Chapter 210: Enough Evidence?

NORA’S POV

The smell of burnt coffee and citrus bleach always clung to Rusty’s Diner at closing time.

At eleven o’clock on Sunday night, the red vinyl booths were wiped clean, the chrome napkin dispensers polished, and the floor mopped in clean, sweeping arcs.

Gary flipped the neon sign from OPEN to CLOSED. The sharp electric buzz died instantly, plunging the front windows into darkness.

"Good hustle tonight, Bennett," Gary grunted, counting out my night’s tip envelope on the laminate counter. "Denise owes you a drink when she gets back from Syracuse."

"Tell her to bring back some diner donuts and we’re even," I smiled, sliding the small envelope of cash into my coat pocket.

"You got a ride back to campus?" Gary asked, grabbing his keys.

"Campus safety shuttle is waiting by the curb," I said, zipping up my winter coat and pulling on my knit mittens.

Gary walked me out to the front entrance, locking the glass door behind us. The night air was freezing, dropping straight into the low teens, and frost glittered like crushed diamonds across the asphalt.

The white campus safety van was idling at the curb, its exhaust billowing in thick white plumes against the amber streetlights.

I climbed into the passenger seat, thanking the student driver as the heater blasted hot air against my numb fingers.

The drive through the sleepy campus was quiet. Bare branches swayed under the winter wind, and snow dusted the rooftops of the brick dormitories.

At eleven-fifteen on the dot, the van pulled up to the front walkway of North Hall. I hopped out, the snow crunching beneath my boots, and jogged up the concrete steps.

The moment my shoes crossed the threshold of the lobby, I pulled my phone from my pocket.

I had made a promise to the captain. And Knox Sheridan was not a man who took broken promises lightly.

I tapped the screen, opening our chat:

Nora: Boots are across the threshold of North Hall. Safe and warm. Go to sleep, captain.

I hit send.

I had barely stepped into the stairwell when my phone buzzed in my palm.

Knox: Good. Lock the door behind you. Get some sleep, Bennett. See you when I have three wins in my pocket.

A slow, warm flutter settled deep in my chest.

I could almost hear his low, raspy drawl in the text.

Nora: Bring them home, Knox. Good luck in Vermont.

Knox: Always. Night, Bennett.

I smiled at the glowing screen, locking the phone and tucking it into my pocket as I climbed the worn stairs to the third floor.

The hallway of North Hall was quiet. Thanksgiving break was officially over, but most students were already asleep in their rooms, bracing for the brutal shock of Monday morning alarm clocks.

I reached Room 304, pulled out my key, and turned the brass lock.

The latch clicked open.

I pushed the door inward, expecting to see the warm glow of Priya’s desk lamp, the soft clatter of her keyboard, and the familiar sight of her buried under constitutional law briefs.

Instead, the room was pitch black.

The air was cold and dead quiet, broken only by the faint hiss of the radiator in the corner.

I paused on the threshold with furrowed brows. I reached for the wall switch beside the door and flipped on the overhead light.

The small room was completely empty.

Priya’s bed was neatly made, her blue comforter pulled tight over the pillows. On her desk, three thick jurisprudence binders sat closed in a neat, orderly stack beside her laptop.

Her phone charger was plugged into the wall strip, its empty white cord dangling over the edge of the wood.

I stepped inside, glancing toward the narrow closet area.

Her long wool trench coat was gone. Her black leather ankle boots were missing from the shoe rack. Her sleek leather commuter bag was nowhere to be seen.

I checked the digital clock on my nightstand: 11:24 PM.

My pulse gave a slow, uneasy hitch.

Priya Patel was obsessive about her academic schedule. She had an appellate law seminar with Professor Flores tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.

For three years, her rule before a major seminar was ironclad: in bed by ten-thirty, phone on silent, eight hours of sleep so her brain was razor-sharp for cold-calls.

She never stayed out past eleven on a Sunday night.

Never.

Where was she?

Was she in the library?

The campus library closed at ten on Sundays during holiday weekends, my brain answered instantly.

I stood in the center of the quiet room, a cold prickle of apprehension crawling across my skin.

I thought about pulling out my phone and texting her. Asking where she was, or if she was okay.

