"Anyone can opt not to sign the proper paperwork, of course," she reminded them, looking around the room. "It's up to each individual candidate to decide if he or she wants to pursue an advanced degree here at Fatima."
She checked the clock on the wall at the back of the classroom and decided to let them go early. "Your advisors will be listed on the department bulletin board by noon tomorrow." She smiled broadly. "Good luck."
Watching them shuffle out the door, all seven masters and doctoral candidates in the Department of Ancient Studies, she stuffed her papers into her worn briefcase. Had she ever been that young and innocent? She thought briefly of the miserable little house on Main Street and her mother's drinking bouts.
Ted Burrows waited for her outside the classroom door.
"What question can I answer for you, Mr. Burrows?" She walked briskly down the hall toward her office as Ted scurried after her.
Burrows quirked his lips in a lopsided smile. "I was wondering, hoping actually, if you could assign Dr. Randolph as my mentor."
She hesitated. She'd planned to assign Christopher Waverly as Ted's mentor. The young professor seemed a better fit for Ted than the stuffy Howard Randolph, whom she shared an office with.
"Please?" Ted had a puppy dog look on his face.
Maybe Randolph could knock some cockiness out of Ted, she mused. "I'll think about it." She slipped into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.
Olivia ignored the stack of papers on her desk and stared out her office window to the university's grassy quad. Matching candidates for advanced degrees with the most suitable mentor was no easy task. She wanted to do a good job, prove herself to the Chancellor.
A soft knock sounded on the door and a curly-haired girl pushed her way in. With skin like creamed coffee and a smile too sweet for a person going into law enforcement, Keisha Johnson was a favorite advisee. She was also a freshman in one of her advanced history classes.
"Dr. Gant?" said Keisha. "Are you busy?"
"Not with anything very interesting. Come on in." Olivia gestured toward the plastic chair angled across from her desk.
The girl lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder. "I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Gant." She eased her backpack to the floor before perching on the edge of the chair, looking poised for flight.
"No bother. What can I help you with?"
Keisha remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip with small white teeth.
"Do you need a program change?" Olivia knew being a freshman in an upper division course could be problematic.
Keisha gave a small shake of her head and remained as mute as the statue of Nefertiti resting on the shelf behind the desk. Her bronze features reminded Olivia of the ancient Egyptian queen. Olivia frowned. The girl had visited several times and was usually a chatterbox. What was different now?
"There's this guy," Keisha whispered after several long moments. "Well, a man really."
Boy troubles, then, Olivia thought, holding back a smile. "Is he a student here?"
"Sort of."
Olivia smiled gently. "How can one be 'sort of' a student?"
"He works here. On campus, I mean." The girl tugged at a long ebony strand of hair as if she'd straighten the natural curl out like a ruler. "I don't want to say more about that."
Something a little off with the boyfriend. "What do you want to say?"
"We're involved. Sort of."
There was that phrase again. How was a couple "sort of" involved? Olivia nodded encouragingly although she wasn't sure she was qualified to give relationship advice. Her own record with men was disastrous.
"He wants me to… to do things," Keisha said.
An alarm clanged in Olivia's brain. This was something she understood all too well.
A surge of protectiveness washed over her. "Look at me, Keisha," she ground out, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." When the girl refused to look at her, Olivia punched each phrase, "Nothing – you don't – want – to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Tears spilled down the girl's cheeks, powdery streams against her smooth skin. "Yes," she whispered. "You're right." She smiled, and her face became a rainbow bursting through the wet splatters.
Olivia reached for her referral pad. "I'll give you a pass to the clinic," she said. "You can talk to someone trained in this kind of situation." She wasn't sure what the situation was, but she knew in her gut it was trouble.
Keisha shook her head, picked up her backpack, and hoisted it onto her shoulders. "Thanks, Dr. Gant. You've helped me a lot."
"Keisha, wait," Olivia said, rising from her chair. "Please, you really should – "
"No," Keisha said firmly, "I know what to do now."
With a swish of her skirt and the scrape of a chair leg, the girl was gone before Olivia could say another word. Keisha had vanished by the time Olivia reached the hall. Troubled, she resolved to call Keisha out of class first thing in the morning.
Tomorrow, she thought. Surely one more day wouldn't matter.
Chapter Three
The dirty Dodge truck made its way down the winding road off Interstate 80 near the Utah-Nevada border. A quarter mile ahead squatted a single guard house where a barrier gate blocked the entrance and a solitary soldier manned the tiny wooden enclosure.
Mammoth Proving Grounds, once used to test military weapons, now consisted of little more than a few Quonset huts and a rudimentary landing field. The facility wasn't guarded securely, the truck driver thought, half expecting to drop coins in a metal repository and sail on through like in a toll booth lane. The guard stepped from the booth, his M-16 held diagonally across his chest, a serious expression on his smooth face. He looked like he was still in high school.
The driver rolled down his window, his face grimy from the dust kicked up on the drive from the highway. The soldier took in the man's appearance, ignored the friendly greeting, and stared at the truck, inspecting the wide blue sign on the door. Houseman's Pumps, it read.
"This is government property, sir. What's your business?"
The driver gestured vaguely toward the distant buildings. "Water pump's down. Got a request from… let's see." He reached for the clipboard lying on the passenger's seat. "Major Redding? Says the water pump in building two needs repair."
The soldier stepped back inside the guard house and ran his finger down a list clipped to the podium. "Sorry, sir. I don't see Houseman's Pumps on the list."
"Got the request late last night," the driver said. "Maybe he didn't have time to call it down." He peered at the sun just breaking to the east and slanting its glow through the passenger window. "Can you phone up to verify?"
"The major's not on base today."
"Holiday?"
The guard shook his head, covering a smile. "Opening day of deer season."
The truck driver looked around at the white, glaring stretch of packed salt and rock. "No hunting in these parts," he joked.
The soldier visibly relaxed under the easygoing, friendly manner. "No sir, the high Uintas, up the canyon."
"Well," the driver sighed theatrically. "Guess I can come back tomorrow. Major Redding sounded in a hurry, but if he forgot the paper work, I guess it can wait." His voice trailed off as he shifted the truck into reverse and glanced over his shoulder.
"Hold on a minute," the soldier said, looking first to the right and then left as if the answer to his dilemma lay in the bleak landscape. The salt flats shimmered in the morning light, casting water mirages all around. "Heck, just go on in." He pressed a button inside the booth that triggered the barrier lift. "Just be sure and get a signature from whoever's in there."
"And that would be…?" the driver asked, glancing again at his clipboard.
"Should be Lieutenant Murphy."