A Face to Die For (Forensic Instincts 6)

She walked into the room, closed the door, and immediately began to scan the place for items that were potential candidates for Hero’s scent pads.

It was the typical boring educator’s office. Dull off-white walls. Heavy, ugly bookshelves filled with textbooks and other assorted course-related crap. A coatrack with a tweed sports jacket hanging from it. Unimpressive steel file cabinets. A matching steel desk with computer equipment that was archaic enough to make Ryan roll his eyes in disgust. No family photos. No personal touches.

No surprise.

The books and the computer keyboard had promise. Those would definitely be things that had Hanover’s scent on them. And the sports jacket—Emma had a few questions about that. But not just yet.

She sat down across from Hanover, placing her tote bag on the floor and leaning over to search for a pad and pen, using that time to scrutinize the office more closely. There was a gym bag that had been carelessly tossed in the far right corner. The bag was unzipped, so Emma could see the sneakers and towel inside.

Great find.

“Are we going to get down to business or are you going to spend the time digging in your bag and shaking in your shoes?” Hanover demanded.

Good, Emma thought. The scumbag assumes I’m rummaging around because I’m nervous.

“I apologize,” she said, sitting up and arranging her writing material on her lap. “I’m not used to feeling so unprepared, either in a class or in a meeting with one of my professors.”

Hanover sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Have you had many meetings with professors? Am I to assume that means you were struggling in their classes, too?”

Emma bit her lip. “Actually, no t

o both questions. I’ve always been considered to be an excellent student. Maybe the bar is set much higher at Stern—”

“Or maybe it’s set much higher in my classes,” Hanover finished for her. “That’s quite probable, Miss Lowe. I’m a perfectionist. I expect the same from my students.” He slid open his narrow desk drawer to retrieve a pen.

Emma leaned slightly forward to see as much of the drawer contents as she could, fully aware that Hanover thought she was offering him a closer look at her breasts.

A comb, she mentally catalogued as she spied it. And the pen that he took out. Two more items for Casey to use.

One more clothing item. Just in case he decides to take the gym bag home.

That brought Emma’s thoughts back to the sports jacket. Why did he have it here when he was already wearing an equally serviceable jacket? She had a strong hunch—one it was time to pursue.

The dialogue she was going for would require a delicate segue. But she had to pull it off so she’d know if the jacket would be an available option for Casey. And if her hunch paid off, it would be.

With that, Emma’s curious gaze slid to the coatrack, and her eyes flickered over the sports coat—once, then twice.

“Miss Lowe?” As expected, Hanover intercepted her look. “Are you seeking my help or assessing my wardrobe?”

Emma’s tongue slid anxiously over her lips. “Both. I do want your guidance, and I’m willing to work hard to meet your requirements—any of them.” She crossed one shapely leg over the other, exposing a bit more thigh. “I’m also admiring your sports coat—I was thinking of getting something like that for my brother. He’s going on his first round of job interviews.”

A slew of points for her. To begin with, Hanover had homed right in on her body language. His eyes were glittering, and he probably had a hard-on already. Also, he was visibly flattered that she’d considered his jacket—which was as bland as uncooked rice—fitting for a much younger man.

Slowly, he rose from behind his desk.

“I think we can work something out to bring up your grade,” he said, circling her chair and watching her reaction. “It would require extra hours spent in my office.”

“Of course.” Emma nodded, forcing a flush to stain her cheeks.

Hanover’s lips curled. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page, Miss Lowe,” he qualified. “Our work will require discretion and a locked door. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.” Emma folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. “When did you want to have these meetings? I assume that early mornings are out.”

One brow rose. “And why would you assume that?”

Emma pointed at his gym bag. “You’re clearly a runner. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your running time.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Hanover replied. “However, early mornings are often ideal. It’s quiet, there are no classes or office hours to interfere, nor are there any nosy custodians to bother us. It’s true I run in the mornings, but that’s before dawn. I can shower and come directly here.” He waved his arm at the file cabinet. “I keep an extra set of clothes in there, plus an extra jacket like the one you were admiring for just this purpose. You need only to show up—with your class material, of course—and leave the rest to me. And for the record, I like skirts and dresses very much.” He looked at her with grave, empty eyes. “I’m less fond of undergarments.”