Ripper (Hunter #1)(20)

His swift reaction told me a lot, which was precisely why I blindsided him. His face went blank as though the question caught him completely off guard, and I knew in an instant that he hadn’t even considered it. “No, I don’t sleep with my students. That might be what other professors do, but I consider it beneath me.”

I believed him. “I apologize. I had to ask. You’re an attractive man and she was a lovely girl.”

He preened under the compliment. “Well, I will admit Joanne had a little crush on me. It’s inevitable. Young girls look for powerful, intelligent men to protect them, but I have my work to think of. I could be dismissed if I was caught with a student. I owe them my work, you know.”

“Was Joanne involved with anyone in class?”

He thought about that for a moment. “Not that I could tell. She actually held herself apart a bit. She certainly participated, but she had odd ideas about things. Once she posited that vampires were almost exclusively male, which makes no sense. She got laughed at and she was quiet for a while after that. I don’t know.”

Wow. Joanne had seriously skirted trouble with the Council. If she’d been giving away secrets, she could have been hauled to the Vampire Council and tried for treason. It wouldn’t matter that she wasn’t a vampire. Those men—because she was right they were almost all men—took their privacy seriously. It was another line of questions I should ask, but I needed a vampire to interrogate. I might have to go back on my vow to stay off the computer for a while. Dan was the only vampire I knew. He seemed like an odd sort of vampire since he had three kids, but maybe he could point me in the right direction. Possibly he could introduce me to some of the power players, if I asked nicely.

“I thank you for the time, Professor.” I sent him a grateful smile. He was a weirdo and he gave me the creeps, but it was hard for me to see him as a hardened killer. I would check a little more into his background, but I wasn’t going to get anything more from talking to him than a lecture on his intensely wrong views on vampires. I had a sudden thought. “Can I get a class roster from you?”

He stared at me, seemingly befuddled by the query. “I don’t know that I have a copy. Why would you need that?”

“It’s standard procedure,” I lied. I didn’t have any standard procedures. “I need to know who Joanne’s classmates are. I might need to question some of them.”

He frowned. “I don’t know if I like the thought of you harassing my students.”

“Do you like the thought of one of your students going missing, Professor? If your precious students have any information on where Joanne is, I would think you would want them to step up.”

He backed off immediately. “Of course, of course. I’ll talk to the office staff about putting that together for you. I really must ask you to leave. I need to work. You’ve taken up enough of my time.”

I saluted the professor and quietly exited his office. I made my way to the stairs, all the while plotting. I didn’t believe for an instant that a man as organized as Peter Hamilton didn’t have his class rosters at his fingertips. He probably could produce every roster for every class he’d ever taught, but he’d lied to me. He didn’t want me to know who was in that class. Well, I was going to find out. I wasn’t sure how yet, but I could ponder it all night while I staked out the first address in Joanne’s notebook.





I stopped at a convenience store and stocked up. There’s a reason most PIs are overweight with a tendency to have coronaries. Salads simply don’t work as stakeout food. I bought a six-pack of Dr. Pepper, some M&Ms, a bag of Doritos, and a single beer. Okay, I bought a single Dr. Pepper and a six-pack of beer. I was still freaking hung over. I stand by the beer choice. I stopped by a street vendor on Good Latimer and bought a couple of tacos and a churro before heading north into a much nicer section of town.

I located the building indicated by the address in Joanne’s little spiral. It was one in a long line of Victorian townhouses. I took stock of my surroundings and was pleased to find a small office building across from the residential street. It came complete with a parking garage that would nicely serve as my nest for the night. It was a little ways away from the actual house, but I had my camera with a high-powered telephoto lens, so I didn’t need to be super close. I tried to turn into the parking garage, but it was private and required a security code. Luckily, there was no actual guard on duty so I parked the Jeep down the street, shoved all my gear into a backpack, and hiked.

It was after six by the time I found the perfect perch. Everyone seemed to have gone home for the weekend and there wasn’t a car in the garage. I walked up to the fifth floor, which afforded me an excellent view of the townhouse.

Like all the houses on the small block, it was well maintained and obviously expensive. This was North Dallas, the nicest part of town. The small complex of townhomes was surrounded by superior stores, restaurants, and small, exclusive companies. I noted, as I polished off a really excellent beef taco, that while all the other streets in the area had pedestrians walking on them, this street was completely empty. It was kind of odd. I studied the small block of townhomes. There were six in all and they looked like they had serious square footage. Probably three bedrooms or more. So where were the cars in the driveways? Where were the silly signs on the doors that announced the house was established in such and such year? Where were the bikes, dumped in the yards by kids running in the house to dinner? Where was anyone at all?