He thought about all the missing girls and Dr. Grotto’s class. He’d heard from a few members of the staff he’d met about the guy’s theatrical way of presenting the class, the fake fangs and contacts that covered his irises and made his eyes appear flat and black. Without a soul. Inhuman. But no one was worried about it. It was drama. Flair. And the students loved it. The fact that he was taller than most with thick dark hair and penetrating eyes didn’t hurt the image either.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck and rotated his head to relieve the tension, all the while staring at the computer screen, where the face of Rylee Ames met his gaze. Young. Beautiful. Vibrant. At least in the head shot. But obviously messed up.

Runaway? Or abduction? Possible murder victim…?

Had she been a part of some private cult?

Was Grotto into it? Hell, if so, he was flaunting his part, wasn’t he? Really out in the open with this vampire crap. How stupid would that be, to point a finger at himself? Or was it Grotto’s ego? Did he really think he was invincible? If so, the intense teacher wouldn’t be the first. Jay chewed hard on the tasteless candy, then tossed the wrapper into his trash can, all the while thinking about his colleague at the school. Maybe it was time for a background check on Grotto, a deeper check than the university had made. For that matter, what about some of the other professors and department heads? Or members of the administration? From what he knew about cults, they crossed all sorts of social barriers. He had the resources, he decided, and there was no reason not to use them. All he had to do was cross reference names and addresses. Some of the information would be public, other private. He’d go as far as he could without breaking the law.

And then what?

What if you need to dig deeper?

“Hell,” he muttered. He would damned well cross that slippery bridge when he came to it.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

Shifting on his chair, Jay retrieved the phone and saw Gayle’s home phone number flash onto his screen. Inwardly groaning, he considered not answering, but knew that was only postponing the inevitable.

He had tried to be kind.

It hadn’t worked.

The woman wasn’t taking the hint.

“Hey,” he answered, hating the upbeat sound of his voice. It sounded as phony as his feelings.

“How are you?” Her voice too was sunny, a little breathless.

“Busy.”

“Always.” She sighed and he imagined her face turning petulant. God, how had he ever thought it was cute? “I suppose you’re in Baton Rouge and don’t have time for a drink or anything?”

“Afraid not, Gayle.”

“I could head up that way.”