The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 5

She listened to Marley and Zeppelin and Floyd, and she dressed like she was a flower child, even though, given her age, she wasn't even born in the age of free love. She took the bus wherever she needed to go and was so vegan that she was starting to look more vegetable than human. The myth was true-too much beta-carotene really could make a person orange.

I could relate with her on plenty of levels-at least from a journalistic level, which was the only one that really mattered in our teacher-student relations.h.i.+p. Neve Landry was rumored to have written so many anonymous articles blowing the lids off of government and Fortune 100 companies' less-than-honorable policies. She'd been responsible for a half dozen senators being removed from office, one colossus of a company being brought to its financial knees, and one covert, government-funded operation being shut down. She was a legend-at least an anonymous one.

I had to knock twice before Marley dimmed.

"Enter if you dare," she greeted.

Opening the door, I stepped inside. "I dare," I replied with a smile, which vanished when the cloud of incense a.s.saulted me. It was spicy and woody and tangy and everything I didn't like smelling in a concentrated dose on an empty stomach. "Or maybe not." Moving the door back and forth, I hoped to fan some of the scented air out into the hall.

"Some people have a person, but my muse smells better." Neve was sitting behind her old typewriter-yeah, she was one of those-with a pencil in her teeth and resolve drawn across her brow.

"'Smells better' is in the nose of the beholder," I said, curling my nose.

Neve peaked a brow, but her eyes were fixed on whatever she was working on. "You're like a perkier, prettier version of myself when I was a teenager. You know, back when dinosaurs roamed the planet."

If Neve considered me "perky," I could only imagine the rooms she'd cleared at my age. "Are we talking old-world dinosaurs, like the Tria.s.sic period, or are we talking new-world dinos, like the Cretaceous period? Because I wouldn't put you a day past the Jura.s.sic period."

"Ah, the sound of our promising future." Neve got as close to a smile as she ever got when she glanced at me. "Now are you just here to annoy me, or do you have something of importance to impart?"

After a few more door fans, I took a couple steps inside her office. "I need to request an extension on the underage binge-drinking article I've been working on." Those words were just as hard to form as I'd imagined they would be, but at least I got them out without throwing a string of excuses into the mix.

"What? An extension? I didn't think Charlie Chase was familiar with the concept." She went back to typing, but every few words, her gaze flickered my way. How the woman could write a top-notch article while carrying on a conversation was beyond me, but she won the award for mult.i.tasking. "Might I inquire as to what transpired to cause you to request one?"

I chewed the inside my cheek. Part of my reason for not wanting to go down the path paved with excuses was that I didn't want to tell her what had happened this past weekend. I don't know if it was because I felt weak that I'd been targeted, or if it was something I simply didn't want to share with just anyone. I wasn't sure how to answer without leading her around a connect-the-dots scenario.

"My research was compromised this weekend. It isn't accurate or complete, and without it, I can't write the article." I let out the breath I'd been holding, pleased with my answer.

"Missing or erroneous research hasn't stopped plenty of journalists from publis.h.i.+ng their articles."

I settled a hand on my hip. "But it stops this one."

The corner of Neve's mouth twitched. "And that's why you're going to tear this country a new a.s.shole before you're expelled from it."

"Then I'd better start looking for real estate in Australia," I replied, backing up for the door. "So am I good to go with the extension?"

"That depends."

Of course it did. Instead of sighing, I asked, "Depends on what?"

"What happened to compromise your research?" Her fingers were a blur as they danced across the typewriter.

"Why does that matter? Why can't I just give you my word it won't happen again and I'll have the article pretty and polished and on your desk by this time next week?" It meant pulling a few sleepless nights, but I'd get the job done.

"It matters because I want to make sure it won't happen again. I don't make a habit of giving extensions, especially if, when I give one, the reason for needing it in the first place is repeated. If you need an extension due to unforeseen circ.u.mstances, great, you've got it, but if you need an extension because of 'circ.u.mstances'"-she did the air quote thing with one hand-"then it's my job to kick your a.s.s and tell you not to fall into the sink-hole of sloth and apathy that innumerable others have disappeared into."

Neve was the last person to hand out a free pa.s.s. I should have remembered that before showing up at her door to ask for one. "Unforeseen circ.u.mstances. That's why I need an extension."

Neve peaked a brow at me. "Unforeseen circ.u.mstances are in the perspective of the beholder."

Talking to her was like having a conversation with myself. I couldn't pull one over on her any more than I could pull one over on myself. "The party got out-of-control. The area around the 'bar' was so packed, I couldn't keep track of who was or wasn't getting drinks."

