A Forest of Corpses (3 page)

"I'd like to go camping. Hiking in the Rafael Wilderness area."

Hiking? Wilderness? That sounded ominous. The wildest thing I'd ever done was at the police softball game years ago between the Santa Barbara PD and the fire guys, where a few of us smuggled in flasks of whiskey, sneaking them behind the outfield bleachers, where we traded war stories between innings.

23

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

He seemed to sense my unease. I could see the eagerness on his face, the need to convince me. He really wanted this.

Was I going to give it to him? "You're always telling me you want to get more active. It's great exercise."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Trust me. It'll be fun."

Anyone else said that and I'd scoff. I knew better than to trust anyone. But this was Jason. He looked so damned earnest. I considered what it would mean to agree. I still had doubt, so I said, "Well, I might consider it."

"At least try it for a week." His eyes were fixed on me. He only dropped his gaze when I frowned. He chewed on his lower lip.

"A week, huh? How about a weekend?"

"Weekend's not long enough to do any real hiking. We need a week at least. What can it hurt?"

At least he hadn't suggested an ocean cruise, knowing how I felt about water. I frowned. Idly, my free hand traced the outline of his ear under his shaggy hair. "Let me think about it."

He knew better than to argue with me.

"Sure," he said. His soft, sexy eyes lasered into mine.

"Bed?"

We didn't make it that far. We rarely did.

* * * *

24

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

I slipped into the lecture hall, taking a seat in the back row. I don't think he saw me. He was too busy explaining the image he had just put up on the screen. He had donned his uniform for his lecture, maybe to remind everyone of who he was. He stood on the floor of the lecture hall, feet planted wide, his shoulders thrown back. He had the authority to back up his stance. I stared at the winking metal cuffs tucked into his back pocket, and the sidearm on the Sam Browne belt he never wore as a detective. I knew he'd won several marksman trophies with his Beretta.

I was amused by the ripple of disgust that flashed through the roomful of eager young students. Not that I didn't feel a twinge myself. The image on the screen was a corpse—don't ask me what sex, I couldn't have told you—in an advanced state of decay. A mass of what might have been hair fanned out over pebbly ground around a moldering skull.

A seven-year veteran of the Santa Barbara Police, Alex was teaching the first month of his visiting lecture at UCSB. I guess if the course proved a hit, they'd bring him back next year for a full semester. If he wanted to do it, of course. I couldn't help but notice a large segment of the female student body was more interested in their professor than his lecture.

Not that I could blame them. He was a hot guy. Buff and lean hipped, with a deceptively boyish face behind metal frame glasses. I forced my gaze off of him and back to the large screen. Oblivious to the numerous lecherous eyes watching 25

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

him, he kept on talking. "These pictures were all taken at the Body Farm, a research facility at the University of Tennessee where forensic students study the effects of the environment on human corpses. This sort of research has been vital in our goal of being able to better estimate things like time of death.

Establishing that is critical in determining who might have committed a crime. Or clearing a suspect. Remember in crime scene investigation, it's motive, opportunity, means, and, I always like to add, method. Find out those four things and you will find your killer. Of course, that's where the fun starts.

Sometimes you know who did the crime, but you can't prove it in a court of law. If you're going to pursue a career in law enforcement you need to consider that reality. Learn to deal with it, or find a new line of work."

A new image appeared. Same body, different angle. This one showed a mass of white maggots spilling out of dark flesh. I could only imagine the smell. "The level and type of insect activity can tell an experienced forensic entomologist a wealth of information." The next slide showed another mass of writhing maggots and beetles. In this one, I could see rib bones through the rotting flesh. I was just thankful they were still images and not video.

Then a third image appeared. Different body, dusky brown skin. It looked like a leg to me.

Alex faced the roomful of eager faces. His gaze swept over them without expression. "Can anyone tell me the difference between this image and the previous two?"

