"I can't imagine how awful the experience must've been for you, Professor Keaton. You and Rachel both." She looked at him closely, searching for any cracks in his demeanor. "When you were trying to save her life, were you able to get a look at the attacker?"
"Yes," he replied, not so much as blinking. "I got a brief look, just before I was knocked unconscious."
Savannah's breath froze in her lungs. "Have you told anyone?"
"Of course. I told the police this morning, when they came to see me in the hospital as I was being discharged."
Savannah swallowed, not at all certain she wanted to hear her terror voiced by another person. "What did you tell them, Professor Keaton?"
"I told them what I saw. A vagrant who likely wandered in off the street, looking for something of value to pawn for his drug money. Rachel and I surprised him, and he attacked us like a wild animal."
Savannah listened, unable to speak for a moment. It didn't make sense. Not that what she saw in the glimpse from Rachel's bracelet made more sense, but she could tell Keaton was lying. "Are you sure about that? You're sure it was a vagrant, not...someone else?"
Keaton laughed then, a short bark of humor. He turned the radio off abruptly, his movements too quick. "Am I sure? I was the only one there to see what happened. Of course, I'm sure. What's this all about, Savannah? What's going on with you?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "I'm just trying to understand what happened."
"I told you." He leaned farther across the cockpit of the Firebird, reaching for the door handle on the passenger side. "Where are you heading, anyway?"
"English Department," she replied woodenly, an inexplicable sense of unease spreading through her. "I have to meet with my professor about taking some coursework home with me on my leave of absence."
"You're leaving school?" He sounded surprised, but his face remained oddly unchanged, blank and unreadable. "Is it because of what happened?"
"I just need to go." She backed away from the door, careful to keep her steps subtle and her voice light as she hurried to formulate a protective lie. "There are some problems at home right now, and my family needs me there."
"I see." Keaton nodded. "I'm sure you've heard that Rachel's funeral is in Brookline later this week. I know you're all alone in Boston, so if you'd like, I could take you--"
"No, thank you." She had heard about the service, of course, and had already given her condolences and regrets to Rachel's mother when the distraught woman called to let her know the date and time of the gathering. "I'm leaving tonight for Louisiana. I've already got my bus ticket reserved and waiting for me."
"So soon," he remarked. "Well, then, at least let me give you a ride over to the English Department now. We can talk some more about all of this on the way."
Savannah's unease around him deepened. There was no way in hell she was getting near him the way he was acting. "I'm late as it is. It'll be faster if I cut across campus on foot." She forced a casual smile. "But thanks for offering, Professor Keaton. I really gotta go now."
"Suit yourself," he said, then turned the radio on again. "See you around, Savannah."
She gave him a bright nod as she retreated backward to the safety of the sidewalk and the hundreds of students still milling around on their lunch break. Savannah watched as Keaton drove away.
When he was out of sight, his white car disappearing around a corner onto another part of campus, she let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Then she pivoted in the opposite direction and ran like the devil was on her heels.
Chapter 9
Savannah sat on the edge of her hardside suitcase at the South Station bus terminal, her right knee bouncing with nervous energy. Her bus was late. She'd gone to the station a couple hours ahead of time that evening, eager to be on her way back home. Desperate, even.
Her troubling encounter with Professor Keaton had her rattled enough on top of everything else, but it was her phone call to the library after she'd gotten home to her apartment that had really compounded Savannah's state of confusion and mounting unease.
Mrs. Kennefick hadn't been able to help Savannah locate Gideon. Oh, she recalled the big blond man in black leather who'd come around the other night inquiring after Savannah.
"Hard not to notice a man like him," she'd said, understatement of the year. "He's not exactly the library's typical clientele."
No, there was nothing typical about Gideon at all. Except the fact that he was male, and apparently adept at lying to a woman's face. Because when she'd asked Mrs. Kennefick if she'd told Gideon where Savannah lived, the older woman had balked at the very idea.
"No, of course not, dear. One can never be too careful these days, sad to say. But he did tell me he was a friend of yours. I hope I didn't overstep when I informed him you'd called in sick."
Savannah had reassured her kindly old supervisor that she'd done nothing wrong, but inwardly she was awash in doubt about everything. Now she had to put Gideon in that number too. If Mrs. Kennefick hadn't sent him to Savannah's apartment, how had he found her? And why did he let her think he'd come across her address through honest means?
Nothing was making sense to her anymore. She couldn't help feeling suspicious of everything and everyone, as if her entire world was veering off the path of reality.
She needed a good dose of home to set her right, put her life back together. Help her put everything in its proper place again. She was eager for Amelie's good cooking, and her warm, soft shoulder to lean on.