This guy had a thicker hide than an armadillo, and momentarily, Rachel envied him. She might have accepted Paul’s apology, but it would take a long time to forget being called cold and unfeeling. She had too many feelings; that’s why she protected herself. Maybe she should be grateful for any compliment, however insulting. At least Devin meant no harm.

“Look.” She adopted a conciliatory tone because one of them had to be a grown-up. “I was annoyed the other day by your comment, but I shouldn’t have shut the door on you. That must have been hurtful and I’m sorry.”

“You think you hurt…” This time he laughed out loud. “You’re really quite sweet under that Miss Marple exterior, aren’t you?”

She realized he was referring to today’s vintage outfit-a high-waisted black skirt paired with a white ruffle-front blouse, herring net tights and pewter ribbon-tie patent shoes. The man had just delivered another backhanded compliment.

Almost, almost she was amused. But Rachel’s ego was still too battered. She eyed his designer stubble and rumpled roan hair. Today the boots were black and the faded jeans set off by a black leather belt, complete with a big, ornate silver buckle, that sat low on his narrow hips. “At least I don’t look like a cowboy after a week on the trail. Even Trigger made more effort.”

His eyes narrowed appreciatively. But before he could answer, a shocked male voice said, “Rachel!” Looking left, she saw several of the university’s top staff. The vice chancellor flanked by her two deputies…one of whom was Rachel’s boss. “Why are you insulting Mr. Freedman?”

In that split second she comprehended that if the vice chancellor was in attendance, Devin was donating money-lots of it. “He’s…” she began, then stopped. Arrogant and cheeky, that’s why, didn’t seem like a good enough reason.

Devin decided to help her out. “Oh, Rach and I are old friends.” He could read every emotion that crossed her expressive face. The smart retort she had to bite back, the irritation at being beholden to him, a begrudging gratitude. “That’s why I suggested meeting in the library.” He twinkled at her. “She creates such a congenial atmosphere.”

She twinkled back. “So exactly how much cash are you giving us, mate?” Oh, she was sharp, this one. Still, Devin’s appreciation was tinged with annoyance. He liked to keep his philanthropy private.

The vice chancellor looked surprised. “I thought we were all keeping this a dark secret?”

Devin’s gaze pinned Rachel. “We are.”

Her chin rose. “Now that’s not a tone to take with an old friend.”

He’d never been great with authority and it amused him that she wasn’t, either-unless it was hers. On an impulse Devin leaned over and planted a light kiss on her compressed lips. “Well, see you later…old friend.”

He could almost feel the daggers thudding into his back as he steered the vice chancellor and his deputies toward the cluster of red leather armchairs out of view.

He’d discovered this space two days ago before Paul had disturbed the peace. Each corner of the library was glassed-in with floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, towering silver birches swayed in Auckland’s constant wind, their leaves dappling light and shade across the utilitarian carpet. Sparrows peppered the branches and their noisy chirruping gave Devin an illusion of companionship.

He wanted solitude, yet when he got it, his thoughts became bleak. Too often lately he’d found himself in his mother’s cottage, which only made her worry about him. And that was intolerable.

The vice chancellor introduced himself as Professor Joseph Stannaway. Like his companions, he wore a suit, his short gray hair neatly marshaled to one side, and his strong face unlined…probably because he wore an expression of permanent solemnity. “As I said to your representative,” he began as they took seats, “we wanted to thank you personally for your generous donation.”

“Really, there’s no need-”

“And to try again,” the chancellor interrupted with a smile, “to persuade you into an official ceremony. It would garner a lot of media attention, which could only be good for the university’s profile. Perhaps the bank could produce one of those large checks…what do you say?”

Playfulness didn’t sit well on the man-he seemed too educated for it. It must be hard, Devin thought dispassionately, to devote your career to higher learning and then have to be grateful to someone who’d made a fortune writing lyrics like “Take me, baby, before I scream, you’re the booty in my American dream.”

“I’m sorry.” Devin deliberately shunned all publicity. Sticking his head up over the trenches for the paparazzi to take another shot at? Never again.

The delegation spent the next twenty minutes trying to change Devin’s mind with flattery, which only irritated him, chiefly because in the past it might have worked. Maybe that’s why he got so much enjoyment from Rachel’s barbed observations-they were novel. Of course, the kiss would really stir her up; a sensible man would regret it.

He grinned as Stannaway droned on. Not, unfortunately, one of Devin’s attributes.

RACHEL WAS REHEARSING her rebuke to Devin the next day when the boy she’d noticed came up to her station.

“What can I do for you?” Her smile must have had an edge because he eyed her warily as he shoved back his hair.

“I was wondering if you had any lists of all the university staff…you know, like everybody, not just the lecturers. And their ages.”

“Not here. You might be able to access some information through the registrar, but there’s possibly some privacy issues around their release.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“What’s the name? Maybe I know the person and can save you the trouble.”

“Um, she’s an old friend of my parents. I was just hoping I’d…recognize something when I saw the list.”

Poor kid, he really was desperate for a friend if he was hunting down such tenuous connections. “Where are you from?” Rachel asked kindly. She was supposed to be leaving on her morning break but this was more important.

“A farm outside Cambridge.”

“Really? I grew up in Hamilton.” They were only twenty minutes apart. “Small world. First time living away from home?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“It’s hard initially, but you’ll find your feet soon. A lot of the first years are in the same boat, all scared-”

The teen glowered. “I’m not scared.”

Damn, wrong word. If Devin hadn’t rattled her, she wouldn’t have chosen it.

“I see you’ve got a book there…would you like me to check it out for you? It will save you joining the queue at the front desk.”

It was a peace offering for hurting his pride, and he took it. “Yeah, thanks.” He handed over the book along with his library card.

Which didn’t work. “They do this sometimes at the beginning of term,” she said. “Let me just check that all your details are filled in…” The screen came up. “Mark…nice name. Okay, one of the library’s ID codes is missing.”

Glancing at his address, she noticed he wasn’t living in residence, which was a shame; he’d make more friends that way. She nodded at the guitar case by his feet. “You know, the university has a lot of music clubs you might be interested in.”

“I’m not really a club-joining kind of guy.”

About to reply, Rachel caught sight of his birth date and her breath hitched. June 29, 1992.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” Her fingers were suddenly clumsy on the keyboard as she reminded herself of the facts. On average, there were sixty-four thousand births a year in New Zealand. Which meant around one hundred and seventy-seven people-eighty-eight boys-shared her son’s birthday. But she had to ask. “So what do your parents do?”

Mark frowned. “You need that for the form?”

“No, it’s processing.”

“Mom’s a teacher.” Rachel’s pulse kicked up a notch. “And Dad’s a farmer.”