“It’s for after the interview, to celebrate,” Melanie clarified. “I should have congratulated you when you defended your dissertation. It was shitty of me not to, so I’m sorry. I really wish you the best of luck. So…congratulations Dr. O’Brien.”
The music cut off at congratulations. The shouted Dr. that followed did wonders for Talia’s mood. Suddenly she could forgive anything. All her work was going to pay off. Not with money—not in the more esoteric social sciences. But soon—please, God—soon she’d have a great job at a reputable university.
Papers, publishing, grants. Oh, my.
Then her own apartment, though rent was astronomical near the Berkeley campus. No roommates, Melanie’s sudden goodwill notwithstanding, but maybe friends. Who knows? If she were very, very good she might get a real life. She might even pass for normal. Okay, that was stretching the fantasy a bit. She’d settle for inconspicuous.
“Why don’t we break it open and make the declaration of peace official?” Talia said. Just one square would go a long way toward calming her nerves.
“No. It’s for after the interview.” Melanie waved away the bar and stepped back over the threshold.
Okay, then. Girl bonding over. But this was nice. Ending on a good note.
Talia tucked the chocolate into her carry-on. No way on earth that delicious bar would survive the wait in the airport, much less until tomorrow evening when the Berkeley interviews, student panel, and campus tour were finally finished.
A new pounding bounced through the apartment. Talia frowned. The persistent thudding did not come from the band next door. It wasn’t quite obnoxious enough, but close.
“It’s the front door,” Melanie said. “I’ll get it. You finish packing.”
“Thanks again. This was really sweet.” But she was already gone. Probably the last time they’d talk, what with the semester winding down to graduation.
Talia turned back to her list. White blouse, check. Camisole…
Broken words filtered down the hallway. An unfamiliar woman’s voice dominated, but a low rumble suggested a man was there, too. Talia tilted her head and listened.
“Who did you say you were?” Melanie’s tone hardened with irritation. She was good at that.
Talia stepped forward and peeked down the hall. Melanie gripped the doorknob and was trying to shut the door in their faces, which was rude in the extreme, even from her. Her body rigid with attention, she planted her foot to block the door from opening more.
Something was wrong.
“Well, she’s not here. She studies at the library on Tuesday nights to get away from the band noise, but I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Talia kept back, waiting a beat. No point in spoiling the lie. Whoever it was should be on their way shortly.
The woman spoke again, but was cut off by a sudden rise in distorted music. Talia strained, but she couldn’t make out any words. The band stopped just as abruptly, the drums dribbling down to a halfhearted smack-rat-tap.
“No, you can’t come in,” Melanie snapped. “I said she’s not here.”
A loud crack from the front of the apartment jerked Talia’s heart in her chest. She dropped her notepad and darted down the hall.
The front door stood gaping. Melanie lay twisted on the floor in the center of the room, pushing herself up to a pained crawl. The man and woman were just stepping inside the apartment. He kicked the door closed and then leaned up against it, while she scanned the room, lips pressed into an unfriendly smile.
Talia went cold.
Melanie looked up at her from the floor. “They want to see Talia.”
“She’s not here,” Talia echoed. The wide, frightened look in Melanie’s usually confident eyes made Talia both enor-mously grateful and nauseated. Her roommate could have just as easily pointed a finger and been done with this. But then again, Melanie didn’t let anyone bully her.
Melanie stood, eyes narrowing as her spine straightened again.
Talia caught the question in her roommate’s expression—You know them?—and returned a shallow shake, No.
Talia had no idea who these people were. They were young, probably midtwenties. The woman was tall and sleek, with rich, dark hair and ample breasts, but an unfortunate lantern jaw. The guy, leaning against the door, was short and square, his shape accentuated by pleated dress slacks and a tucked polo. He sported an outdated side part like a news anchor from the eighties. The two were incongruous, unlikely partners, but for the similar flatness of their eyes and unforgiving lines of their mouths.
“We can wait,” the woman said, seeming at her leisure in their apartment.
Goose bumps spread across Talia’s scalp and pricked down her spine. She swallowed. “Why do you want her anyway?”
“We’re her ride. She has a date tonight,” she said.
Talia had no dates. Not now, not ever. Guys picked up on her weirdness instantly and kept away. And the thought of getting physical, of letting someone touch her…No. Her only companionship was books.