“Chad Wiley.”

“How many letters did you have to write to get in?”

“About a thousand. And you should be coming with me. We both need this class.”

“I’ll get in as a junior. You need me to walk you over?”

Tully loved her friend for that. Somehow Kate knew that despite her show of courage, Tully was nervous about this. Everything she wanted could start today. “No, thanks. How can I make my big entrance with someone else?”

She watched Kate walk away from her. Standing there, alone among the crowd of students moving between the buildings, Tully took a deep, relaxing breath, trying to still herself. She needed to appear calm.

She strolled confidently past the fountain of Frosh Pond and went into the Drama/TV Building, where her first stop was the restroom.

There, she paused in front of the mirrors. Her curled, sprayed hair was perfect, as was her makeup. The skintight, flare-legged jeans and shiny white tunic blouse with gold belt and Nehru collar managed to be both sexy and businesslike at the same time.

When the bell rang, she hurried down the hallway, with her backpack bouncing against her ass as she moved. In the auditorium, she walked boldly down to the first row and took a seat.

In the front of the room, the professor sat slumped in a metal chair. “I’m Chad Wiley,” he said in a sexy, whiskey-rough voice. “Those of you who recognize my name get an A in the class.”

There was a smattering of laughter around the room. Tully’s was the loudest. She knew more than his name. She knew his whole life story. He’d come out of college as a kind of wunderkind in broadcasting. He’d moved up the ranks fast, becoming a network anchor before he was thirty. Then, quite simply, he’d lost it. A pair of DWIs, a car crash that broke both of his legs and injured a child, and his star had fallen. There’d been a couple of years with no mention of him at all, and then, finally, he’d surfaced at UW, teaching.

Wiley stood. He was unkempt, with long dark hair and at least three days’ growth of gray-black beard, but the intelligence in his dark eyes was undiminished. The stamp of greatness was still on him. No wonder he’d made it.

He handed her a syllabus and started to move on.

“Your coverage of the Karen Silkwood case was inspired,” she said, smiling brightly.

He paused, looked down at her. There was something unsettling about the way he stared—intensely, but only for a second; like a laser beam switched on and off—and then he kept walking past her and on to the next student.

He thought she was just another front-row suck-up who wanted to curry favor.

She’d need to be more careful in the future. Nothing mattered more to her right now than impressing Chad Wiley. She intended to learn everything she could from him.

Part Two