Past Imperfect

Instead, to cover the awkward pauses in conversation, she resorted to babbling, even though she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about the hearings. But Gilbert was all they had in common, and it beat not talking at all, she supposed.

Still, in the back of her mind, she wondered if he was working his reporter mojo on her, even though her wariness didn’t stop her mouth from moving.

“So tell me,” she said, “when is that first article coming out?”

He washed down his food with the beer he’d ordered, then said, “My editor wants to start the series this coming Monday. It won’t be news so much as a column chronicling how the hearing affects the community. Each following installment will cover what happened the day before and—”

“And how the proceedings stir up the drama and mayhem with all the tawdry details. Jeez. That’s why I agreed to talk to you in the first place, Ian, because Gilbert doesn’t need theatrics. I’m doing damage control and trying to spread the good word about him.”

“Hey.” He set down his glass bottle. “I’ll be respectful of the situation.”

She considered the articles she’d recently seen in his paper and didn’t respond. He seemed to read her mind.

“Did it ever occur to you that, unlike the others, I’m not into the muckraking business?”

“Yes. But lately your paper is.”

A muscle in his jaw constricted. So did his fingers as they wrapped around the beer bottle. He seemed to be fighting himself about something. Those shadows in his gaze told her as much.

But just as soon as the emotion had appeared, it evaporated. He dug his fork into his noodles again, carefree as ever. “I report the facts as I see them, that’s all.”

“And how do you see them in this case?”

He paused, set down his fork, grinned. Yet this was no ordinary Beck-smile. No, this was partially feral, a twist on his charming act.

Rachel’s breath caught in her chest, but she still held his stare. She’d spent a lifetime backing down, backing away. And she was done with it.

Even so, she had the nagging feeling that, as soon as she left Ian, she’d go right back to hiding, ducking confrontation. Odd how she was empowered to stand up for herself only when she was around this particular guy. Somehow, he seemed to nonchalantly encourage her, bringing out what little strength she had.

In fact, it seemed that he rather enjoyed getting a rise out of her.

“I see it this way,” he said. “The administration believes that your Gilbert is ‘old fashioned’ and behind the times. They say he’s too much of a friend to the students, and would love to replace him with someone new.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t have the luxury of believing anything.” Ian rested his arms on the table, still dangerous. “As I said, I only report the facts.”

“You know those aren’t facts at all.”

“Who can be sure? That’s why there’s going to be a hearing tomorrow.”

“Hearing. Huh.” Even though things weren’t going smoothly with Gilbert right now, Rachel rose to the occasion, paying her mentor back for everything he’d done over the years, protecting him from the bottom of her heart. “It’s more like a witch hunt. Surely you’ve found that the administration has an agenda.”

For a spine-tingling moment, Ian’s gaze blasted into her. A hunter’s eyes.

Then he sat back again, apparently satisfied. “Smart man, that Gilbert, calling on the right people to defend him. All his favorite students from the past.”

“Not just ‘students,’ Ian. You’ve seen the list. Nate, our notorious defense lawyer. Kathryn, who was a model before that awful car accident. Jacob, an esteemed fertility specialist… Should I continue? Because I can.”

He took her bait, highly engaged by the fire he’d lit under her. “Please do.”

“An assistant to an ambassador— You know, it’s not going to be hard to show that Gilbert produced success in our own lives and for the world at large. The board is going to come off badly when we’re done with it….”

She stopped, suddenly aware that she wasn’t one of those successes she’d listed. She’d left Saunders during her junior year to marry Isaac, and it’d broken Gilbert’s heart. He’d bemoaned the education she was deserting, reminded her that she was just leaving before she could finish what she’d started. Truthfully, Rachel had suspected there’d been more to it than that. That her mentor had been grieving the loss of their relationship, knowing it would never be the same once she married and put Saunders behind.

Ian was watching her, a sympathetic light in his eyes. God, no wonder he was so damned good at getting his story. He really knew how to work his subject.

“It must’ve been hard,” he said, voice soft.

She stared at her tea. The creamy shade of brown reflected everything she’d hidden from all her life. The color of mixed skin that never quite belonged, a tint that had set her apart from family and community.

“What’s hard?” she asked.

“Coming back to find Gilbert, seeing he’s changed from the energetic, positive man you used to know.”

Gilbert. Because of his plea to return to Saunders for this hearing—and her great need to make up for all the disappointment she’d caused him—Rachel had seen him in person for the first time in months. Usually, they caught up with each other over the phone, but that hadn’t prepared her for the light that had gone out of his gaze, the wrinkles that had invaded his once-firm skin. But what hurt the most was seeing those proud shoulders slumped under the weight of all these heinous accusations. He’d been protecting so much, she thought, especially when it came to the biggest secret of all—his status as an anonymous benefactor who’d helped so many students during their worst days. Only one of the few who knew about this, Rachel was straining to stay silent, to make Gilbert believe that she and most of her other friends didn’t know about this bombshell.

Now, Rachel nodded to Ian, unable to deny the shock of Gilbert’s recently degraded appearance, the sadness of her friends who also loved the professor.

“Yes,” she said, voice choked, “it was hard seeing him this way. But that’s why we’re back, to bring him around again. Just like he did for us.”

“And just like someone else did,” Ian added.

Rachel froze while he eased out his notepad.

She should’ve seen this coming, but she wasn’t as good as this pro. He’d definitely been doing his research.

“Rumor has it,” he said, “that there’s been an anonymous benefactor who’s helped select students on campus for many years at their moment of greatest need. And guess what?” Ian offered her yet another cocky grin.

She stared straight ahead, giving nothing away.

“Those students just happen to include most of your friends,” Ian added. “Any comment?”

Chapter Two

Even the next morning, as Ian strolled over one of the manicured lawns that covered the Saunders campus, he couldn’t believe he’d been so blunt with Rachel James.

Kid gloves, he reminded himself. This particular woman required a little more finesse than most.

When he’d busted right out with that benefactor query, he’d been going for the shock effect, the pure second of truth in an interviewee’s eyes as he or she absorbed the question. Rachel hadn’t been any different than the other countless subjects Ian had ambushed for a story—it was just that her unguarded reaction had gotten to him this time. She had bent his heart as if it were heated steel, reshaping it until his pulse had finally cooled hours later.

It bothered him to be treating Rachel James like another cog in the wheel of his career, and this shocked Ian, a man who wasn’t so used to regret.

In fact, her reaction had caused him to really look at himself in the mirror this morning…and he didn’t like what had peered back at him: a man with the flint of self-loathing in his gaze.

Maybe he just felt bad about the way she’d left the little Thai restaurant without another word to him, slipping on her knit cap and walking out of the place with a dignity Ian could only wish for. Or maybe he was getting soft in his skills, just as his new editor had muttered last week.

Remorse. Emotional second-guessing. Hell, his job didn’t allow him those sorts of perks. Nope. His profession—damn, that was sure a noble word for digging up crud and slinging it over a page just to make a buck—demanded that he chase Rachel down again.