Page 5 of Falling for Carla
Clearing my throat, I called the class to order. “Good morning. I’m Drake Sheffield, and this is Criminology IV. The syllabus should hit your email in ten minutes. If I let you have it now, you’ll ignore me and figure out exactly what you have to turn in so you can pass my class. It’s not that simple. Try not to groan out loud,” I said with a smirk.
I couldn’t help watching her as I spoke. She gave nothing away, my words not registering in her expression as dismay or annoyance or concern. She was unflappable, and I liked that, and it made me want to see if I could surprise her, if I could do something that shattered that careful calm.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that my course is a bit different from your previous criminal justice work. It’s more comprehensive with respect to the psychology of the criminal mind and each semester I select a criminal niche to explore in depth with my highest-level class. If you were around two years ago, you’ll be aware that my serial killers topic sent a record sixteen students fleeing from the entire graduate program. That’s not to say it’s my goal to scare you off. On the contrary, I want to prepare you for what you’ll face out in the field when it comes to the sometimes-twisted inner workings of a group of offenders whose behavior lumps them together as uniquely sociopathic and difficult to rehabilitate. This semester I’m focusing this course on organized crime. Wide-reaching criminal organizations that deal in everything from racketeering to drugs to human trafficking, all as a lucrative business enterprise. If you think you’ll do fine because you’ve seen the Godfather or the Sopranos, I suggest you buckle up,” I said.
I felt a shift in the woman in front of me. Her head snapped up from her laptop screen. I had seen something I didn’t expect.
I’d find out what was behind that reaction. I had felt the urge earlier to get a response from her, but fear wasn’t at all the response I’d had in mind.
CHAPTER 4
CARLA
“You know you can have my notes from last semester,” I offered.
“Wouldn’t help. You had Dr. Callahan for forensics. I have Professor Boring as Hell.”
“Okay, well, my Criminology IV prof is hot as hell, does that count?”
“You are not making me feel better,” Brenda groaned, tossing a fry at me. I grabbed it and ate it.
“Thanks,” I said.
“My forensic pathology class is going to be a nightmare. This guy is going to make it boring and complicated, even though I’ve been looking forward to taking the class. Now it makes me want to die when I think about having a class at eight thirty in the morning that’s this dull,” she said. “Tell me about the hot professor. How good looking is he? Is he just slightly above average or are we talking the cast of Supernatural?”
“Woman, you are the only person who finds those men attractive at this point,” I joked. “And no, he is not slightly above average. He’s scorching hot. He had a little five o’clock shadow at eight in the morning, and these calloused looking hands that said he wasn’t always in academics. I looked up his LinkedIn and he used to be a cop, retired from the force as a full detective.”
“But you don’t sound like you want to pick his brain about his career trajectory,” Brenda teased.
“You should talk about picking brains when you’re in forensic path,” I laughed, “there’s gonna be brain injuries to look at and it isn’t pretty.”
“Really? And here I thought I’d see video of how to do an at-home manicure in that class,” she said.
“Sarcasm will give you wrinkles,” I said, deadpan. She laughed and flung another fry at me.
We were in our favorite diner around the corner from the apartment we shared. The place was crowded and noisy, with everyone in the neighborhood ready to get out and see their friends after classes had started up again.
I took a drink of my soda and relaxed against the booth. It was just what I needed, time to hang out with Brenda and just let loose after taking all those notes and drawing up a schedule based on all the upcoming assignments that I gleaned from the syllabi of my courses. It was going to be a heavy first month.
“I have three papers due this month,” I said with resignation. “Tonight may be the last time I see the outdoors outside of class for weeks.”
“You crank out papers like a machine, woman,” Brenda said. “I, on the other hand, have to run mine through proofreading software to make sure I didn’t screw up the citations.”
“Your papers are good. The one you did last semester for your recidivism and restorative justice seminar was really well done.”
“After you looked it over and made ‘adjustments’,” she said using air quotes.
“So I like to nitpick. It’s a character flaw. But it saved you a few points on passive voice and stuff.”
“Oh, I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. It’s just a little irritating that you’re good at everything,” she teased.
“I am not good at everything. I took that macroeconomics course as a freshman and it made me cry. I had to drop it.”
“Once. One time. Classes make me cry all the time! I may cry of boredom in forensic path any day now.”
“Well, in spite of my good-looking professor, I’m not looking forward to Criminology anymore. Sheffield announced the special topic for the semester and, wait for it—”
“Please not sex trafficking. Julie said she had to leave class and puke when she had Criminology.”