"And when has an obstacle like too many bodies in a room stopped you from getting a story?"

I blew a chunk of hair off of my face, searching for the next half-truth to lay at her feet. "I also might have foiled a couple of seniors' hopes of scoring with a couple of clueless freshmen girls."

Neve glanced at me with her And? expression.

"I expected they'd spiked their drinks with something, so I ran off with one of the cups in hopes of getting it tested, but I locked myself into a coat closet, and well, the rest of the night kind of got away from me." Because I'd slipped into a roofie-induced sleep . . . but I didn't need to bring that up to Neve Let's-Publish-That-Story Landry.

"So what was in the beer? What did it test for?"

I wasn't sure what that beer would have tested for, but I knew what mine would have tested for. Rohypnol. A double dose of it. "I don't know. I didn't have a chance to get it tested."

"Why not?" she asked, because why the h.e.l.l wouldn't she ask a question I didn't want her to ask.

"I spilled it."

"Clumsiness at its best?"

"Yep." I clapped and looked over my shoulder. "Can I have that extension?"

"Sure, you can. Once you tell me what you're trying so hard not to." Neve slid her gla.s.ses onto her head and waited.

My journalism professor was a freaking human lie detector. Lucky me.

"I'd prefer not to," I said.

"I can see that. And I'd prefer to have that article on my desk right now instead of next week."

I s.h.i.+fted, eyeing the door.

"Come on, Charlie. There is literally nothing you could tell me that would shock, dismay, or blow my mind. Been there, done that, have been though the lawsuits to prove it."

I knew she was right. There were likely very few people who'd seen, done, and reported the s.h.i.+t Neve Landry had, but it was one thing to realize that and another to show her my s.h.i.+t. But since I didn't have a more appealing option-or any other option . . .

"I was roofied Friday night." And that's how it's done. I didn't look away. I didn't offer a dismissive shrug. I didn't squirm. I told the facts like I was talking about someone else.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Neve cursed, thrusting her palm onto her desk. "Any idea who it was?"

"Not a clue."

"Of course not. Those boys are a bunch of sneaking, slithering, spineless snakes. I wish I could string every single one of them up by their t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es and hold target practice."

"Let me know when and if that happens," I grumbled, crossing my arms. "So do I have that extension?"

Neve rapped her pencil against her desk, seeming to be lost in her thoughts. "So what happened? Since you're standing in front of me, I'm guessing you didn't get the whole roofie experience. Thank the G.o.ddess."

"Um, no, I didn't get the whole roofie experience." G.o.d, that sounded wrong on every level. "Someone kind of stepped in and saved the day. Or night."

"Who was this woman who is still in possession of morals and all-around human decency?"

How did I put this? "It wasn't a woman. It was a guy."

Neve's brow went higher. "Just when I was convinced the hero was a long-eradicated species."

Her and me both.

"Well? Who was this Mr. Darcy?"

I toed the carpet with my shoe. "Knox Jagger."

She laughed a hard note. "And here I thought you were more of a dry humor kind of person. Kudos, Charlie. That was a solid, in-your-face punchline."

"That wasn't a punchline."

"There. That was the punchline." Neve clapped a few times.

I blinked, not sure what else to say.

"That wasn't a joke? Knox Jagger played the part of the knight in not-so-s.h.i.+ning armor?"

Since this might have been the only time I'd seen Neve Landry shocked, I decided to sit on the beanbag couch she had in front of the desk. "He's the one who found me. He stayed with me until I came to."

Neve looked at me, both brows raised. "Be still my beating heart."

"You don't believe me."

"No, I don't believe him. You were pa.s.sed out for G.o.ddess knows how long, so you have no way of corroborating his story."

"It also means I can't not corroborate his story." I scooted forward on the beanbag couch as it felt like it was trying to swallow me.

Neve flopped back into her chair and shoved away from her desk. "Please don't tell me you've caught the Knox-Jagger fever. Please don't tell me one of the few girls I was certain was immune to barbarians like Knox Jagger has lost all touch with her better judgment and reality."

"A barbarian?" I repeated, making a face.

Neve rolled her eyes. "He just figured out his fingers are capable of more than picking his nose or a.s.s."

"There's more to Knox than that," I argued . . . and why did I sound defensive? Knox didn't need me to stand up for him.

"I'm sure. Much more. Like genital herpes, chlamydia, gonorrhea, and a melting pot of every other STD."

