“I’m assuming something is amiss?”

“My advisor is the director. He hadn’t been following up with me, and I just found out that the funding for the Task Force has been cut. The reason he’s been MIA is he’s been trying to save as much information as he can, protect vulnerable communities in the midst of possible epidemics, and whatever else you do when a major governmental agency is shut down without warning.”

Thabiso was concerned on several levels. For Naledi, as a friend, and for what cutting infectious disease outbreak detection could portend, as a leader.

“I’m sorry. Do you know why?”

It was simply bad governance, and he couldn’t understand what would drive such a decision. Then he remembered Tad/Todd. He remembered Naledi’s uncle, Alehk. Money. Somewhere along the line money was involved, he was sure.

“Because the government has been hacking at science funding indiscriminately. Forget my practicum. They’re cutting funding for research that will stop people from dying.” Her expression was blank, as if she couldn’t fathom it. “I just need . . .”

Thabiso prepared himself to comfort her. He was opening his arms when she stepped away from him.

“I need to go.”

Thabiso shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sure. I mean, do you want me to . . . ?”

He looked at her, brows raised in question.

Can I help?

She shook her head.

“I just have to get to school. For this meeting.” She touched his arm, and then took off down the hill, phone in her hand. She had been opening for him on the bench. Even after he’d painted himself into a corner. But now she’d slammed shut again.

She was in trouble and wouldn’t turn to him. Worse, he still hadn’t revealed himself to her.

He looked around the park and sighed as he tried to figure out his way back to the train. He’d gotten himself into a fine mess, indeed.

Chapter 16

I’m sorry.

Ledi ignored the text from Portia that popped up on her phone screen as she sat in her living room, sipping a well-deserved wine cooler. The Harbor Fog was the best Julio the bodegaman had to offer, and even if it was sickly sweet, it was better than thinking of her horrible news.

It was also better than thinking of the silent apartment across the hall, and how she’d had to fight the urge to go knock on the door and ask Jamal to make her feel better when she returned from her emergency appointment at the dean’s office, despite the fact that she’d run off on their date. She knew he could make her feel better—that he would—and that made it even more imperative that she sit tight in her apartment, just as she always had when shit hit the fan.

Since when had she needed outside help with anything? Even Portia had no idea when Ledi’s life got really rough, most times, because what was the use of burdening others with her bad news? She’d always kept her deepest feelings more safely hidden than porn on an unlocked laptop—folder after figurative subfolder of false file names to mask her true feelings from those who might click through. But Jamal had gained access to the folder labeled NothingToSeeHere after just a few days. She’d opened herself to him and, frightening as it was, she wanted more. Oh god, she wanted more. She wanted to curl into his lap again, to let him touch her and kiss her and make her forget that her life was in the midst of derailment.

Heat throbbed between her legs and she pressed her thighs together as if that could ward off thoughts of the man who’d barged into her life. The one who would likely be just a few yards away from her at some point soon. The skeptical, superstitious part of her wondered if his presence wasn’t connected to her bad luck.

You let your defenses down. When you do that, the bad can get in with the good.

There was nothing scientific about that line of thinking. There was no way that a few days with Jamal had led to her current situation, but it felt like it. Just like getting excited about the practicum hadn’t caused the government to shut down the Task Force, even though it felt like it. Feelings couldn’t be quantified like data in R, but that didn’t make their effects any less real.

She sighed and took a sip of the sweet wine.

It didn’t matter in the end. Jamal was temporary. Mrs. Garcia would be back soon, and all Ledi would have left of him would be memories of how he’d given her the best and most inappropriate orgasm of her life. She’d regretted having to leave him in the park, but now she was wondering if that wasn’t for the better. He was a complication she just didn’t need at the moment.

That didn’t stop her heart from racing every time she heard a sound in the hallway.

Her phone buzzed again, and she finally gave in and picked it up to read Portia’s message.

Look, I was worried and drunk, and I acted like a jerk. I went too far.

A picture of a growling Doberman came through, followed by a pic of a sad Doberman puppy. Portia knew Ledi couldn’t resist random dog pics. She sighed and texted back before she could think better of it.

I forgive you. Mostly because my life is falling apart and I need you to do friend-type things like tell me everything will be all right.

Whoa. Naledi Smith is admitting she needs help.

looks out window

sees pig flying

shoots pig with bow and arrow and brings Naledi bacon

What happened? Did you find out something about Jamal?