She comes apart, squeezing me so tight I have no choice but to follow her right over the edge. I collapse on top of her, panting, sweating, and already thinking about round two when she starts to giggle beneath me.

“We broke the bed,” she says and pushes her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck.

I grin and press my lips to her cheek. “We did.”

She starts to laugh in earnest now. “We seriously broke the bed.”

I push away from her and brush a piece of hair off her cheek. “Looks like it.”

“Right on.” She holds her fist up and I bump it with mine. “Good job.”

I smirk and roll us onto the floor, dragging the blankets with us. “Let’s try for amazing job.”

Chapter One

~Lila~

“Do you have a minute, Lila?”

I glance up from the essay on Harriet Tubman that has me riveted. The student who wrote this paper did her research and clearly loves the topic. Standing in the doorway of my office is the dean of my department at Tulane University, Rick Wilson.

“Of course.” I smile politely and gesture to the chair across from me. “Have a seat.”

Rick, who is usually a happy, cheerful man, is sober today as he lowers into the chair. He leans forward and takes a deep breath, and I’m afraid I already know what he’s going to say.

Don’t say it.

“I don’t think there’s an easy way to tell you this, Lila.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. “Who is it?”

He sighs, and I open my eyes to find him rubbing his mouth with his fingers in agitation. “Leslie Fisher.”

My heart sinks as I think of the sweet, blonde girl in my Women’s History class. “What happened to her?”

“The same as the other two.” He sighs again and stares at me with sad eyes. “She was raped and beaten, left for dead.”

My head whips up. “She’s not dead?”

“She wasn’t when they found her. She was taken to the hospital, but I don’t have an update.”

He didn’t kill her!

“Maybe she’ll be able to tell the police who did this.” Tears fill my eyes at the horror that my student must have gone through. “Three in one month, Rick.”

“I want to know what in the hell is happening on my campus,” he mutters in frustration.

“That’s what we would like to know as well.”

Our heads whip up at the sound of a woman’s voice in my doorway. She’s petite, with her blonde hair in a ponytail, dressed in jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. Her eyes are hard, mouth grim.

And standing right behind her is…Asher.

“Can I help you?”

How are the words even coming out of my mouth? How is Asher at my office? How did he find me here?

“I’m Detective Jordan,” the woman replies as she and Asher step into my office. “And this is—”

“Asher,” he says, interrupting her, earning a look of surprise from his partner.

“My lieutenant,” she adds. “We would like to ask you a few questions, Ms. Bailey.”

I frown, still watching Asher, whose dark eyes haven’t left my face. “I’m happy to answer any questions you have. Can you tell me how Leslie is?”

“No,” Asher answers, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “Mr. Wilson, may we speak with Ms. Bailey alone, please?”

“Are you okay?” Rick asks me softly.

“Of course.” I nod and smile reassuringly while my insides quake. No, I’m not okay! The man I had the most incredible one-night stand with in my life just walked through my door!

“If you’ll be in your office, we will stop in and speak with you when we’re done here,” Asher says.

“No problem.” Rick turns back to me. “Call me if you need me.”

Asher shuts the door behind Rick and takes a seat across from me while Jordan paces behind him.

“Obviously you know that young women are being murdered on campus,” Jordan says.

“Yes.” He’s looking at me like I’m a stranger. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. I mean, it was only one night. One fantastic, incredible night, but still. And we’d been drinking.

And why am I obsessing over this when young women are being killed at the university where I work? What kind of a horrible person am I?

“They’re all students in your US Women’s History class.” Asher leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And in your weekly study group.”

“Yes, they were students who were in the study group. We meet twice a week.”

“Do you lead the study group personally, or do you assign an aid to do it?” Jordan asks.

“I lead it,” I reply.

“Why?” she asks.

“I like working with the students. I like to be able to help them.” I shrug as I think about my group of lively, funny students, and my heart hurts all over again. “Is there any news on Leslie?”

“We can’t tell you that,” Jordan replies softly. “I’m sorry. I know it must be hard.”

“Do you know your students well?” Asher asks.

“Not all of them.” I tap my finger on the desk. “But I do get to know the ones in the study group fairly well because it’s such a small group. They’re good kids.”

“Kids who are failing your class,” Asher adds.

“Not all of them.” I frown. “Some of them just need the extra help. And just because they struggle doesn’t mean they deserve what’s happening to them.”