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He whistled in amazement, long arms stretching to cradle his head in his hands. “Partners in crime,” he echoed.
“That is still a poor choice of words,” I observed, trying to ignore his flexed triceps. “And completely inaccurate. We are not partners. We do not create crime.”
“Just run with the idiom,” he begged. “The point is that we are partners, and it’s a crime that you still wear those black athletic leggings. If you’re going to sneak around the campus, Detective, find something that works for your ass. Not against it. You can do better.”
Sometimes, anger gave me the power to shred a person with words alone. Other times, it left me so stunned that I could only bark out words that were only sometimes coherent. Sometimes. “Fuck you. Stop stalking. My ass. My leggings. Mine. Now. Leave!” I huffed.
He gave me that puppy-dog look again and held up a brown bag I hadn’t seen before. “But I brought you sandwiches. And fresh coffee.”
“I don’t need your carbohydrates.” My traitorous stomach growled, perfectly audible in the small room.
His devious smile told me he already knew he’d won. “They’re still warm,” he coaxed.
You can survive on the three drips of coffee from earlier. You’ve done it before—
The scent of sausage and cheese hit me, and I caved. The chair creaked as I sat, fully cooperative. “You play dirty, Professor.”
He handed me the bag and pulled up his own, satisfied as a cat watching a trapped mouse. “There’s no other way. Eat up, Detective. I know you’re not shy.”
* * *
All through the day, my intuition slowly began to wake up. Not on my command, though. Oh, no, no. That would have been too convenient. Too logical. Instead, she slugged her way out of her cave and started tugging on whatever energetic leash connected us.
Tugging. Tugging. And yes, more tugging. Not in any particular direction, though. Oh, no. That would have been too consistent. Too useful. Instead, she’d tug me to the window and leave me there with investigative blue balls. Then, she’d guide me down the hallway only to abandon me the moment I reached the elevator.
Irritation fell short of describing the depth of my turmoil. I had one consistent and safe power. Tracking. And yet, I chose the one fucking job that tracking couldn’t help with. Forced to rely on the prissy little intuition inside of me, I decided to take a stand.
She wasn’t going to push me around anymore. Maybe she was acting out after being ignored for most of my young immortal life, but out of the two of us, I felt like she should be the mature one, right?
So, I ignored her. I didn’t follow her lead for three full hours, instead keeping my head down and doing my very important filing work. My hands weren’t going to papercut themselves, after all.
As the sun began to set, her pull became less erratic. Normal, actually. It’s a good sign, especially since I’d be sneaking around again tonight.
I closed the blinds for the evening. Just as they shut, my intuition yanked me toward the door so hard that I actually stumbled. “The fuck?” I asked. “Mind your manners.”
She replied with another frustrated pull.
Sighing, I said, “Fine. As long as you’re ready to work, bitch. Show me what you got.” I followed her down the elevator and out the door. The darkening quad and hustling students gave me decent cover as I entered the light magic building.
For some reason, I’d expected to go up the stairs, or even out the back exit to some other hidden room.
Not to Clave’s office.
His name gleamed on the silver plaque. Magic pulsing and urging me to turn the shiny handle, I considered the gravity of this discovery.
Clave’s office. My magic wanted me inside Clave’s office.
Chapter Eighteen
It’s official. The professor was shady and involved in these attacks somehow. Whether he committed the crimes or had information, I’d have to find out.
Shoes hitting concrete in an echoing stairwell overlapped with laughter and loud voices. Sweat prickled across my palm as I fought the urge to touch the cool metal handle. But searching his office in broad daylight was too risky with this many eyes on campus, wasn’t it?
The voices grew louder. Soon, I’d be found stuck in front of this door, probably looking too stunned for anyone not to notice.
Do something, Gray. Anything.
“Dude, did you see Cara’s presentation?” a man jeered. “She was too hungover to even stand straight. Her mom’s probably gonna need to pay the professor off again—”
