A chill chased down Erin’s spine. How naive and trusting she’d been then. She’d believed Mr. Gorseman’s lie and gone in all innocence to meet him. And if Alayne—who came looking for her—hadn’t heard a noise and looked in the window of the locked and darkened science room to see Mr. Gorseman poised atop her on the lab table, he would have succeeded in his plan to rape her. And she—unconscious from the drug he’d put in the soda he’d given her—would never have known exactly what happened or who did it.

A deep shudder shook her. Erin wrapped her arms about herself and leaned against the chest, waiting for the reaction to pass. If only he’d been found guilty. But he’d lied his way out of it. At the inquiry, he denied her charge and explained her unconscious state by saying she’d been careless in handling the noxious chemicals in the experiment and had been overcome by fumes. He refuted Alayne’s charge by saying she was mistaken and overwrought, that he’d been trying to help Erin when Alayne started beating on the door. And he explained the locked door away by saying she, Erin, had a “crush” on him and must have locked it so they would be alone. It was his lies against their truth—and he was a beloved and respected teacher. All charges had been dropped.

Erin’s hands tightened around her upper arms, digging her fingertips into the soft flesh. It was that experience that had destroyed Alayne’s trust in God and ultimately split their family. It was the reason she, herself, was so wary and distrustful of men that she’d never been able to have a successful relationship.

Erin frowned and walked back into the living room. She didn’t want to be that way. She wanted to fall in love and marry and have children. She’d even dated a few times. But when a man showed interest in becoming close, when he tried to hold her or kiss her, she panicked, her defenses kicked in and she stopped seeing him. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t help herself.

Erin sighed, sat down in the chair and picked up her pen to finish grading the papers. Maybe someday she would find a man she could trust and fall in love with, but it wouldn’t be a “lady-killer” like David Carlson. No matter how he made her feel!

David opened the folder, stared down at the phone number he’d scrawled on the inside of the cover then closed it again. Was it too late to call? He checked his watch. It wasn’t quite eleven. He reached for the portable phone, then drew his hand back and walked away from his desk. It didn’t matter what time it was—no time would be the right time to call Erin Kelly.

David scowled and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Get out of my head, woman! I’m not calling you now or ever!”

He walked over to the window and stared out into the night feeling edgy and aggravated. Just the thought of religion had that effect on him. He’d had enough of it from his missionary father to last him a lifetime. He knew what it felt like to be ignored and unwanted by a religious zealot. He’d lived his life that way. He didn’t need that from anyone else—certainly not a woman. So why couldn’t he forget about Erin Kelly? Why did she stick like a burr to his consciousness?

“Aaah!” David strode over to the door, snapped off the study lights then immediately flipped them back on when the phone rang. His pulse quickened as he strode to his desk. Maybe this was a breaking story. A big story. He snatched up the receiver. “David Carlson.”

“I saw you on TV with that cop. Don’t ID the shooter. Bad things happen to guys with big mouths.”

“Who is—?” The receiver went dead. David stared at it for a moment, debating calling the cops. But one thing he’d learned as a reporter—people got their kicks in strange ways. Like making crank calls. This guy was probably yet another of those wackos. And if the cops tapped his phone and his informants found out about it…

David hung up the receiver, turned off the lights again then headed for the kitchen to get a glass of juice before it was time to switch on the TV and watch the news. His lips curled into a smile as he jumped the two steps and walked to the refrigerator. Someday he would be the reporter holding the microphone and smiling into the camera. He was close to making that goal come true. He’d already made the right contacts. All he needed was that one big story!

Hmm, let’s see…poster boards, markers, letter stencils and tracing paper—that should do it. Now all she needed was some manila folders and she was finished shopping. Erin wheeled the cart down the next aisle, picked up the folders and headed for the checkout.

“Did you find everything you wanted today?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled at the cashier and lifted the items out of the cart onto the counter.

“Cash or charge?”

“Charge.” She reached into her pocket.

“Erin?”