No, I stopped myself, remembering how frantically Priya had panicked yesterday evening... slamming her phone face-down against her leg and stammering out that cover story about her aunt in Connecticut.

We have to be careful. No one can know about us. Especially not Nora.

If I texted her now, asking where she was, she’d know I was tracking her. She’d throw up another wall of legal deflections and polished lies.

A slow, steady breath slipped past my lips.

Kicking off my boots, I hung my winter coat on the peg behind the door and pulled on a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and an oversized fleece sweater.

A quick trip to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth did nothing to ease the quiet hum of anxiety in my chest.

Back in the room, I flicked off the overhead switch. Only the small amber nightlight plugged into the wall by the closet remained, casting long, muted shadows across the floorboards.

Pulling the quilt up to my chin, I curled on my side and stared into the dark.

The bed was warm, but sleep was impossible.

I lay on my side in the dim amber shadows, staring across the narrow room at Priya’s empty desk, watching the digital numbers on my clock tick forward in glowing green silence.

11:45 PM.

12:02 AM.

12:18 AM.

Every creak of the floorboards in the hallway made my muscles tighten. Every whisper of wind against the glass sounded like footsteps.

At twelve-twenty-six, a faint metallic click broke the silence outside the door.

My breath caught in my chest.

I kept my body completely still beneath the quilt, closing my eyes until they were narrowed into thin, barely visible slits in the dark.

The brass key turned in the lock very slowly.

The person on the other side was being cautious, trying not to make a single vibration against the wooden frame.

The door pushed inward an inch at a time.

A slender shadow slipped through the narrow opening, easing the door shut behind her with both hands, turning the deadbolt until it clicked silently.

Priya.

She stood frozen against the back of the door for three long seconds, her head tilted, listening intently to the quiet room to see if I was awake.

I kept my breathing slow, like someone lost in deep sleep.

Priya let out a tiny, relieved exhale.

She bent down, unzipping her leather boots, sliding them off and setting them softly onto the carpet runner.

Then she moved in stockinged feet toward the wooden closet to hang her coat.

Her steps made zero sound.

She unbuttoned her wool trench coat, slipping her arms from the sleeves.

As she stepped past the foot of my bed to reach the wooden hanger, the draft of her movement stirred the still air of the bedroom.

A sudden, sharp wave of fragrance swept directly across my face... deep, creamy sandalwood, cedar, and crushed, aromatic black pepper.

Expensive. Masculine. Unmistakable.

My heart slammed against my ribs that I thought the sound would echo through the dark room.

It was the exact same cologne that had washed over me outside Briar Hall this afternoon.

Professor Adrian Flores.

I shifted against the mattress, sitting up slightly in the dim amber glow of the nightlight. "Priya?" I murmured.

Priya gasped, practically jumping out of her skin, clutching the collar of her coat against her chest. "Jesus, Bennett!" she whispered, pressing a hand flat to her heart. "You scared the life out of me. I thought you were dead asleep."

"Sorry," I said, rubbing the corner of my eye and keeping my voice mild and sleepy. "Where have you been? It’s twelve-thirty."

Priya offered a smile that looked strained around the edges.

"Study group at the law quad," she said smoothly, turning to finish hanging her coat on the peg. "A few of us lost track of time prepping case briefs for Flores’s seminar tomorrow. You know how insane the night before a cold-call gets."

A study group, I thought. At midnight.

Underneath the casual excuse, that rich, expensive cologne still hung in the air between us, sharp and undeniable.

"Oh... all right," I murmured softly, resting my head back against the pillow and pulling the quilt up. "Well, get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning."

"Night, Nora," Priya whispered, her shoulders dropping with relief as she slipped beneath her covers.

The room went quiet again.

I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing in a hundred different directions.

Could it really be Adrian Flores? Was that why she was being so secretive? Why she had typed, Especially not Nora?

Or was I jumping to insane conclusions? Anyone could wear that cologne. A guy from her study group. Another law student. Anyone.

Without solid evidence, I couldn’t be sure.

But something is definitely going on, I thought, the sharp scent of cedar and pepper lingering in the dark. And whatever it is... Priya is hiding it.