Dr. Atmeyer shook me, and Lor grabbed at his arm, but he shoved him off. “Then we’ll slap your name on the side of a building in memorial and even more people will go here. You will finish it!”
I didn’t think—I swung. My fist connected with his nose the same way it had with Mr. Uhlig, and my hand hurt five times as bad when I was finished. My bones throbbed and I thought I might have broken one for sure this time. He stepped back and gripped his nose, eyes watery and wide.
Lor gasped and dragged me backward a step.
Dr. Atmeyer held up a hand. “I admit that wasn’t my finest hour. I do apologize. You have to understand the pressure of the position I’m in.” He blinked toward the ceiling. “Damn, that was brutal. There are men in the navy who don’t hit like you. I was a frogman in my younger years.”
Shaking my head, I refused to allow him to charm me out of my rage. “You didn’t sign the registry at my father’s funeral. The funeral home mailed me the book. I have to assume you weren’t there.”
“Well....” He shrugged, and blood flowed down over his lips, which we all ignored.
“You were friends. Was it too dangerous for you to go see him into the ground? Here’s a deal—I’ll publish that book as long as your name goes on the front, right beside mine.”
Lor patted my back and beamed at me.
Dr. Atmeyer’s mouth fell open. “N-no.”
“I have places to be.” I stomped away with Lor tugging on my arm. The door wouldn’t open when I shoved on it, and I refused to feel sheepish as I yanked it open to continue storming out. I ignored Lor’s grip on me, and he switched to simply guiding me out of the way of people in the hallway because I was too furious to pay attention to where I was going. Dr. Atmeyer had always treated me like a child. I hated that powerless feeling and... maybe I didn’t have to live with it. Cillian would have done a hell of a lot more than punch that man, and while I didn’t want to be exactly like him... I was tired of being a doormat.
This day might have ended my career as a college professor. If it did, it did. I couldn’t stand this anymore. I paid attention to nothing until a cold breeze slapped my cheeks and I shivered. I’d forgotten my coat at home. Overhead, gray clouds gathered and boiled. I stopped and leaned against a tree. “Did I just punch him?”
“Yep. It was amazing,” Lor gushed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who needed it more.”
“Can I do anything about this? The publisher has relabeled the book as a part-one.” I sent a searching glance at Lor, knowing full well he had no more idea than I did about how publishing contracts worked.
His brows furrowed and he tugged at the laces on his hoodie. “What’s in that part?”
I knocked my head back against the tree with a sigh, staring at a squirrel galloping around in the branches above. “Chapters on the Italians of New York City and a few other places.”
Lor seemed less upset and patted my shoulder. “They can’t publish anything without your approval, right?”
“I don’t know. I never read my contract, and Dr. Atmeyer acted as a secondary for me. I honestly have no idea. I need a lawyer.”
The squirrel ran down the tree directly above my head and I smiled as it curiously climbed closer to me. “Hello, little guy,” I whispered.
Lor let out a smallaww. “It likes you.”
“I think it’s one of those fat ones everyone feeds.”
The squirrel fell, and I blinked as it slapped my shoulder and hit the ground. I bent to look at it, and Lor let out a strained gasp. I stared at the squirrel. There was a round, red hole in its torn-apart middle. Was that a bullet hole? Lor went to his knees beside me, holding on to his right side, eyes wide.
“What—”
“I think I was just shot.”
There was no thinking, only acting. Frantic, I dragged him with me around the back of the tree, but for once I didn’t have my men with me. My heart raced as I searched the grassy stretch of ground nearby for whoever had done this.
“Are you okay?”
Lor shook his head slowly. “I was shot. No! No, I am not okay!”
A man in a gray suit came around the tree with a gun in his hand, and we both stared up at him. Lor leaned his warm weight against my side. The man could have come from the Historical Society shindig. He was dressed nicely but not in anything that would have stood out, and his pleasantly weathered and tan face went with his spiky gray hair. “Get on your fuckin’ feet.”
Lor and I looked at each other. Slowly we stood. Nearby the doors of Briar Hall opened and people began to stream out. There was a blood-curdling scream, and I could only assume someone had noticed our predicament. The man flinched. Clearly he’d been expecting less of an audience because he stuffed his gun away into a holster under his jacket, but the screaming went on. People were pointing in our direction.
The man turned and ran.
More people spilled out of the hall to the sidewalk, and someone was trying to get them to go back inside, causing even more pandemonium.
