“Change of pace. Things at the PD are still rough, never been right since Katrina, but I bet you know that.”

She nodded, thinking of her father and his long hours, frustration, and disintegrating attitude. She’d even overheard him talking about retirement, which was years off. It was odd because Rick Bentz had been born to be a cop. He was most alive when he was on the job. That dedication and work-above-all-else ethic had cost him his job in LA and his marriage to her mother. Ultimately, she feared, it would cost him his life. But lately, since the mother of all hurricanes and the storm’s aftermath, he’d been overworked, overstressed, and disenchanted.

“So, opportunity knocked and I answered.”

“And now I’m in your class.”

“Appears so,” he drawled, and for the first time she saw beyond his own frustration to a bit of amusement at the situation. Oh, great. Just what she needed.

“Well, I just wanted to be sure that there were no hard feelings.”

He lifted a shoulder. “No feelings period.”

That stung a little bit, but she let it go. “Then we can go about this as if I’m just a student and you’re the prof.”

“Right.”

“Good.” She was still uneasy with the conversation; there seemed to be a million things they should be talking over, but why drag up all the old, hard feelings? If she could believe what he was saying, then they didn’t have a problem.

“So, can I give you a lift?” he asked.

“Oh—uh, no…I’ll cut across campus.” She hooked her thumb in the opposite direction.

“It’s late,” he said.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Some girls have disappeared.”

“Yeah, I know, but I can take care of myself. Tae kwon do, remember?”

The smile broadened. “Oh, yeah,” he said.

A quicksilver memory slashed through her brain. She’d been a senior on a night not unlike this. They’d been alone in her father’s apartment and she’d made the mistake of telling him that with her martial arts skills she could take down any man who tried to bother her. She’d assured him, then said: “I can take care of myself.”

A don’t-give-me-any-of-that-feminist-crap smile had crossed his face. “Yeah, right.”

“I can.”

She’d insisted that with her skills, she could handle anyone who came near her. He’d called her on her bragging and the discussion had elevated into a dare. Then, before the terms had been hammered out, he’d grabbed her, swept her feet from her, and taken her to the ground, using a technique he’d learned as a high-school wrestler. Within seconds he’d pinned her and she’d been unable to twist away from his weight.