"What would you make of this mess?" I addressed the question to Marissa.
There was no answer. There never was.
I closed the laptop. The research wouldn't change anything. My compulsion to understand wasn't logical. It was about maintaining a connection with Michael. It made no sense, but part of me believed if I kept on the trail of the mysterious assailant, I could somehow weave myself back into the story.
My phone buzzed with a text message. For one breathless second, I thought—
It was only my department chair.
Richard:Faculty meeting moved to 3.
Reality wouldn't go away. It was indifferent to marina fires and puzzling deaths.
Students expected lectures—papers needed grading.
***
My university office had always been my sanctuary. Shelves of leather-bound journals and dog-eared paperbacks created a fortress of academia around my desk.
The radiator beneath the window hissed softly, battling the persistent Seattle chill that seeped through the single-pane glass. Outside, gray clouds hung like a theater curtain, neither opening nor closing.
I spread my lecture notes across the desk, forcing myself to focus on the Ottoman Empire and not on burning yachts. The seniors needed their final papers returned by Friday. Three graduate students waited for feedback on thesis proposals. Emails from the department committee demanded attention.
I managed twenty minutes of productive work before my fingers betrayed me. A browser tab opened with news headlines. The top one hadn't changed.
Seattle SWAT Officer Returns Home After Deadly Confrontationin Tahiti
I closed the tab immediately. My phone rang—a colleague from the international studies department.
"Alex! Just the man I wanted. Heard you were in Tahiti when that defense contractor's son died. Any inside scoop? The rumors are wild."
I gripped the phone tightly. "Sorry, Gwen. I don't have anything to share."
"Come on, you must have seen something. My students are discussing it in global politics, and any firsthand context would be invaluable."
The academic disguise didn't fool me. She wanted gossip, not insight.
"I was there, yes, but anything I say could interfere with an ongoing investigation." It was an easy lie. There was no ongoing investigation, at least not publicly. According to the news reports, the Seattle PD placed Michael on administrative leave, but that was standard for any situation involving loss of life.
After Gwen hung up, I sat motionless, staring at the wall calendar. I'd scribbled in dates and deadlines for the rest of spring, but it now all appeared meaningless.
I grabbed a folder that sat at the edge of my desk. It was research notes on my military-industrial partnership lectures. I pulled it closer, flipping through printouts.
In one copy of a newspaper article, Lars Reeves appeared, accepting an award for technological innovation. His father stood beside him, hand resting possessively on his shoulder.
Before I could question my motives, I'd slid deep into the research rabbit hole. My fingers flew across the keyboard, and I pulled up records on Reeves-Halvorsen Technologies:
• Acquisitions of smaller biotech firms over the past decade
• Defense Department contracts worth billions
• Abandoned research projects with vague, unsettling descriptions
• Board member names, business partners, and subsidiaries
I thought about Michael and shook my head.You barely know him.
That wasn't entirely true. I knew the weight of Michael's body against mine and the sound of his breathing as he slept. Some forms of knowing were deeper than time could measure.
