Page 2 of Blackwood

“Please reconsider, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll leave the papers in the letterbox out here if you change your mind.” I opened the rusted letterbox next to the door, the hinges squeaking angrily, then slid the permission documents inside. “My phone number is on the first page, and you can call my thesis advisor, Dr. Stallings, if you have any questions. His number is there, too.”

“Go!”

I jumped as the door rattled and boomed. He must have banged his fists on it.

The sun hid behind the trees as the chill wind picked up again. I turned, disheartened, and trudged down the stairs and back out to my car. After one more glance at the faded mansion in the woods, I backed up and headed down the driveway toward the road. The windows remained empty in my rear view, no sign of life or hope to light any of them.

I gripped the steering wheel hard, too hard, and came to a stop at the main road. This had been my chance, my one chance to find the truth. I stared into the woods ahead of me, my headlights barely penetrating the surface of their shaded depths.

Blackwood had taken the truth away from me, along with so much more. I knew without a doubt those documents would rot in the letterbox, and I would never be allowed to dig on the property.

I was so close. I looked at my stack of signed permission papers in the passenger seat and chewed my lip. I had to have express approval from each landowner before Dr. Stallings would release funds for my digs. I’d hyped up the Blackwood site so much—too much—that it was pivotal for me. Dr. Stallings warned me that the university wouldn’t pay for me to dig in tracts that had already been surveyed unless I had something fresh to investigate.

It was Blackwood or nothing. I slapped my palm on the steering wheel, the resulting ache in my hand letting me know I was still alive, still in the game, and still able to continue my search.

I pulled a copy of the Blackwood permission papers from my stack and took a pen from my bag. Putting pen to paper, the name “Garrett Blackwood” flowed out easily in black ink. His property was expansive. I could dig without him ever knowing, Professor Stallings would have his paperwork, and I would finally be able to discover the truth about my father’s disappearance.

Chapter Three

Dr. Stallings flippedthroughmy approval papers, his sandy blond eyebrows drawn down as he checked each signature.

“They’re all there.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to calm my skittering nerves.

“I see.” He glanced at the last page—Blackwood’s page—then leaned back in his chair. “I see you got the Blackwood permission.”

“Yes.” I dropped my gaze to my sensible flats. “I think I’ll start there.”

“I’ve tried for years to get permission to dig out there. No dice.” He gave me a half-smile. “I should have realized all I had to do was send a sexy student to ask.” His light brown eyes scanned me with a cursory sweep. I used to think they were the color of honey, and the man who owned them just as sweet. Not anymore. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you on some of the scouting?”

“And interrupt your classes?” I shook my head. “No. I can handle this.”

He narrowed his gaze and motioned toward the door, silently telling me to close it. I stood and pushed it shut, even though acid began to rise in my throat. Even though I knew what was coming next.

“Are you okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he asked, the buttons on his light blue dress shirt straining.

“Yes.” I sank into the leather chair in front of his desk and silently prayed he wouldn’t ask me to chat with him on the couch. I’d heard too many stories about that couch.

The wrinkles around his eyes tripled as he gave me a look of faux concern. “I wish you’d let me take you to dinner where we could talk quietly.” He glanced at the door. “More privately. I know it’s hard for you to share your feelings in this setting.”

I had to play this carefully. One wrong move and he’d think I was interested in his advances. A move too far in the other direction and he’d threaten funding for my digs again. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

“I’m still not ready. I’m sorry.” I sank into my chair with a sigh.

He stood and walked around his desk. The skin on the back of my neck crawled as he hovered behind me. “Your mother would want you to be happy.”

Don’t you dare talk about her.“You’re right.”

“I can make you happy.” He slid his hands onto my shoulders, the fingers digging into my flesh like tenterhooks.

“Doctor—”

“Call me Frank. You know you can talk to me.”

I remembered the last time he wanted to “talk.” The memory of his hot breath on my neck made me shudder. “Frank—”

“Come sit with me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, the sting of pain keeping me grounded. “I’m fine here.”

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