Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

"That's all right. I know. You caught the crooks. You're famous. Bill beamed at her with new regard.

Nat blushed. "Not really.”

“Really!" Bill gestured to the press outside. "They been out there all night. They interviewed me about you, and I told 'em how nice you are, how smart. You're a hero!" He extended a hand over the desk. "Put er there.”

“Aw." Nat shook his hand, and Bill tugged her close to the desk. "Tell me somethin.' Did ya use my car to make a getaway?" Nat winced. "Frankly, yes."

"Great! Then my wife says we could sell it on eBay." Bill made a finger frame in the air. "For sale, Getaway Car."

Hoo boy. "Glad to help out, Bill." Nat crossed to the elevator and pushed the button. "See you later."

"Would you autograph the car for me, like they do on Jay Leno?" Bill called after her, but Nat pretended not to hear as she stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed. She had to shower up, change, and check in on her job, if she still had one. And she wouldn't mind seeing Angus, either.

Nat opened the heavy front doors of the law school and entered the Great Hall, whose vaulted cupola of eggshell white, tall Palladian windows, and glistening marble staircase testified to the school's old-Ivy creds. Students milled around, talking and laughing between classes, and a few turned as she walked in. Her navy pumps clacked across the polished floor of rose-and-tan marble. She was wearing a conservative navy suit with her white punk hair, sending the sartorial equivalent of mixed signals.

"Hi, Marie." Nat waved to the guard as she passed the security desk.

"Stop right there, Miss," the guard called out, her voice echoing in the hall. "I need to see your ID."

Nat turned. "It's me, Marie. Nat Greco."

"Professor Greco?" Marie broke into a grin of recognition. "Sorry, I didn't see your face! Well, welcome back. I knew you didn't kill anybody."

"Thanks." Nat cringed, and the students started turning to her, one by one.

Marie reached for her newspaper and waved it in the air. "You stopped that gangsta from escaping. I read all about you, on the first page. Will you sign your picture for me?"

"Maybe later," Nat answered, but when she turned to go, she found herself surrounded by a ring of students, gawking with admiration. She recognized a few of the faces from her first-year classes, and Warren, Carling, and Chu from her seminar, gazing at her with new eyes.

"Did you really blow up a car, Professor Greco?" Warren asked, as they all gathered around. "That is so cool."

"I didn't-"

Chu corrected, "No, she blew up oil tanks."

"Not, really, I-"

"We didn't know you were such a badass!" Carling grinned and raised a palm. "Come on, gimme some!"

"You got it!" Nat slapped him five and suddenly understood why guys slapped five all the time. Because it was fun.

Just then the door to the faculty lounge opened, and Vice Dean McConnell walked out, some papers in his hand. As soon as he spotted Nat, his face froze like an academic ice sculpture.

"Professor Greco," he said, walking toward her, and the students fell silent, watching.

"Hello, Jim." Nat thought he might strangle her until a thatch of thick gray hair popped out behind him, followed by a trademark red bow tie. It was Dean Samuel Morris, back from the African veldt, and not a moment too soon. His hooded eyes flew open behind his tortoiseshell bifocals and he broke into a characteristic grin.

"Nat, here you are!" Dean Morris, an adorably chubby man, threw his arms around her in a hug that smelled of pipe tobacco. "What am I hearing about you?"

"It's a long story, Sam." Nat enjoyed his aromatic embrace until she spotted McConnell over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing. Dean Morris released her just enough to slip an arm over her shoulder, scoop her out of the crowd, and propel her from the Great Hall into the school lobby.

"You must tell me all about it. I've been fielding calls all morning from the media, and I should tell you, I have been in touch with the police. They faxed me your statement, at my request."

Gulp. Nat couldn't tell from his tone whether she was about to be fired or praised, and he wouldn't show his hand in front of the students anyway. They were collecting in the lobby, smiling at her and even waving as she passed. Melanie Anderson, from her seminar, began clapping, and the other students burst into spontaneous applause, which echoed in the cavernous lobby. Nat acknowledged them with a happy nod, and Dean Morris flashed them an official smile as they rounded the corner on the way to his office.

Vice Dean McConnell fell into step with them. "Sam, we can't just say, 'all's well that ends well' I expressly forbade Nat here from going out to the prison, and she went anyway."

"That's where the bad guys are," Nat said lightly, but Dean Morris seemed not to hear as he swept them down the hall, where more students turned to gawk, then started buzzing and finally clapping.

McConnell continued, "We've never had a law professor charged with murder, whether or not the charges were dropped. It's unprecedented. I warned her many times last week-"

"Not here, Jim." Dean Morris silenced him with a hand chop and turned to Nat. "We do need to speak in private."

Nat's heart sank. What bothered him? Theft? Fraud? Arson? Pick a felony, any felony.

Vice Dean McConnell frowned. "I would like to be included in this meeting. As you know, Professor Greco is up for tenure this year and-"

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Dean Morris whisked Nat from the vice dean, past the secretaries looking at her starry-eyed, and into his office, where he gestured her into the seat across from the desk. "Please, sit."

"Thanks," Nat said uncertainly, and Dean Morris shut the door behind them and turned to her, his expression somber.

"I'll get right to the point. The police statement said that you hid out in an underground tunnel, used for the Underground Railroad. Is that true?"

"Well, it was more like a hole," Nat answered, surprised.

"This hole was previously unknown? You discovered it yourself?"

"I think so. It was covered with boards."

"Amazing." Dean Morris leaned on the desk, his gray eyes blazing with intellectual zeal. "Once this is out, we'll get calls from every history department in the country. This is a coup for our law school."

"Really?" Nat said, then corrected herself. "I mean, really."

"You're going to publish on it, of course."

I am? "Of course. The wood shoring up the hole had carved initials and names, from the era, and I plan to trace some of the names." Nat was freewheeling, but it was her passion, even if nobody else had cared about it until this very minute. "There are records, you know, of different slave families and the routes they took from Maryland and points south. I teach it in my seminar."

"Wouldn't that be a dandy article?" Dean Morris beamed.

"Except that Vice Dean McConnell isn't sure I can keep teaching the seminar, as much as I'd like to. I'd do it in addition to my other classes, as I have been."

"Oh, you must keep teaching it now. About the article, could you expand it into a book, perhaps?"

"I sure could." Nat relaxed. She wasn't going to get fired if she wrote a book. How hard could it be? Lots of clowns wrote books. She was a bookworm before she became a bad-ass.

"There's so much we can do with this find. The sky's the limit.”

“I could even take my students out there for a field trip.”

“A field trip-in law school?" Dean Morris's smile faded. Nat decided not to push her luck. At least not yet.

Ten minutes later, Nat was hurrying down the sunny hall through crowds of excited students, who asked her questions, patted her on the back, and congratulated her on, inter alia, saving the day, bleaching her hair, and blowing things up. She thanked them all, bursting with relief and happiness, so that she was almost completely full of herself by the time she went downstairs to the clinic and opened the glass door, where the omnipresent crowd of students were gathered around Angus in his ponytail, ratty sweater, jeans, and boots. Even as scruffy as he was, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.