Don't Go L.J. Breedlove (books to read fiction TXT) 📖

He paused and looked at the professor. “And even back then? You were just one of the many. I started partying when I was 16. By the time I was 18, I had discovered the BDSM clubs, and it didn’t take long for me to get invited to the private parties. I could dom, I could sub. I played. And then I stopped. And it was years ago. So, don’t tell me you are here to walk down memory lane. What do you want?”

Black snorted. “I want you to back me up when I tell the world about the Provost’s secret life, of course.”

Ryan blinked. Maybe he should have seen that coming, but he hadn’t. This man had been gone for three years. Now he was back, back in one of the cushiest jobs on the planet, and he was plotting to take down the Provost first thing? Was he nuts?

“What secret life?” Ryan asked. “And why would I do anything for you?”

“You don’t think the fact that the Provost frequents BDSM clubs would be a news story for your paper?” Black countered.

Ryan considered that. Probably it was, he thought. But it wasn’t a story he’d assign. Talk about calling the kettle black. The appropriateness of that phrase made him smile. Literally, visibly smile, to go by Black’s reaction. “You’re going to go on the record and make that accusation?” Ryan asked. “Say in the Faculty Senate? Yeah, we’d cover that. Faculty Senate reporter would be all over that. And all over the slander suit the Provost would bring against you.”

Black laughed. It was ugly. “No, I think unnamed sources would be more appropriate, don’t you?”

“Not happening,” Ryan said.

“No? ¿Comó está su novia? ¿Y su hijo?”

Ryan stilled. “Pardon?”

“You know what I said,” Black said coldly. “I suggest you reconsider your story assignment. Or I’ll call your pretty little news editor with a tidbit about your past. And a call to ICE could be made about the child you’re caring for. I’m going after McShane. And I expect your help.” He nodded and left.

Ryan turned off the recording function on his phone in his pocket. He stood there silently until Cage came up the stairs. “You buzzed me?” When he tried to open the gate and it was locked, he vaulted over it, which was why Emily hated having the gate and rarely kept it locked.

No one did, unless they were up here alone. It could be spooky alone.

“Had a visitor,” he said. “He’s gone.”

Cage frowned. “How did he get in?”

“Business hours. The door downstairs is unlocked.”

“Huh.” He turned and studied the stairs. “Maybe we should have a door at the bottom of the stairs, then. I don’t like the idea that someone could just wander up here unannounced. Or, come in and go through our files in the mornings, say, when it’s often empty.”

Ryan considered the last for a moment. He sighed. “I’ll add it to our physical plant request,” he said. “It’s almost budget time.” Again. That part of being in charge he didn’t like at all.

“So, who was it?”

“Remember Ian Black?”

“Yeah.” Ryan could tell Cage wasn’t happy about that name.

“He’s back.”

“And he came here?” Cage was incredulous. “What the fuck?”

Ryan played his recording for him.

“What do you want to do?” Cage said.

“Can you make an audio file of that? I have someone I want to send it to.”

Cage rolled his eyes. “Give me your phone. Jesus, Ryan, you’ve got to get more computer literate. You run a newsroom.”

Ryan laughed. It felt good.

It took 15 minutes for the phone to ring.

“What do you want to do?” McShane asked.

“I have a question for you. The night I nearly died. You were at that party. My memories are a bit fragmented. But I remember looking up, and you were there across the room.”

It hadn’t been the only time. McShane was a player. Take off that well-tailored suit, put him in leather pants and a vest, and he was another man. Ryan reconsidered that. No, he was just as dominant in both guises. That’s all it was: costumes he wore to match the crowd. Ryan was a chameleon. He could be whatever pleased the people he was with. Especially as he got a bit older and added the tattoos. The tattoos. He put that back in their compartment, to think about later. Quite a list of items to think about later. He refocused on the conversation.

“You taping this conversation too?” McShane said.

“No, but don’t answer if you don’t want.” Ryan didn’t blame the man for being suspicious. “Someone slipped me something that night. I’ve always thought it was someone who wanted to ensure I was compliant for later on, although why they thought I would need a chemical to be compliant is beyond me. And that it reacted badly with what I’d already used. Someone — and I’ve always thought it might be you — got me into a taxi and sent me home. Not too many people would have known my home address.”

“If I’d realized how sick you were, I would have sent you directly to the hospital,” McShane said gruffly.

“It’s OK, you probably saved my life. Because in hindsight, I don’t think I was supposed to make it,” Ryan said. “Do you have any idea who might have doctored my drink? Or my coke?” He’d been doing both, dangerous as that was. But that had been the point, the danger. Riding the edge.

McShane was silent. “I think this conversation should be done in person. Mind if I drop by?”

Ryan glanced at the clock. It was noon. “Come ahead,” he said. “The newsroom will be empty for a while longer.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. He could feel the migraine beginning again. Damn, he thought. He opened an unlocked desk drawer and pulled out a pill bottle and dry swallowed a couple of tablets. He couldn’t afford to lose another day to these damn headaches.

“Here,” Cage said. He