Page 28 of Long Way Down

“Melissa,” she said, on impulse, wanting to put these kids at ease, and reached to shake Valerie’s cool, nerves-shaky hand. “This is Rob,” she said of Contreras, hooking a thumb back over her shoulder, and heard his quiet huff of amusement. “You want to introduce everyone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Including Valerie, there were five of them.

Mark was in Lana’s econ class, broad, and a little heavy, but athletic; the sort of built-like-a-bull rugby body type that would run to fat later in life. He had pale, windburned cheeks and big eyes that reminded her far too much of Pongo, in a way that was instantly stomach-souring – but he seemed a friendly and earnest kid; he didn’t trip her creep-o-meter in the slightest.

Then there was Angie, an artist who specialized in ceramics and who wanted to open her own studio when she graduated. She seemed the laid-back, quiet type, lips firming when she said, softly, “You’re gonna get the bastard, right?”

Maren wore an oversized chambray shirt with black smudges on the cuffs that matched her close-cropped hair, though the latter was tipped with pale pink. “Charcoal,” she explained of her sleeves, when she shook Melissa’s hand. “I’m in the middle of a big project and I swear I’ve got the stuff behind my ears at this point.”

Melissa was sensing a pattern, save for Mark.

As if reading her expression, he chimed in between introductions: “I’m not an artist, but I’ve got econ with these guys and they took pity on how hopeless I am with numbers.”

Maren patted his arm. “We know, sweetie.”

The fifth member of the group sat in the corner of their table setup, his back to the wall, and when Melissa turned to him, finally, she wound up startled.

The rest of the kids were just that: kids. All early twenties and fresh-faced. The student who gazed at her now, head tilted to a curious angle, dark eyes warm as hot coffee, looked almost forty. His mouth and eyes were bracketed by small, attractive lines, and his soft-looking, wavy dark hair was shot through with silver threads at his temples. He had a man’s strong jaw and throat, without a trace of leftover puppy fat, and the smile he offered managed to be friendly and sad for his classmate all at once.

God, a person coulddrownin those eyes.

He wore a black sweater that had gone stylishly ratty at the neckline and sleeves – sleeves he wore pushed up to his elbows, revealing strong, vein-laced forearms dusted with dark hair. He had a hair tie on one wrist, she noted, stupidly, and immediately envisioned what a small bun would do for his face, the way his prominent nose and sharp cheekbones would stand out more.

A small nudge at the center of her spine from Contreras went unseen by the students, but reeled her back to herself. She reined her wandering thoughts in sharply, in time to hear him say, “I’m Tobias. Oils, mostly,” he said, smile becoming wry, as he turned his hand to show off his nail beds, and their faded etching of what must be blue paint.

He didn’t offer to shake her hand, she noticed, the only one of them not to do so. He had nice hands: tan, and strong-looking, with long, blunt-tipped fingers.

Get it together, idiot, she berated herself, and said, “Nice to meet you.”Regroup, regroup, regroup.

She swept them with a glance, settling back into her proper role now that she wasn’t looking at Tobias dead-on. “We appreciate you all taking the time to meet with us today.”

Valerie, hands tucked into the too-long sleeves of her hoodie, dropped back into her chair and worried her upper lip with her teeth. “Is Lana okay? I tried calling the hospital but they wouldn’t tell me anything since I’m not family.” She sounded close to tears.

“Lana’s okay,” Melissa said, though she and everyone at the table had to know that was a lie. She wasalive, so that was something. “They want to do another head scan before they release her, but she should be fine.” Physically, at least. It didn’t need to be said.

Contreras snagged chairs from a neighboring table and Maren and Angie scooted apart to make room for them. Melissa got out her notepad and didn’t glance Tobias’s way lest she get caught again like a moony teenager.

“We’re trying to get a feel for Lana’s daily schedule,” Contreras said, “so we can figure out where and when she might have encountered her attacker.”

“You think someone was stalking her?” Angie asked, picking up on the inference straight away.

“We do, yeah,” Contreras said with true regret. “He knew where she lived, and was waiting there for her when she got home, which means he knew when she’d get home, and when he needed to get there so he could already be in place.”

“Damn.” Mark looked shocked. “That’s…damn.”

“That’s sick,” Angie said, darkly, and shook her head. “You can’t even live your life without attracting some sorta pervert.”

“We talked to her roommate,” Melissa began, and Maren snorted. “You don’t like Hannah?”

“No, she’s fine,” Valerie cut in, and Maren shot her a look.

“She thought we were artist freaks,” Maren said, turning back to Melissa.

“She’s not that bad,” Mark said.

“She never told you that you were wasting your life on, and I quote, ‘making Play-Doh dolls,’” Angie shot back. “You’re getting a real degree, so she didn’t think you were a useless piece of shit.”