“In the flesh.” A short woman stepped from behind Blayne. The woman called Denzili immediately put the gun she had held in a holster on her side. Hennigan didn’t follow suit as she continued to eye the woman, the lines of suspicion creased her forehead. “It’s just me,” Denzili finally said.
“Blayne?” Ethan asked as the standoff continued.
“I’m fine,” he said, not moving from the woman’s side. “If she wanted to kill me, she could have done it hundreds of times.”
“You trust her?” Ethan asked Dr. Hennigan.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that I trust her,” Hennigan said. “No offense.” Denzili shrugged but didn’t take her eyes off Hennigan. “But I don’t believe she’s here to hurt anyone,” Hennigan finally said, as she lowered the gun. “Ethan, meet Denzili…one of my associates?”
“The one you haven’t heard from?” Ethan asked.
“A different one. When I go out into the field, I have two associates who work directly with me. Denzili is half of that team.” She turned and looked at the other woman and asked, “Have you heard from Richardson?”
“No. I scoped out all the pre-arranged safe houses. They were all under surveillance.”
“Why did you seek out Mr. Dickenson?” Hennigan asked.
“I thought, where is the last place on earth you’d go? So, I tracked Mr. Dickenson down on campus and gave it a shot.”
Hennigan gave a single approving nod.
“Can I put my bag in my bedroom?” Blayne asked, nodding at the attaché case slung over his shoulder. “It’s getting heavy.”
“Sure,” Hennigan replied. Blayne started walking toward his bedroom, and Denzili followed.
“Leave the man alone,” Hennigan chastised. “If either of these two men wanted to harm us, they could have let me die last night.”
“You trust them?” Denzili asked. The skepticism was clear in her voice and the look she gave Dr. Hennigan.
“Trust is a tough word to define,” Hennigan said. “I don’t trust anyone. But I don’t think these two men have the desire to cause you or me harm at this juncture.”
Blayne opened the door to the bedroom. Denzili walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed one chair and dragged it into the living room area before swiveling it around, facing the back of the chair as she sat. The three sat in silence, waiting for Blayne to come back.
The toilet flushed in the bedroom, followed by the sound of Blayne washing his hands. Blayne joined the group and asked, “What did I miss?”
Dr. Hennigan
Hennigan gestured for Blayne to grab one of the kitchen chairs and join the rest of them in the living area. Blayne had just sat down when there was a soft click toward the front door. Denzili silently got out of her chair and positioned herself next to the entryway as Kira marched into the apartment with a small gun pointed at Dr. Hennigan.
“What the actual fuck?” Kira said, as she took in the scene before her. “Who are—?”
The words weren’t even out of Kira’s mouth before Denzili reached out, disarmed Kira and disassembled the woman’s gun into five parts. Denzili strode over to the kitchen table and deposited the pieces. “Cute toy, by the way.” Denzili picked up the cartridge and slipped the bullets out. “I’m going to keep these. Don’t want anyone to get accidentally hurt, do we?”
“You’re…” Kira said in disbelief, leaving the words hanging in the air.
“Yes, I guess introductions are in order, Ms. Strickland,” Dr. Hennigan said with a warm smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “You can call me Dr. Hennigan, and this is my associate Denzili.” She gestured to the other woman, who had returned to her chair. “Please, pull up a chair and join the group.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “And before you even think about dialing the cell phone in your pocket, please be a dear and put it on the table with the pieces of your weapon. After last night, everyone’s just a little jumpy.”
Hennigan made a swooping gesture with her gun toward the table. Kira went over to the kitchen table, pulled out her cell phone and set it down with the remnants of her gun. She grabbed a chair and pulled it next to Blayne.
“How’d you know?” Denzili asked when Kira was settled.
“How’d I know what?”
“You knew I wasn’t a student of Blayne here. How’d you know?”
“Brontë,” Kira said, a satisfied smile crossed her face. The other woman didn’t respond, so Kira finished her thought. “You said you were writing an essay on Emily Brontë’sWuthering Heightsand that Blayne was helping you. First, the writing class Blayne teaches isn’t literature-based, so why you would write a literary treatise in that class is beyond me. Second, this guy is the last person on the planet you would want to seek help with a paper aboutWuthering Heights.” She gestured with her thumb in Blayne’s direction. “Victorian Gothic literature is simply not his specialization. I doubt he’s even read the book—or any of Brontë’s books, for that matter.”
“It’s true,” Blayne admitted. “The only classic I truly ever loved wasGreat Expectations. There was something about Miss Havisham that I found so intriguing to this day.”