26

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

Students exchanged glances. I saw a few uneasy shrugs, then a young Asian man put his hand up. "It's not as decayed?"

"Good guess, but no. Anyone else?" Alex pointed at a woman on the right side of the hall.

"He's black—African American."

"How do you know it's a he?"

The woman blushed, her pale skin growing pink. "There's a lot of hair on it. Women usually shave..."

"Good observation, but no, that's not it either. Any more guesses? Then perhaps this will give you more to work on."

Another image, this one of the whole body. The girl was right on one thing, it was a guy. But this photo was not taken outside. It was inside and the man was on a bed that looked suspiciously like a hospital bed. Alex confirmed it.

"This is a patient in an east coast hospital. He's undergoing maggot debridement therapy." A murmur went up. He ignored it and went on as though he was talking about what to order for dinner. "Maggots only consume necrotic tissue and since the Civil War have been used to clean out wounds.

It was only stopped when antibiotics came into vogue. The practice is being resumed today under controlled conditions, and is proving to be successful."

My own stomach turned and I almost groaned along with a few others. I got over it by looking at Alex instead. His calmness and visible strength made me straighten and look back. I could take it if he could. A lot of the students around me were visibly fighting to keep their lunches down. A few more looked positively green. I swear, if one person threw up 27

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

I was going to lose it. That was when he looked up and saw me.

"Does it...does it hurt?" The girl who had spoken earlier sounded like she was in pain.

Alex looked away from me and shook his head. "Not at all.

It might not be pretty, but it works." He flipped to the next image. This one was of a new maggot-infested corpse. "It's not something you'd ever need to deal with unless you go into medicine, but I've always found it interesting that insects have more uses than most of us suspect. Most people view them as utterly gross and undesirable." For one brief second his face lightened. "Remember things are not always what they seem. Remember that, and you will go far and save yourself a lot of heartache."

This time, he showed a new image. A corpse almost devoid of any skin except for a few leathery patches, one of which showed a tattoo of, appropriately enough, a skull. The gut of the body was literally crawling with shiny, dark-shelled beetles. Alex ignored the screen. Instead his gaze came back to me. Locked on, and drilled into me. I shivered and felt heat flood my face. But I couldn't look away until he released me.

Nothing crossed his face. He remained impassive as always. There was a brief moment of tension in his shoulders, then he smoothly answered another girl's question before moving on to the next slide. His voice was strong and sure. I never realized what a good public speaker he was. But then we didn't spend a whole lot of time talking, did we?

He finished up his lecture with an admonition that there was an essay due on Monday, which drew a slew of groans, 28

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

then he dismissed the class. I was half way to my feet when his voice boomed out, freezing everyone in their tracks.

"Mr. Zachary. My office, please."

Wide eyes looked around to see who was being summoned. Once everyone realized it wasn't them, they hurried to make their exit before he could change his mind, leaving me alone in the suddenly cavernous lecture hall. The last of their echoing footsteps faded until there was nothing but the sound of my breathing and the tick of the clock on the wall behind me.

"Now, Mr. Zachary."

I stood and looked down at him. But instead of giving me the illusion of superiority, I felt overwhelmed by him. He threw his papers into the cowhide briefcase I had given him just a month ago, clicked it shut, and climbed the stairs to my level, one step at a time, but still he moved quicker than I had expected, and in an instant he was beside me. Without a word he kept going, passed me, leaving me to hurry after him. His boots thudded and squeaked on the tile floors. I couldn't help but watch the swing of his hips under the weight of his uniform jacket and his gun. I was all too aware of his scent. Something dark and masculine that set my nerves singing, and my cock thickening in my suddenly too tight jeans. I looked at his ass, remembering what lay under there.

I had thoughts that were not appropriate for this place.

I stammered to fill the silence between us. "I know you told me not to come until next week. But I had to. Don't you see? I had to see you. I didn't think to ask you if I could come 29

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

by right now," I added. "I was done for the day and thought it would be a good time to catch you before you left..."

