Yet as her fingers grazed over the screen, she already knew better.
The uneasy knot of anxiety in her belly conveyed that she knew who’d replied, and it wasn’t Cindy or Liz.
Pulling in a deep breath, she unlocked the device and glanced at the latest notification, her blood running cold when she recognized the new message was from the same unknown number as before.
With shaky fingers, she clicked to read its content.
Chapter Three
Kris resisted the urge to look at her phone again.Her lecturers did not take kindly to students who were more interested in devices than their work, and she understood why.Staying on to study at postgraduate level took dedication, and those who weren’t interested in putting in the effort were not invited to remain.
Watching her teacher’s animated explanation of the presentation on the screen behind him, though, it was difficult to concentrate.Her attention was fixed on the man in front of her, her fingers gripping her pen, but her thoughts were rooted to the message she’d received on the bus.
Swallowing hard, the lecturer’s words washed over her as she recalled the message all over again.
Apology accepted, Kristina.
Her back straightened as she remembered the use of her full name.
I look forward to our first meeting.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Her previous message had made her intentions clear.She was never going to contact the unknown person again, so she didn’t know why they were replying at all, let alone implying that she’d meet them.
The fact that the respondent knew her identity was as creepy as it was intriguing, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how it had been achieved.But the way the response was laced with such obvious arrogance troubled her the most.Not only did they assume she’d meet with them, but their conceit appeared to infer there was some sort of divine inevitability to the encounter.
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.Kris was a scientist.She didn’t believe in airy-fairy bullshit.She trusted in what she knew—someone had got her number, and they were playing with her.
It has to be someone I know.
How else would they know who she was?
She nibbled at her lower lip as she considered the suspect list.It couldn’t be Shaun.He’d slunk into the shadows since she’d come on to him, but maybe it was one of his moron mates.She recalled a few of them who constantly buzzed around him like flies.Perhaps Shaun had complained about her interest, and one of them had decided to teach her a lesson.
Idiots.
The finger curled around her pen stiffened with her rising anger.
How dare they belittle her?How dare they take Shaun’s rejection of her and weaponize it?Just wait until she got out of class.She was going to head around to Shaun’s flat and have it out with them.She’d—
Her mind quieted as she suddenly recognized the problem with the accusation.It couldn’t have been Shaun’s friends.If it had been, how could they have known she’d see the notice in the first place, let alone reply?
There were too many potential loose ends for it to be any of those knuckle-dragging jerks, and thinking about it, she doubted any of them could have constructed such a wicked and conniving plan.She’d have wagered they weren’t bright enough.
Who else could have sent the messages, though?
The query bounced around her head, drowning out the Q and A session in the lecture hall around her.The logical part of her brain knew she should have been heeding the discussion.She was sure she’d have found it intellectually stimulating—Professor Pine’s lessons nearly always were—but somehow, she couldn’t drag her focus from the notion that someone was intentionally taunting her.
The notice she’d seized upon had taken her lingering self-doubt about why her relationships never lasted and thrown it in her face.
What sort of person behaved that way, and who replied with such disturbing threats about her ‘having a problem’ if she was rude?
Worse, and undoubtedly the reason there was disquiet twisting in her tummy, what did that person want from her?
“Any other ideas?”
Professor Pine’s question sliced through her internal monologue, reminding her that her pen was still stalling over its page while most of her peers were hunched over their books writing notes.
