became a roar in his head, gradually banishing every bloody image of his mission.
Our Lady of Fatima University, Sacramento, California
Chapter Two
Teddy Burrows was an irresistible ass.
If Olivia had been a fraction more pugnacious or a smidgen less charmed by him, she'd have passed him off to another professor. This time she gave him a verbal set down.
'I'm sorry you don't agree with the morals clause,' she said with a specious smile, 'but this is a private Catholic university. We all have to sign the paper. Even me.'
'I just don't get it,' Ted argued. 'It's not like I'm aiming for the priesthood.'
The remark brought a ripple of laughter from the other doctoral candidates enrolled in Olivia's seminar. She suppressed a sigh and decided to pick her battles. Ted was famous for walking to a different drummer.
'Anyone can opt not to sign the proper paperwork, of course,' she reminded them, looking around the room. 'It's up to each individual candidate to decide if he or she wants to pursue an advanced degree here at Fatima.'
She checked the clock on the wall at the back of the classroom and decided to let them go early. 'Your advisors will be listed on the department bulletin board by noon tomorrow.' She smiled broadly. 'Good luck.'
Watching them shuffle out the door, all seven masters and doctoral candidates in the Department of Ancient Studies, she stuffed her papers into her worn briefcase. Had she ever been that young and innocent? She thought briefly of the miserable little house on Main Street and her mother's drinking bouts.
Ted Burrows waited for her outside the classroom door.
'What question can I answer for you, Mr. Burrows?' She walked briskly down the hall toward her office as Ted scurried after her.
Burrows quirked his lips in a lopsided smile. 'I was wondering, hoping actually, if you could assign Dr. Randolph as my mentor.'
She hesitated. She'd planned to assign Christopher Waverly as Ted's mentor. The young professor seemed a better fit for Ted than the stuffy Howard Randolph, whom she shared an office with.
'Please?' Ted had a puppy dog look on his face.
Maybe Randolph could knock some cockiness out of Ted, she mused. 'I'll think about it.' She slipped into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.
Olivia ignored the stack of papers on her desk and stared out her office window to the university's grassy quad. Matching candidates for advanced degrees with the most suitable mentor was no easy task. She wanted to do a good job, prove herself to the Chancellor.
A soft knock sounded on the door and a curly-haired girl pushed her way in. With skin like creamed coffee and a smile too sweet for a person going into law enforcement, Keisha Johnson was a favorite advisee. She was also a freshman in one of her advanced history classes.
'Dr. Gant?' said Keisha. 'Are you busy?'
'Not with anything very interesting. Come on in.' Olivia gestured toward the plastic chair angled across from her desk.
The girl lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder. 'I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Gant.' She eased her backpack to the floor before perching on the edge of the chair, looking poised for flight.
'No bother. What can I help you with?'
Keisha remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip with small white teeth.
'Do you need a program change?' Olivia knew being a freshman in an upper division course could be problematic.
Keisha gave a small shake of her head and remained as mute as the statue of Nefertiti resting on the shelf behind the desk. Her bronze features reminded Olivia of the ancient Egyptian queen. Olivia frowned. The girl had visited several times and was usually a chatterbox.
'There's this guy,' Keisha whispered after several long moments. 'Well, a man really.'
Boy troubles, then, Olivia thought, holding back a smile. 'Is he a student here?'
'Sort of.'
Olivia smiled gently. 'How can one be 'sort of' a student?'
'He works here. On campus, I mean.' The girl tugged at a long ebony strand of hair as if she'd straighten the natural curl out like a ruler. 'I don't want to say more about that.'
'We're involved. Sort of.'
There was that phrase again. How was a couple 'sort of' involved? Olivia nodded encouragingly although she wasn't sure she was qualified to give relationship advice. Her own record with men was disastrous.
'He wants me to… to do things,' Keisha said.
An alarm clanged in Olivia's brain. This was something she understood all too well.
A surge of protectiveness washed over her. 'Look at me, Keisha,' she ground out, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. 'You don't have to do anything you don't want to.' When the girl refused to look at her, Olivia punched each phrase, 'Nothing – you don't – want – to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?'
Tears spilled down the girl's cheeks, powdery streams against her smooth skin. 'Yes,' she whispered. 'You're right.' She smiled, and her face became a rainbow bursting through the wet splatters.
Olivia reached for her referral pad. 'I'll give you a pass to the clinic,' she said. 'You can talk to someone trained in this kind of situation.' She wasn't sure what the situation was, but she knew in her gut it was trouble.
Keisha shook her head, picked up her backpack, and hoisted it onto her shoulders. 'Thanks, Dr. Gant. You've helped me a lot.'
'Keisha, wait,' Olivia said, rising from her chair. 'Please, you really should – '
'No,' Keisha said firmly, 'I know what to do now.'
With a swish of her skirt and the scrape of a chair leg, the girl was gone before Olivia could say another word. Keisha had vanished by the time Olivia reached the hall. Troubled, she resolved to call Keisha out of class first thing in the morning.
Tomorrow, she thought. Surely one more day wouldn't matter.
Chapter Three
The dirty Dodge truck made its way down the winding road off Interstate 80 near the Utah-Nevada border. A quarter mile ahead squatted a single guard house where a barrier gate blocked the entrance and a solitary soldier manned the tiny wooden enclosure.
Mammoth Proving Grounds, once used to test military weapons, now consisted of little more than a few Quonset huts and a rudimentary landing field. The facility wasn't guarded securely, the truck driver thought, half expecting to drop coins in a metal repository and sail on through like in a toll booth lane. The guard stepped from the booth, his M-16 held diagonally across his chest, a serious expression on his smooth face. He looked like he was still in high school.
The driver rolled down his window, his face grimy from the dust kicked up on the drive from the highway. The
