Torn by Cynthia Eden Page B

he looked at her—­and the man kept glancing her way—­Victoria had the uncomfortable feeling he was trying to peer into her head. Or her soul.
    â€œNorthwestern,” she murmured. “I’ve heard it’s a great school. I have a . . . friend who attended.” Though she didn’t think that Flynn Marshall really qualified as a friend. “Did you enjoy your time there?”
    Dr. North seemed caught off-­guard by her question, and that was exactly what she wanted. “I—­ Yes, I learned a great deal there. It was at Northwestern when I realized just how very interesting the human mind could be. Our motivations. Our desires. Our compulsions.”
    The way he said those words . . . it was just creepy.
    â€œDr. North . . .” Wade began, his voice flat and calm. “What, exactly, was your relationship with Kennedy?”
    The doctor blinked. He had green eyes—­a light, almost icy shade. “I was her advisor. I helped her pick her classes each semester and I guided her research.” His stare became a bit distant. “She had enormous potential.” He rose from his chair and moved to a framed photograph on the wall. “She was our student of the year,” he said as he tapped the frame with his knuckles. “Such potential,” he murmured.
    Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she rose and moved closer to the photograph. It depicted Dr. North handing Kennedy Lane a plaque. She had a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
    So did Dr. North.
    â€œYou two were close,” Victoria said as her gaze cut toward him.
    One of his shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug. “I suppose we were.”
    She didn’t think there was any “suppose” about it. The doctor was tall, fit, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He was also attractive, in a somewhat cold, hard way.
    His blond hair was cut very precisely, falling away from his high forehead. His suit was top-­of-­the-­line and his shoes gleamed as if they’d been freshly polished.
    He felt like old money. Power. But there was something else about him . . .
    â€œAre you close with all your students?” Wade asked. He hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. He still looked way too comfortable. Way too casual.
    She knew his pose was a lie.
    â€œI try to be,” Dr. North said as he headed back around his desk. He didn’t sit, though. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I want to guide them. Help them.”
    â€œAnd you . . . helped . . . Kennedy?” Wade studied him with a neutral expression.
    â€œKennedy needed very little help. She was incredibly driven. She was going places. I’d written her a letter of recommendation for graduate school just before—­” He broke off. “Well, before she went missing.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand . . . why are you all looking for Kennedy now?” And he reached forward, picking up the card that Wade had handed him when they first entered his office. It was a card Dr. North had only given a cursory glance before placing it on his desk earlier. “Last Option Search Team?” He peered over at Wade. “That’s what your questions are about? You’re still searching for her? After all this time?”
    â€œWe’ve been hired to look into her disappearance.” Wade rose to his feet and closed in on his prey. “As I said when I arrived, Dr. Palmer and I have just a few questions.”
    â€œAbout Kennedy . . .” Dr. North said.
    â€œActually . . .” Wade smiled at him. It wasn’t an overly friendly smile. “Our questions are about you and Kennedy.”
    The other man blinked. He even took a step back.
    Victoria eyed him with more interest. She really enjoyed watching Wade work.
    â€œWere you