Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“Natalie.”

“I don’t want my reputation being dragged down on this,” Grace said coolly.

I looked at Jeremy. He wouldn’t return my gaze.

Because right now my rep could lower him, while Grace’s and Duncan’s could bring him higher up. “Jeremy, please. Let me talk to the press. I’ll give a little statement about how we’re still early in the dig and have no substantive conclusions right now, and I’ll add something boring about my mother and Mike to get them off my back.”

“They don’t want something boring.”

I started, and twisted around to see Mike, standing in his sweats and rumpled hair, watching us all with bright eyes.

“Oh?” Grace said. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m sure your feud is great and all. Very made-for-TV. But those aren’t your academic journalists out there. They want a splashy story for the tabloids or the cover of the sports section.”

“Tabloids,” Duncan groaned.

Jeremy leaned back in his chair. “You think they’re more interested in you than me and Ceile?”

Mike’s brows shot up and he smiled his you-poor-disbelieving-bastard smile. “I think it can’t hurt if Natalie and I give a little interview with some of the journalists I know.”

I waited until they’d all agreed, and then I went after Mike. “Why’d you offer that? I thought you were anti saving Jeremy’s rep.”

He brushed my hair back. “I don’t care about Jeremy. But I don’t want you sacrificing yourself and giving up the dig to save his reputation.”

I frowned. “Do you really think I would do that?”

“I don’t know. Would you? You’ve put people above finding Ivernis before. You put me above Kilkarten.”

I studied the planes of his face. How was it possible a person could be so familiar to me, that I could conjure his face down to the smallest detail even when he wasn’t nearby, and that when he was before me I never tired of looking? “You’re different.”

He slid his hands around my waist, under the hem of my shirt. They radiated heat. Mike radiated heat, like fire made human. “Am I?”

I brought my lips to his and tried to tell him in every way except verbally that I loved him.

* * *

None of the reporters followed us onto the fields, since Kilkarten was private property. Still, a hesitant unease hung over the crew as we shifted shovels of unremarkable earth. I called lunch early, and my unit trooped over to the others by the parking lot. We settled in th

e dirt with our bags and a round of Purelle. Some of the workers, like Anka Wójcik, lay down with their hats over their faces and catnapped during our forty-five minute break. These were usually the ones who worked here as their second job, or who came from farms farther away and had to wake earlier than the rest of us.

They probably weren’t worried about the lack of discovery, but more about having this income next summer.

“Who’s that?” Tim O’Brian, with the farm ten miles west, nodded his head toward the parking lot. “Never seen her before.”

Jack Kelleher spoke around his mouthful of banana. “She a friend of yours, Natalie?”

I looked up and realized they were asking me because the newcomer was accompanied by Mike, who helpfully offered his hand to help her over a bump.

We were outside. Of course there were bumps. Why the hell was she wearing heels?

From this distance, I couldn’t see her features, but I could see the way her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders, held back by a headband, and the way her coat cinched at the waist and then flared out in an appropriately whimsical manner.

I stood and made my way over, acutely aware of the dirt on my legs and my butt and my hair and my face. I was dirt all over; I breathed it, ate it, smelled it. I blew my nose and black mucus came out. “Hi.”

Mike gestured at the girl. “Hey, Nat. This is Jane Ellington.” To the girl, he said, “Natalie’s a grad student on the dig.”

She stuck out her hand and revealed gleaming white teeth. “Nice to meet you.”