"If he's nothing more than a giant walking p.e.n.i.s with a pea-sized brain-"

"I never said giant. Given his size, he's probably been pumping some serious steroids, so his p.e.n.i.s is probably rather unimpressive."

I continued, "Then why didn't he just take advantage of me while I was out? Why did he go through the trouble of taking me back to his place and making sure I went to the hospital to get tested? Why would someone do that if they barely had enough mental capacity to process compa.s.sion and concern?"

"Wait. Stop the presses." Neve made a sound like a car coming to a screeching halt. "Did you just say he took you to his place? Like where he lives?"

"Aren't they usually one and the same?" I s.h.i.+fted again on the couch, understanding why beanbag sofas weren't preferred office furniture-a person was too distracted trying to get comfortable to carry on a conversation.

"Knox Jagger never takes anyone back to his place. Believe me, I've tried, but no one's been successful."

Several things weren't computing about that comment. "If Knox never takes anyone home, then where does he do all of his . . ."

"Pelvic thrusting and grunting?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of entertaining."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. I forgot you're the newest member of the 'Knox Jagger groupie' club. Usually you all wear a s.h.i.+rt so you're easier to identify."

I quirked a brow. "A s.h.i.+rt?"

"You know, the kind that displays your b.r.e.a.s.t.s instead of covering them." Neve shook her head at my s.h.i.+rt like it was utterly inadequate.

"So where does he take everyone? The penthouse suite at The Parisian?" The thought of that monthly bill was enough to bring a whole new meaning to the term "frivolous spending."

Neve's pencil twirled in the air. "Whatever flat surface is available, I'd a.s.sume."

A few seconds pa.s.sed before I could say anything else. "What, exactly, do you mean you haven't been successful trying to get someone over to his place? You mean like to light a bag of dog c.r.a.p on his front step? Or to teepee his house?"

Neve gave the pencil one last twirl before stabbing it through her messy ponytail. "Nope, I mean I've been trying to get someone to his place in order to earn his trust in order to expose him for what I believe he is. I've run into brick wall after brick wall until"-she thrust her arms at me-"eureka! One of my top students has ever so neatly slipped under the radar."

"Why are you so interested in Knox Jagger? Doesn't he, by your definition, embody everything that's wrong about our society?" My head was back to throbbing, although I wasn't sure whether it was because of the drugs still in my bloodstream, the fact that I hadn't eaten, or the conversation.

"You're correct. He does embody what's wrong with our society." Neve folded her hands on her desk with a sly smile. "And I want to expose him for what he is-both what he appears to be and what he keeps hidden."

And now my stomach was joining the not-right movement. "You want to do an article on him?"

She shook head. "I want you to do an article on him, future journalistic t.i.tan. You know how to write, you know how to research, and you've been to his place-you're the answer to all of my Knox-Jagger's-Going-To-Burn prayers."

I found myself inspecting Neve's office, half expecting to find a voodoo doll wearing motorcycle boots and a tight s.h.i.+rt. "You want me to write a tell-all on a guy who's got a reputation for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a lot of girls? Doesn't exactly sound like a show-stopping topic. Or an original one." I could have pointed in any direction at Sinclair to find a guy who was guilty of the same. True, Knox might have held the record, but every other guy was hoping to throw him out of the number-one spot.

"His general debauchery is only the tip of the iceberg. The juicy details I've been digging for are far more news-worthy. Not to mention bound to result in a felony if we can dig up the facts to support it."

Kicking the beanbag with my heel, I popped out of the thing. "To support what?" When I wondered how she might reply, I realized I probably should have stayed sitting down.

Neve cleared her throat, leaning even farther across her desk. "Knox Jagger is the one distributing the majority of the date-rape drugs here at Sinclair."

I didn't feel my knees giving out until I crashed back onto the beanbag couch with a loud whoos.h.!.+ "That's not possible."

"Why? Because you spent a few lucid hours with him and he held a washcloth to your head?" Neve popped open her candy jar and held it out, probably because she was worried I was going to pa.s.s out. "Just because you hope a person's innocent doesn't make them so."

After digging a cinnamon disk free, I unwrapped it and popped the candy into my mouth. I barely felt the heat of it on my tongue. "What makes you think Knox is . . ."

"A drug dealer? A date-rape drug dealer?" Her words almost made me flinch. "Because of the facts and evidence my sources have brought to me."

"What evidence? Which sources?" I moved the candy around in my mouth, still tasting nothing. I might as well have been sucking on air.