With a deep, fortifying breath, Bridget stepped out of the rental and, for the first time in almost two decades, she gazed upon her alma mater.
Corinthian University was everything Pinewood was not. Where Pinewood was stately and traditional, Corinthian had grown up within the urban sprawl of Chicago. The buildings were glass and steel and the only greenery was the carefully cultivated park area near the campus’ administrative building. The dorms were really a ring of converted apartment buildings that lined the outer edges of the small campus. The only real similarity between the two was the students. Grouped in clusters, they had laptops and iPads and were the picture of youth and potential.
That outer ring of dorms was where Bridget stood facing not just her former school, but the ghost of her past.
She adjusted her grip on her keys, being certain to unlock the pepper spray that now hung from the ring. Seeking closure didn’t mean being reckless and she had no idea what she was walking into.
It didn’t take long for Bridget to come to Pritchard Hall. Over the years, the building had been upgraded and the exterior had been whitewashed. The cosmetic enhancements did nothing to erase the crime scene aura radiating from it.
For her, it was tainted, and no coat of paint would change that.
Once inside, she was startled to see the number of young women occupying the lobby. From the heavily decorated doors lining the walls, it was clear to see that Pratt Hall had been integrated. Some of Bridget’s tension released at the realisation she wasn’t facing a legion of hormone-ridden college boys in her quest to reclaim her past.
She stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The elevator beeped as it passed each floor; by the fifth, all of Bridget’s nerves had returned. Her palm ached from clutching the pepper spray. Some part of her expected to run into Trent. To be forced to relive the single worst event of her life.
The elevator doors opened. Instead of Trent’s gorgeous, lying face, she saw a petite, female student bedecked in all her rebellious glory. Bright purple hair hung past her shoulders and various studs and barbells poked out of her face. Nevertheless, the girl gave Bridget a friendly smile and stepped past her to enter the elevator.
Heart racing, Bridget moved down the hall. With each decorated door, her sense of deja vu dissipated. She found the one she was looking for. Rather than the plain, wooden door it had been, it now sported a jaunty message board with various notes for Courtney and Trish. The muted strains of pop music floated from behind it.
With a trembling hand, Bridget knocked on the door and willed herself to relax.
‘Just a sec!’ a soft voice called out moments before the door flew open.
Bridget bit back a lecture on always checking before opening a door.
‘Can I help you?’ Her high-pitched, babyish voice in no way matched the tall, lean young woman in front of her. Briefly, Bridget wondered if this were Courtney or Trish.
‘I hope so.’ She forced a smile. ‘This is probably a very odd request, but I was hoping you’d let me come in briefly just to see your room.’
The woman scowled and seemed ready to shut the door in her face. Bridget stepped into the doorway to prevent that just in case.
‘Please,’ she implored, ‘I realise this sounds crazy, but I used to be a student at Corinthian and something happened to me here in this room. Something I’ve come to put to rest.’ She met the woman’s eyes. ‘If you’ll let me, that is.’
The young woman peered at Bridget for several moments, clearly weighing her words.
Finally, much to Bridget’s relief, she stepped aside and let her enter the room. Again, Bridget had a split second of disorientation as she expected to see Trent’s bed and clothes strewn around. Instead, there were two neatly made loft beds with brightly coloured bedding lining the walls. The space under them was being used as workspaces and simple desks were adorned with laptops and all the other accoutrements students these days seemed unable to live without. Artistic posters covered the painted cinderblock walls and a grass-green, shag rug dominated the floor.
Every trace of what had been was gone.
Bridget turned a full circle, allowing the present to overtake the past. With each passing moment, the edges of those memories softened. They would never fully leave her, but perhaps now they could fade.
‘What happened?’ the girl was leaning against the doorframe, watching Bridget with open curiosity.
She debated telling her, but didn’t think it was fair to saddle her with the knowledge when she still had to live here.
‘Someone I trusted hurt me.’ It was the essence of the story. It would suffice.
The girl didn’t say anything, but there was a knowing look in her eyes.
With a final look around, Bridget felt herself relax for the first time since she’d gotten on the plane to come here. Life had moved on and now so could she.
She smiled and thanked the girl, never once looking back as she left the building.
It was time to go home. She had a dean to take down.
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘One more time,’ Bridget said as she vainly tried to unlock her fingers from around the steering wheel.
If they screwed this up, both she and Skyler would be ruined.
‘Professor, I know what I have to do.’ Skyler’s words were clipped and her jaw tight. Her own hands were clenched into fists in her lap.
Bridget’s heart squeezed for her student. Skyler was about to let herself be publicly shamed in order to ensure Whittier was exposed once and for all. Bridget just hoped nothing went wrong. She might have leverage over Whittier, but her instincts said it would be foolish to trust him. She was risking her career, but she’d recover. The one who had the most on the table here was Skyler. They couldn’t screw this up.
She let off the brake and inched forward in the line of cars for valet parking. The year-end mixer was always well attended. It was the time where everyone got to meet the up-and-coming talent at the university. It was also the worst kept secret around that more than one star student had been poached from under someone as a result of this party. Nevertheless, no one missed the opportunity to show off the tangible proof of their teaching skills.
During his tenure, Whittier had always chosen to host the mixer at his home. She always suspected it was to show off his wealth.
The two-storey Colonial in River Rock’s historic district was massive. For this particular event, Dean Whittier always opened the music room and ensured some celebrity or another was there to play. Last year it had been Yo Yo Ma, the famous cellist. Bridget couldn’t remember who was supposed to be playing this year. Her mind had been too preoccupied with planning Whittier’s exposure.
‘Skyler,’ she said, doing her best to rein in her fear. She needed to stay strong for them both. ‘Humour me, OK? Let’s go through it again.’
Skyler bit her lip and choked off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, taking a deep breath, she recounted all the steps she needed to take to ensure they exposed Whittier. When she finished, Bridget reciprocated, adding a silent prayer they’d succeed.
If her knees shook any harder she was going to fall. Professor Ross seemed so calm and collected and she was a mess. The dress she was wearing felt too tight and she felt on display. As if everyone in the room could tell exactly what was going on.
It didn’t help that being in this house brought back all too many memories of her shame and humiliation at Whittier’s hands. She snorted as she remembered the first time Dale had brought her here. She’d been so overwhelmed by the sheer wealth he surrounded himself with.
Funny, how it could be exactly the same and yet appear so different now. The foyer they stood in was the first clue that she hadn’t been in Kansas any more. Marble floors and a huge glass table topped with flowers she
