Page 111 of Finding Amanda

Baxter began the story. "When I was working on my Master's in Psychology, Sheppard asked me to be his TA. I really respected the guy, and I knew he usually asked women to work for him. And why not? If he could surround himself with smart, beautiful women, why shouldn't he? So when he asked me, I was honored. It wasn't until after I started that I learned there were rumors about him and his TA's—rumors of . . . let's sayextracurricularactivities, if you know what I mean."

"I think we get it."

"Right. Okay, so Sheppard was up for tenure, and I guess he was trying to quell the rumors, which is why he hired me." Baxter paused. Mark drummed his fingers on the table in front of him and waited.

"So one day this girl—I say girl, because she looked young. She was petite and very thin and looked about thirteen. She was a freshman, though, so she was probably eighteen."

Mark resisted the urge to shoutget to the point.

"Anyway, she came to me in tears to ask about a paper she'd written. She'd taken the psychology class as an elective, and she'd gotten a D on the paper. I looked at it and remembered it—I'd given her an A. I always wrote the grades I thought they deserved on little sticky notes, and then Sheppard looked over the papers and assigned the final grades. The girl had to maintain a goodGPA to keep her scholarship, and she was afraid this grade would bring it down. I suggested she go talk to Sheppard about it.

"That night I had to drop off more papers I'd graded. It was late, and the building was almost deserted. I was walking toward the psychology department and passed his office. The door was closed, but I could see light coming from under it. I stopped to listen—it's a really old building, and with the building as quiet as it was, I figured I'd be able to hear if he was really there. Actually, I was about to knock when I heard . . . noises coming from inside."

"Okay?" Mark prompted.

"They were, uh, the kinds of noises you'd expect if two people were, you know, messing around."

Chris smirked.

Mark looked focused on the phone. "Go on."

"I was mad. I mean, he's married. And then I thought maybe it was his wife. I tried to convince myself it was his wife, because like I said, I liked the guy. I respected him. But I knew it wasn't his wife. I went into the Psych office, stuck the papers in his mailbox, and then I sort of hung around. Maybe it was sick curiosity or . . . I don't know why I stayed. I just had to know, you know?"

There was another pause. "Sure," Mark said.

Baxter continued. "A few minutes later the door opened, and that girl came running out. The freshman. The one who got the D. She was crying, all disheveled. And when she saw me, she turned beet red and bolted.

"I went into his office and confronted him. He said he'd had a meeting with a student over a grade, and there was nothing to worry about. I told him I knew what had happened, and he laughed at me. Told me not to feed the rumor mill and said if the girl wasn't complaining, then it was none of my business."

"What happened?"

"I looked up that girl on campus that night, but she wouldn't talk to me. I decided the next day, I was going to talk to the dean. And then . . ." His voice trailed off.

"And then what?"

"The next morning I was arrested for rape. I don't know how he did it, but he got my ex-girlfriend to accuse me. She was one of his students, too. Maybe he manipulated her. Maybe he threatened to fail her. I don't know. In any event, he bailed me out of jail before I could even make a phone call and basically offered me a deal. Keep my mouth shut, and he'd get her to drop the charges."

Mark's temper flared. "So you dropped it? Knowing what the guy was capable of, you?—"

"No. I knew I could beat the rape charge. I went to the girl and told her to tell the dean what happened. I told her I'd back her up. She was too embarrassed. She told me he didn't force her, he offered her a deal, and she took it. She begged me to let it go. So I did. My ex-girlfriend dropped the charges, and I quit school."

Mark ran his fingers through his hair and met Chris's eyes. "So, we're back where we started, with no idea who the connection is." He looked at the phone. "Okay, thanks for the information. We've got to figure out?—"

"What exactly are you looking for?" Baxter said.

"Someone who told Sheppard about the memoir. Not that many people knew."

"Maybe I can help. I did work for the guy for almost a year. I don't know, but maybe?—"

Sophie and Madi giggled in the back seat, snapping Mark back into the moment. Realizing he was gripping the steering wheel in two tight fists, he stretched his hands. Itwas going to be okay. He was going to protect Amanda whether she wanted his protection or not.

He'd sent Chris to meet with McIlroy. It was a long shot, but it was all they had. Chris planned to go over the list of people who knew about the memoir with Baxter while Mark raced to Concord.

He'd done what he could for now. It was time to call Amanda.

Amanda checkedthe road sign and grabbed her ringing phone from the passenger seat. "Hello?"

"Good morning," Mark said. "How are you?"

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