I have my suspicions, but there's no way I'm drawing attention to the fact. "Not specifically, no."
He nods. "Detective Freeman show him the pictures."
The young detective sets a folder I hadn't realized he was holding on the table. When he opens it, a school picture of Catarina Mills is the first photo I see. Even though it's in black and white, her fair hair and bright smile do not get lost in the colorless image. On the honor roll and class president, she's an outgoing and well-liked senior. She's also one of my students.
He slides the image across the table. "Do you recognize her?"
"Yes. That's Catarina Mills. Her friends call her Rina." I affirm.
"Can you tell us how you know Miss Mills?" The aged Detective questions.
I shift in my seat, unsure of where this line of questioning is going because it's not what I thought. "She's taking my English literature class. Why?"
Silence thickens the air, and a look passes between the two men before Detective Winslow says. "Show him."
My breath catches at the next image slid across the table. It's of a young woman lying in a field. Her school-issued blouse is disheveled and gapes open, exposing her bra, while her skirt lies across her stomach, and her panties are missing. Purple hues paint her skin at the wrists and ankles, inferring she'd been restrained at some point. A look at her face suggests the lifeless body is Catarina.
Bile rises to my throat, and I turn away. This situation is a lot more serious than I thought.
Chapter Two
Francis Harlyn Aldridge
One week ago…
"So…Did you try it?"
Taking a quick look around, I make sure no one is listening before leaning in toward Quinn's desk. "Dude, he didn't even get the head in before I was begging for him to stop. There is no fucking way people enjoy that."
She laughs, but not a quiet don't draw attention to yourself laugh, it's a howl capable of calling a pack of wolves and everyone in class turns. With their collective eyes on us, heat tints my cheeks, and I want to crawl under the desk, but I don't. If I show any trace of weakness, my popularity will fizzle straight into the hands of Katherine Mills, and that's not something I'm prepared to give up, especially not to her. No, I hold my ground and laugh right along with Quinn, even if my cackle is as fake as the tits my mom had installed last year.
Once we've quieted, and the class has lost interest, she continues. "Just keep trying, you may not think so now, but eventually you'll be begging for it."
"I highly doubt it. This weekend was a mistake. I can't keep going back; otherwise, he's going to get the wrong idea."
Fanning out her fingers, she checks the perfectly polished nails before her tired eyes meet mine. "You should keep hold of that leash as long as you can, there's nothing wrong with using someone for a good fuck now and again, at least until something better comes along."
"Ladies, I hope I'm not interrupting." Mr. Harrington asks, addressing us both, but pinning his hard stare on me.
Those hazel eyes combined with the deep timber in his voice sends chills over my skin, making it impossible to think I didn't notice him approach—something which is so unlike every other girl and me in this class. We can't call it a day in English Lit without scoping out the door every afternoon waiting for the hottest teacher in school to step through.
Today he's in fitted chinos and a white dress shirt. Some may think it's dull, but he once told us he dresses in the school uniform to fit in. Puts him at our level, but I say far from it. With the five o'clock shadow on his strong jawline and thick wavy hair I'd love to run my hands through, there is no hiding that kind of sexy. And don't even get me started on his glasses.
The thought of him hearing our conversation…well, let's just say, if my cheeks were heated before they're on fire now. I bite my lower lip and lower my eyes. "No, sir."
Quinn, not one to shy away from confrontation, is unapologetic for the disturbance; instead, she shows a little more leg and flutters her lashes. "Winston, you look especially nice today. Is that a new tie?"
"Thank you, Miss Raynor, no, it's not. And once again, call me Mr. Harrington." He corrects, tapping his fingers on her desk before turning to the rest of the students. "Class, I'd like you all to take your seats and open your books to Act IV. For scenes I, II, and III, once you've read through, close your books, and we'll talk through what you think Shakespeare is leading up to at this point in the play."
There's a shuffle of book bags and the grind of chairs across the wooden floor as everyone settles in. I do the same, reaching down for my own, fumbling through until I find my copy of Hamlet. When I rise back up, I'm shocked to find him leaning over me. He's so close the heat off his forearm warms my back, and I see his knuckles whiten as his fingers press against my desk.
I clear the knot in my throat and chance a glance at him but instantly wish I hadn't. The look of disappointment in his beautiful features makes my stomach sink.
"Stop by my desk after class today Harlyn." He tells me and, without further explanation, heads to the front of the room.
There's no asking if I'm available or to set some aside some time later in the week, it's more an order that should annoy me but has the opposite effect. The thought of being alone with Mr. Harrington sends a wave of need straight down to my core.
"Hmmm, is he extra fucking hot today, or is it just me?" Quinn sighs, fanning herself and pulling me from my teacher's dream.
The question is
