds of my skirt, trying to find the pocket that holds my phone.
Dean Robertson emerges from the house then, his eyes going wide when he sees me. “Dr. Brennan. What happened?”
Before I can answer, Lance rises and sticks his nose in the dean’s face. “I’ll tell you what happened. That asshole MacArthur assaulted her—again. He was the one who attacked her last fall. You need to call the police and have him arrested.”
“Phil?” Preston mutters, his mouth opening and closing in utter shock. “That’s… That’s not… You must be mistaken.” He shakes his head and looks at me again.
I manage to fish my phone from my pocket and hold it up. “I recorded him this time. He admitted it. I have proof.” At least I hope I do.
“Let me see,” Preston says. Before he can take my phone, Lance grabs it.
“No you don’t. We need to get this in a bag of rice fast. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll call the goddamn cops and fix this, otherwise you can expect a lawsuit.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Is this true?” says a firm, feminine voice. I look up to see the dean’s wife, Vivian, standing in the open doorway Lance just disappeared through. She’s a petite woman with gray-streaked black hair and flawless pale skin, who’s always given the impression of being old-fashioned. She holds a large bath towel while staring accusingly at her husband.
The dean lifts a shoulder and spreads his hands. “It’s true Gwen was attacked; you knew that already. But whether it was Phil… we can’t be sure.”
“I’m fuckingpositive,” I snap.
Vivian scowls at her husband and reaches me, draping the towel around my shoulders, then sitting beside me and rubbing my back through the soft terrycloth. I tug the sides around me, grateful for its size and thickness.
“If she says it was him, you should believe her, Preston.”
The girl I saw talking to MacArthur earlier edges toward us from inside the house. “I believe her,” she says, her voice shaky. “I believe her because he did it to me too.” She darts a look at me, her eyes dark with fear, but then she clenches her jaw and nods. “And I don’t think I’m the only other one.”
Dean Robertson heaves a sigh and lifts a hand to his face. “Christ, Phil,” he mutters. He turns when a commotion reaches us from the bushes. A group of surprised people emerge, led by Percy, who has one hand firmly clamped at the back of Philip MacArthur’s neck, pushing him forward while he holds one arm twisted behind his back.
The dean’s eyes go cold and he sets his jaw. “Put him in my office. I’ll call the authorities.” He disappears inside, and Percy shoves MacArthur forward down the path toward the house.
“She’s a lying whore!” MacArthur snaps.
Percy shoves him harder. “You need to keep your goddamn mouth shut. You’re lucky I didn’t wring your neck for what you did.”
Lance reappears with a rice-filled kitchen baggie, my phone submerged within the grains. He glares daggers at MacArthur as Percy pushes past. Then Lance comes to sit on my other side.
“We’ve got him,” he says. “Your phone doesn’t look like it’s too badly damaged and the recording saved, so this is just to be on the safe side. Ambrose and his partner are on their way over now.”
“What’s your name?” I ask the young woman still hovering nearby.
“Alexandra… Alex,” she says.
