You guys keep reviewing and I'll keep updating. That's how our relationship works. I think it's a good arrangement. I'm just being silly right now. Enjoy the chapter.

I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.

The bohemians sat in the lobby of the police station with cups of coffee in their hands. It was two in the morning and the two students Connor had mentioned to Angel on the phone had been found and brought in for questioning. They were both twenty-years-old and had previous offenses involving drunk driving and underage drinking, but that was all that could be found on them. Thirty minutes had passed since they had been brought to the station and taken to separate interrogation rooms.

"Angel, I can go with you back to your apartment if you want to try to get some sleep," Mimi told the drag queen, who looked like she was fighting exhaustion with everything in her. She shook her head and sipped her bitter coffee.

"I want to be here when something happens," she replied. A male detective and his female partner approached the group of friends.

"Sanders, Baker, what did you get?" Joanne asked.

"Not a damn thing," Detective Sanders answered. His voice had a hint of anger in it.

"Nothing at all?" Mark asked.

"We split them up and they still had the same story," Detective Baker replied. "They admitted to planning to hurt their professor, but they both said they would never actually carry the plan out."

"Called themselves 'cowards,'" Sanders added. He shook his head. "Unless we get a solid confession, the only thing we can take these guys down for is conspiracy to commit kidnapping."

"So there's nothing you can do?" Roger asked.

"Not without a confession or them pointing their fingers at someone else," Baker replied. Angel placed her coffee cup on the floor and stood up.

"I want to talk to them," she announced. "And since I only have one question that I need answered, I want them in the same room." Everyone stared at Angel, who had a determined look in her eyes. Baker glanced at her partner before leaving the room. She returned five minutes later and gestured to Angel to follow her. Sanders walked behind the drag queen.

Once they had reached the interrogation room, Angel stared at Michael and Lionel through the one-way glass. Both boys looked downright scared.

"Are you sure about this?" Sanders asked. Angel simply nodded. After Baker opened the door for her, she walked into the room fearlessly and sat down on the opposite side of the table Michael and Lionel were sitting at. They glanced at each other.

"You're Professor Collins' girlfriend, aren't you?" Michael asked.

"Yes, I am," Angel replied. "How do you know that?"

"He talks about you sometimes," Lionel answered. "And he has a picture of you on his desk since he's one of the few professors who doesn't have to share a classroom." Angel nodded and studied her lover's students. They kept stealing looks at Baker and Sanders, who were in the room for precautionary reasons.

"I'm going to ask you both one question and I want you to answer it honestly," Angel told them. "Can I trust you to tell me the truth?"

"Yes," both boys replied.

"Are you responsible for Collins' disappearance?"

"No, we'd never do anything like this," Lionel said.

"We've thought about it, but stuff like that takes a hell of a lot of time," Michael added. "Besides, from what he's told us about you, you're really sensitive and nice. We wouldn't put you through this just because we don't like the workload your boyfriend gives us."

Angel examined their faces. She could tell by subtle facial movements whether or not she was being lied to. She could see in their eyes that these boys were telling the truth. Offering them a warm smile, she stood up.

"Thank you," she said. Sanders opened the door for her and she was led back to the lobby.

"Did they confess yet?" Maureen immediately asked.

"They don't have anything to confess," Angel replied. "They told the truth."

"They're college kids who don't want to go to prison," Sanders said, folding his arms. "They'll say anything to get themselves off the hook. What makes you so sure they're telling the truth?"

"I can't explain it. I just know they were being honest."

"So, we're back at square one," Roger stated. "Collins is missing and we don't have the slightest idea of where he could be."

"Who did you say gave you their names?" Baker asked.

"A boy named Connor Bennett," Joanne answered. "Why?"

"I'm thinking maybe we should check him out."

"Connor's a sweetheart," Angel told the detective. "He's quiet, shy, and he only really feels comfortable when he's around Collins. He'd never hurt him."

"I still say we look into this kid's life."

"She's right," Sanders agreed. "It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's the quiet ones that are guilty."

The sun coming in the window through a small crack in the curtains woke Collins up. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Slowly, he sat up and stretched a little. He stared at his broken leg as the door of the room opened. Connor entered carrying a tray and smiling.

"Good morning, Professor," he said. "I made a special breakfast for you. A veggie omelet with toast on the side and a glass of orange juice, freshly squeezed."

"That's sweet, Connor," Collins replied. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to." Connor walked over to the bedside table and put the glass of orange juice next to the phone before placing the tray on Collins' lap. He watched as the professor picked up the fork that was on the tray and tasted the omelet.

"This is good."

"I'm glad you like it." Connor's smile grew brighter. Collins then noticed the boy was wearing a long sleeved shirt, a sweater vest, and khaki pants.

"Connor, do you have any . . . normal clothes?" he asked. A confused look replaced Connor's smile.

"What do you mean by that?" he replied.

"No offense, but you dress like a forty-year-old man. You're always in sweaters or button down shirts that you tuck in your pants."

"You don't like my clothes?"

"I didn't say that. It's just . . . you're eighteen. I think you should dress like it."

"I like to wear sweaters."

"I know, but . . . never mind. Forget I said anything." Collins continued to eat his breakfast as Connor looked down at his sweater vest and frowned slightly. "Who taught you how to cook?"

"No one. I read a recipe book one day out of sheer boredom when I was six. I made dinner for my parents by myself for the first time when I was eight." The boy was looking at Collins, momentarily distracted by his comments on his fashion choices.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I knew at a very young age I was going to have to know how to take care of myself, so I learned by reading."

"Are the phones repaired yet?"

"Not quite, but I did talk to Angel." Collins eyes widened.

"Why didn't you let me talk to her?"

"You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

"What did she say?"

"I told her what happened and she doesn't think traveling would be good for you in your condition. She told me to take care of you."

"She . . . did?" Connor nodded. "That doesn't sound like her. Whenever I'm sick or hurt, she always wants to take care of me herself." Connor's heartbeat quickened and he hastily thought of a response.

"She'll take care of you when she gets here," he said. Collins stared at him in confusion. "She only wants me to take care of you until she can get here."

"Well, when will that be?" Connor froze, racking his brain for another fast answer. "Hello?"

"Sorry, I was trying to estimate her time of arrival, but . . . since I'm not sure . . . what's wrong with your friend Joanne's car, I can't calculate the time it would take to have it fixed. So, it's really hard to say at this point when Angel will be here." The eighteen-year-old mentally patted himself on the back for being able to think on his feet. Sometimes he loved having an eidetic memory.

"Well, could you call back and ask her?" Collins asked. "And let me talk to her this time?"

"Sure . . . I can do that." Collins suddenly brought his hand to his head. "Oh, you're hurting. I'll be right back."

"Connor, I'll be fine." Connor had already bolted from the room.

He knew he was going to have to add more lies to his story about Angel, specifically an explanation as to why she wasn't going to show up. The whole point of Connor's plan was to make Collins forget about Angel, but it seemed as though he thought of her even more when he was separated from her. It was the one thing that was hindering his plan. Somehow outsmarting his professor was the only way he could think of at that moment that would make him see that they belonged together.

He will love me, he thought as he gathered the tourniquet, syringe, and bottle of morphine. He has to.

Review please.