“Who are you kidding?” Sloane asked wryly. “You love the classic suit-and-tie look.”
“My budget doesn’t. The cost of living in Manhattan has gone through the roof.”
“True. And since T-shirts don’t need dry cleaning, you must save a bundle. On the other hand, you must lose a chunk of time ironing and folding.” Sloane’s eyes twinkled as she saw Derek’s jaw tighten, telling her she was right. “Once an Army Ranger, always an Army Ranger. Neatly pressed shirts, folded socks, lined-up shoes—”
“You made your point.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell. I wouldn’t want your squad to have the ammo to shoot holes in that macho self-esteem.”
“Not to worry. My self-esteem’s solid.”
“Of course it is. There’s nothing soft about you.”
The minute she said those words, Sloane wanted to kick herself. She’d meant them as they pertained to Derek’s unyielding nature. But that’s not the way they came out.
She felt the heat of embarrassment warm her cheeks. “I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.” Derek wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. “But what you didn’t mean is true, too.”
“God, your arrogance is staggering.” Sloane raked her fingers through her hair. “Only you—”
“Yup. Only me.” He paused, let the words hang between them like an electric current.
In the sexually charged moment that followed, Derek’s gaze slid over her, taking her in from head to toe. He started with her dark hair, now glinting with golden highlights, then shifted to her delicate features and equally delicate frame. He paused at her open trench coat, lingering on her formfitting black pantsuit—especially where the blazer defined the curves of her breasts.
Abruptly, he raised his head, his gaze refocusing on her face. “Regardless of what you’ve been through, you look great. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that at our last meeting. I like whatever you did with your hair.”
Sloane gave him a tight smile. “New cut…and highlights. I got tired of looking like a Girl Scout.”
“Funny. I never thought of you as a Girl Scout.”
Okay, this conversation was getting out of hand. And Sloane’s insides were clenched so tightly, she could barely keep up the pretense.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve scheduled for today?” she asked. “I assume we’re meeting with the college president and the campus police?”
“Yup. Both. Also, I printed a campus map so we could navigate more expediently.”
“Ditto.”
They both pulled out their maps.
“Penelope took the most direct route to Lake Fred, past the Alton Auditorium, which is right here.” Derek pointed. “The lake is flanked on its two long sides by academic buildings and housing. That’s the good news.”
“And the bad news is that the two short sides are heavily wooded, and one of those sides has two smaller lakes beside it. More area, more isolation.” Sloane sighed. “Let’s think positive. It was a busy time of day, a nice time of year, and Penny would definitely have stood out. With the way she dressed and carried herself, there’s no way she’d be confused with a grad student.”
“Agreed.” Derek looked around. “I wonder what’s keeping McGraw.”
On cue, McGraw’s black Pontiac G6 sedan turned the bend and pulled into the lot.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his file. “I got stuck behind a garbage truck.”
“No problem. It’s just nine thirty-five.” Derek gestured from Sloane to Tom McGraw and back. “Sloane Burbank, Tom McGraw.”
“Nice to meet you.” Sloane shook Tom’s hand—using the loose, pressure-off-the-palm-and-index-finger grip that Connie had taught her.
“Same here. I’ve heard your praises sung often enough. You’ve got a couple of good friends at the Newark field office.”