His office was at the end of the corridor, behind a series of ominously closed doors. It was late in the day and I knew most of the other professors would be gone for the weekend.

We were alone in the building. His footsteps echoed. The only other sound was our breathing, mine growing raspy, his still level and almost silent.

He didn't speak as he unlocked the last door, letting us both in, and locking up behind us. The air was redolent of furniture polish, and the scent of age that only old buildings have. The only window was the one in the door, and it was frosted glass, letting little light in. The stained wooden floor underfoot creaked as he led me across the narrow room toward a large wooden desk that took up most of the space.

The desk held nothing but a Dell laptop, a blotter, a gooseneck lamp, a landline phone and a pile of folders, no doubt student papers. Even in the dim light, I had no trouble seeing the glitter of his gray eyes behind his glasses. I opened my mouth to speak but he silenced me with a look.

The phone on his desk rang. He scooped it up without taking his eyes off me and barked into the handset, "Spider here." He listened a moment then snapped, "I'll call you back.

Monday." He broke the connection and shut the phone off.

Then his glacial eyes focused on me.

I felt goose bumps crowd my arms. "Maybe I was wrong. I shouldn't have come—"

"Shut up." He pushed me back against the massive oak desk. "It's too late to change your mind," he said. "But you 30

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

knew that when you showed up today, didn't you? You're the one who came here."

He spun me around and shoved me down, over the desk, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "You knew this was going to happen, yet you came anyway. Why is that, do you think?"

"I had to." One hand on my back forced me face first down onto the bare desk. I struggled futilely when I felt the cold snick of metal around my wrists. He spun me around to face him. The heat from his too close body overwhelmed me. His intoxicating smell filled my nostrils. "We can't do this," I tried one more time. "Someone will come in. We'll get in trouble."

It was only his twelfth day as a teacher and knowing he was in the same building had preyed on my mind. I couldn't stay away. That's what he did to me. And he knew it, too.

"No one's going to come in. Now, not another word." Then he made speaking impossible by overwhelming me with his touch. His mouth on my throat, fingers pressing my jaw closed, sliding down to grab my rock hard dick through my jeans. I lunged up in need. His hands tightened on my shoulders and he held me in place without any effort. "Give it up, Jason. This is what you really wanted, isn't it? You're a tease, and you know what happens to men who tease, don't you? You pay for it." One hand went to the fly of my jeans.

We could both feel the heat from my groin. "Just like this."

He shoved my jeans down my legs, exposing my shivering thighs to the cool air of the office. He left my jock on; it barely covered my swelling cock. He guided me back around and bent me over the desk. "Sir!" I squeaked when his hand 31

A Forest of Corpses

by P. A. Brown

slid between my ass cheeks, probing the puckered flesh behind my balls. Oh God. Yes!

His mouth pressed against the skin below my ear. "We both know what you are, don't we?" His tongue stroked my ear, sending shivering ripples of desire down my spine to lodge in the base of my cock. Then he bit me. Hard. "You're mine. You always will be. That's why we're going on this vacation you want. To prove that you're mine anywhere we go." He stroked the spot he had bitten, using his rough tongue. "You can never escape me."

I grunted, thrusting my hips forward, scraping my swollen flesh against the smooth surface of the desk, wanting more than the touch of wood. I closed my eyes and let the sensations swamp me. His touch was sure and all too knowing.

He bit me again, the pain a jolt of raw lust. He shoved two fingers into my ass, his thumb probing the soft skin behind my balls.

I wanted to beg him to stop. I wanted to beg him to bury himself inside me. I wanted—

I whimpered when I heard the whisper of his zipper, the rough play of his fingers going deeper, stroking my prostate.

A light burst behind my closed eyes. I tried to straighten and turn around. I wanted to see his face. I wanted his cock down my throat or up my ass; I couldn't decide which I needed more. He jerked on the metal pinning my hands to my back.