Then she just huddled against the far corner wall and shook, waiting for the police.

Cord Pruitt saw the lecture doors open, but initially paid no attention. It wouldn’t be the first time a student popped in late. His Thursday-night class on International Studies was invariably stuffed to the gills-which always tickled his sense of irony.

Ten years ago, he’d have sworn he would rather be a snake handler than teach. He’d meant it. But when family problems forced him back to Washington a few years ago, Georgetown had taken one look at his background in languages and Foreign Service and offered him a job. In spite of all odds, the university monsters had grown on him. The kids were all motivated, bright, the type who gave a serious damn. Hell, they even stayed awake during his lectures.

Temporarily, the decibel level rivaled a rowdy bar. The topic of debate was the relationship between religion and poverty in various cultures, and whether religion or poverty was the strongest political influence. The subject definitely wouldn’t turn on everyone, but his kids were raucously enthused.

Maybe a little too raucously.

“Okay, okay, settle down for two shakes,” he interjected. “I’m hearing too many opinions, and not enough facts to back them up. Give me stats, people. I want numbers. I want proof. You’re starting to sound like the media, instead of people with a brain.”

That brought a laugh…but they readily knuckled down to a good verbal fight again.

The next time Cord glanced up, he noted the lecture doors were still gaping open, with two men-two grown men, definitely not students-standing in the doorway. They didn’t interrupt, didn’t speak, didn’t intrude. They were just lodged in the entranceway like a pair of rocks.

Cord’s pulse bucked uneasily. Years of Foreign Service had honed his ability to size up both people and problems. One of the men was gray haired, sharp faced and sharp eyed, with a wiry, lean build. Cord figured him for a private cop. The other guy looked younger, more like forty, with paunchy eyes and the habitual tired expression of a detective.