Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

Heads swiveled back my way.

I swallowed. I wasn’t ready for a faceoff with Dr. Ceile, especially not in a room filled with everyone I could possibly want to work with for the rest of my life, and the press to boot.

And then I saw Mike.

He’d picked a spot near the back of the room, hidden by the lights, a hat pulled down over his bright curls. But I saw him now as his entire stance shifted. He’d forgotten he was trying to be nondescript, invisible, and instead he sat straight, shoulders back as his eyes burned into Ceile. He turned to look at me, like he would urge me on with just the power of his gaze and his will.

Our gazes locked. His eyes flared wide, and a flutter started deep in my belly. And then he smiled, a smile filled with such belief, such love, that I felt courage turn my spine to iron.

“Dr. Ceile.” I spoke slowly, carefully, loudly. “I appreciate you coming here today and your interest in the site, but I don’t think this is an appropriate forum to discuss Ivernis.”

“So you’re saying that this is not Ivernis. That there is no relation to Ivernis.”

My eyes sought Mike’s. “It’s not Ivernis. It’s Kilkarten. But if the only reason you’re here is to continue your feud with Jeremy, I think you should leave.”

He looked smug. “I just want the community to recognize that even Jeremy’s prodigy—the one who secured funding for his latest craze—has left his side.”

I came around from behind my podium, standing at the edge of the stage. “You’re talking about this the wrong way, Dr. Ceile. I haven’t left anything, and I’m not setting out to prove anything. We’ve uncovered an amazing site. My purpose isn’t to prove a colleague wrong or put my name in the history books or get a TV deal. It’s to make a positive impact on the people directly affected by the excavation or the history—whether that’s descendants, or the local population, or the scholarship of the perio

d.”

Dr. Ceile sat.

I leaned forward and found Mike again. “Thank you for coming.”

* * *

The press had already swarmed the back door by the time I exited. Reporters pressed recorders in my face and shouted questions about my mother and Mike and Jeremy and Kilkarten and Ceile.

And then the clamor hit a feverish pitch and Mike was there, shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he was by my side, his arm wrapped around me, and we pushed through the crowd.

“This way,” I said once we’d cleared the worst of it, and we dashed for the panelist room, set aside for speakers to relax and get a bite to eat or just, in this case, escape.

We collapsed at one of the large round tables, and Mike fetched us bags of water and bags of chips and pretzels. “Who knew archaeology fans were as rabid as football fans?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “I think most of them were media junkies. I’d be flattered if I thought that many people actually cared about Kilkarten.”

He was silent, and I wondered if he’d known that when I’d said It’s not Ivernis. It’s Kilkarten, I’d been talking about him. I opened my mouth to say so, but he beat me to it. “So that was Ceile.”

Oh. Right. I guzzled down the tiny water cup. “In the flesh.”

“I wanted to punch him.”

That drew a real laugh out of me. “I know. I want to on a regular basis.

A new voice joined us, and we started guiltily. “Don’t let any sense of propriety hold you back.”

I pushed to my feet. “Professor Ceile.” We’d been introduced as previous conferences, but Jeremy had always been between us. I tried to think of something to say.

But I’d already said everything from the stage, and I didn’t want to babble. I didn’t want to create meaningless words out of nothing for the sake of filling an awkward silence. Let him be the uncomfortable one tonight.

His attention drifted to Mike, and he formed a dry smile. “I’m a fan.”

Mike didn’t smile back. “Thanks.”

Ceile inspected his hands, then the wall, and then finally settled on me. “You probably think this is personal.”

“I don’t appreciate you mixing my mother’s background with my professional life.”