“I just need to talk to you for a minute or two. Really.”

He studied her for a second, then unlocked the door again, straightening to his full height of six-two or -three. “I was about to give up on you, but I suppose I can spare one minute.” His voice was calm, evenly modulated, as if he hadn’t recently been a part of an intense argument.

He made a big show of checking his watch, trying to make her feel bad about being late, obviously already coming up with excuses to cut out of their meeting as fast as possible.

Fine. She’d make it quick.

“Have a seat.” Waving her into a small rolling desk chair, he settled into a worn leather chair on the other side of a small black writing table and snapped on the desk lamp. The entire room was cramped, little more than a closet with a window cut high into the wall and a computer desk crammed into one corner. A bookcase covered one wall, every shelf filled to capacity with information on vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and anything the least bit paranormal.

“So, what can I do for you?” He folded his hands over the desk and stared at her with an intensity that, she suspected, was supposed to make her squirm. It did. His eyes were deep set and mesmerizing, his face all bladed angles, his mouth so thin it appeared a crease in a strong, sharp-cut jaw. A handsome man, he seemed used to banking on his looks and size to take control of the conversation.

She decided to play it straight. Kind of. “I wanted to talk to you about some of your students.”

He cocked his head, his hair glistening black in the lamplight. “It’s against the policy of the college to give out information about anyone. I assume you know that.”

“I’m talking about the ones who’ve gone missing,” she said. “You remember? Dionne Harmon, Tara Atwater, Monique DesCartes, and Rylee Ames? All of them, while they were students here, were enrolled in your class on vampyrism.”

“I said I wouldn’t discuss them.”

“I’m just talking about their curriculum,” Kristi forged on. “They were all English majors. They had many of the same classes. Yours was one of them. It’s a very popular elective.”

“The most popular elective in the department,” he agreed with a taut smile, his white teeth stark against his swarthy skin. He seemed to relax a bit. Except for the tiny, telltale tic that had developed near one eye. “Maybe even on campus.”

“Even more than History of Rock and Roll.”

“I couldn’t say. Is this going somewhere, Ms. Bentz?”

“You were one of the last people to see Dionne Harmon alive.”

He froze. “Are you saying she’s dead? Did they find her body?” His cool facade cracked and something akin to panic washed over his face. “Dear God, I didn’t know.”