Page 48 of Haunted

I don’t have anything to say to that, because in ten years, nobody has said it. They all think the photograph is theirs. “That’s very perceptive.”

“I wish I could take all the credit for being very clever, but I’m not. Most of my research is about trauma among combat veterans. They get consumed similarly by the public, and they don’t like it.”

“No, we don’t. I really hope you get the job.”

“Me, too.” He smiles. “So, if you see any of my rivals—”

“I’ll make sure to slash their tires.”

“I was going to say, make sure that they get handled by the scary man in the front. He’s terrifying.”

I turn back to the screen. “Yes, you’re one of several people who were pre-approved. They should have cut you a check, but I’ll do it now and get you on your way.” I process it and hand him the paperwork. “What name?”

“Saint-Jacques. Sébastien Saint-Jacques.” He extends his hand. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Joe is still glaring at his screen when I walk the professor out to the waiting room. “Showoff,” he mutters.

“Coffee?” I offer.

“It’s the only thing that can get me through this day,” he grumbles.

I duck into the breakroom and set two pods in the machine. Joe’s phone rings and I hear him switch into his professional voice. I’m drumming my fingers on the counter, willing the coffee to drip faster, when I hear someone new at the reception desk.

“Good morning. I need to see someone about a travel reimbursement issue, please.”

I freeze. There is no one else in the world with that voice. It’s low and a little husky, the kind of voice that doesn’t carry across a room but makes you lean in to hear it. The smoke took his range and his volume, and what grew back is something warmer and more intimate—like he’s always telling you something just for you. Every nerve in my body goes taut. I lean back as far as I can without losing my grip on the counter, trying to see around the doorframe.

Joe is frowning at his screen. Jonny is standing at the desk, searching through a tote bag for something. His hair is hooked behind his ears, but when he moves, it frees itself and a reddish strand curves against his cheek There are small hoops in his ears I didn’t notice at Captain Eddie’s.

“I can help with that,” I say from the doorway.

Jonny turns. “Lance,” he says. His face is unreadable. Then he gives Joe a stiff smile. “I’d be happy to wait for a proper appointment.”

Joe’s face is a picture of fake efficiency as he types. “Right. That appointment: morning or afternoon?”

“Morning.”

He scrolls through several weeks of completely empty days and picks one at random. “Third Monday in November,” he says without batting an eyelash.

“And the afternoon?”

“Something just before Thanksgiving, maybe. How do you feel about? Oh, sorry.” He clicks three more times through empty dates. “How does February 16th look to you? I can book you in any time then.” He looks down. “Except for ten. Or two. Or Four-thirty.” He catches my eye behind Jonny’s back and smiles. “Oh, Mr. Broussard, I thought you had an absolute mountain of work to get through this morning?”

“I’ll manage. Mr. Bishop, if you’d like to follow me.”

Something flickers across Jonny’s face at being called Mr. Bishop by me—a grimace that’s half amusement and half pain—but he picks up his tote bag and follows me down the corridor.

My office is small and neat. A desk, a filing cabinet, a view of the campus mostly obscured by a tree. I close the door behind us and take my seat. He sits down across from me, back straight, hands folded on the orange folder in his lap.

“Now, Mr. Bishop,” I say, because the formality is the only thing keeping me functional, “what can the office of the Comptroller do for you?”

He pulls out the folder and pages through documents. “This is a copy of the email exchange I had with a Mr. Oakley when he invited me to speak at the digital entrepreneurship conference next week. He agreed, on behalf of the university, to finance my transportation costs. There have been complications.”

“Oh?” I accept the documents and skim them. “What’s gone wrong?”

“Mr. Oakley booked me a return flight to Delhi immediately after the conference. I can’t use it. My visa renewal has been stuck in Delhi since March. Until it clears I can’t go back at all.”

“Any idea how long?”