“A little,” she said with a shrug.  She liked proving his judgments wrong.  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a musician.”

“I’m a struggling musician.”

“What are you doing in Chicago if you’re a musician?”

“I said I was struggling.”

“And by struggling, you mean you have no talent?” Devon asked arching an eyebrow.

“I have talent,” he said, off hand like it didn’t matter what she thought.  It likely didn’t.  “I just find I should spend more time on my bartending talent while I continue to fail the entrance exams to get into med school.”

Devon swallowed, her mind immediately going to Reid.  She felt really bad that she hadn’t told him the truth.  He was going through such a hard time, applying to medical school himself, and she had just left him to go through it alone.

Maybe she should call him.

No.

She couldn’t do that without telling him that she had lied, without telling him that she wasn’t in Paris for the summer.  Then, she would have to go back to St. Louis, and she just wasn’t ready for that.

“He has talent,” Hadley said as if it were the most painful thing for her to admit.  “I’ve heard him play.  Do you have an open mic gig this week?  We could stop by.”

“Nah,” Brennan said, shaking his head as a large group walked into the bar.  “I don’t have anything for a couple weeks.”

“Bummer,” Hadley muttered.  “They’re so much fun.  We’ll have to take you up to the bar at the John Hancock building before you leave.  That will be fun.  I was up there once.  It was snowing on the ninety-ninth floor, but it wasn’t even raining on the bottom floor.  When are you off, Brennan?  You could come with?”

“You want me to go to an overpriced bar over a thousand feet off the ground when I work at a bar?” he asked.

“Yep!” Hadley said with a big smile.

“I have Monday off, but I’m busy.  What about next Sunday?”

“Are you going to be here next Sunday?” Hadley asked Devon.

“Uh…yeah.  Next Sunday works for me.”

“Great!  Next Sunday it is then,” Hadley said.  “It can be Devon’s going-away party.”

“Yeah,” Devon said dejectedly.

She didn’t want to spend only one week in the city.  She would need to find a place to stay for the rest of the summer or else she would have to fess up to Reid and her family sooner rather than later.

And that was something she just couldn’t do.

DEVON WALKED ACROSS Brookings Quad in the early summer air mingled with the scent of blooming flowers.  The Quad at Wash U was surrounded on all sides by Gothic-style buildings.  The one directly in front of her was Brookings Hall, and it served as the face of the campus.  It primarily housed high-ranking university officials as well as the big colleges, so she rarely visited the building, but the walkways surrounding it were pretty.  Devon much preferred the openness of the area to the other parts of campus.  She was probably biased though because the social work building, Brown Hall, was right next door to Brookings.

Devon would have taken the shortcut to Brown Hall, but the weather was so nice that she wanted to delay the inevitable.  She nearly reached the archway through Brookings when she felt eyes on her back.

Strange.  She hadn’t remembered seeing anyone else on the Quad.

It was such a beautiful day that she thought others would be out there studying, tanning, goofing off, and generally, enjoying the sunshine.  But it was the summer session, and few people remained on campus, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

Trying to push away the nagging feeling that someone was watching her, Devon quickened her pace and walked through the archway.  She didn’t like being in there anymore than she liked being out in the open on the Quad, but at least in the Quad, she could see whoever was following behind her.  It wasn’t likely that whoever the person was would do anything in the middle of the day at the heart of campus.

But the archway at Brookings was different.  While it was still a very public place, connecting the Quad and Hoyt Drive, it bottlenecked through the corridor.  She felt suddenly trapped even though it wasn’t a far distance.  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and the blood coursed through her body.  She could feel her pulse beating rapidly in each of her fingers, and she swallowed back the cotton balls lodged in her throat.

Devon glanced back over her shoulder, her blonde hair spinning out around her face, as she hoped to catch a glimpse of the person behind her.  But no one was there.  She didn’t even hear footsteps or anything.  Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling.  Whoever was following her was rather adept at not being seen.  The only way she would see the person was when he wanted to be seen, and that unnerved her even more.

Dashing through the archway, Devon crossed to the other side, unharmed.  Her eyes shifted left and right, looking for anyone waiting to ambush her on the other side.  No one was there.  In fact, no one was anywhere.

There were no cars on the usually busy Hoyt Drive or Brookings Drive, which led into campus.  Cars sat idly by in parking spaces along the road, but she couldn’t see anyone in them.  Even on the best day, incoming freshmen flocked the school to make their final decisions about enrollment.  Despite her annoyance with them, Devon wanted to know where they were.

She didn’t have more time to think about it.  Someone was tailing her and almost instinctively, she knew he was getting closer.  Without a backward glance, she barreled down the stairs leading to the street.  Devon had walked up and down the soft sloping and seemingly endless staircase more times than she could count, but today, the descent felt excruciatingly long.

Finally reaching the sidewalk on Hoyt, she immediately turned right toward Brown Hall.  She had a strong desire to be inside a familiar environment.  Plus, she knew the entire faculty, and someone had to be there.  Professor Turner was there every day.  She had spent countless hours in his office going over assignments and catching up.  She never had to make appointments since he was always just there.  If no one else were on campus, he would still be there in his loosened tie staring at his Mac.  She could get to him.  She could make it.

It wasn’t a long walk.  It was literally right around the corner.  Why hadn’t she taken the shortcut through Busch Hall?  All she would have had to do was taken a right before the Quad, walk straight through the Humanities department, and Brown would be standing right in front of her.  Instead, Devon had wanted to enjoy the weather, but she wasn’t enjoying the weather right now.

She jogged up the sidewalk, feeling eyes on her from every direction.  She felt completely ambushed.  They were coming for her.  They were closing in.  They would get her.

No.  She had to be strong and push herself harder.  Someone would be inside Brown Hall.  If not Professor Turner, then another professor or even a student would have to be there.  Devon would make this work.  She had to.

Reaching the double doors, she wrenched one open as fast as she could and rushed inside.  It smelled exactly as it always had, like too many cleaning supplies had been used to mask the dusty smell of the old building.  She padded down the familiar hallways, navigating the corridors like an expert.  Professor Turner’s office was on the fourth floor of the building.  She knew it was a bad move to run all the way up the stairs.  She would be trapping herself in the stairwell, but she didn’t have another choice.