She didn’t want to hear about them just now, but he thought she should. “They could use your family or friends to get to you. They’ve probably figured out you’ll do anything to help your friends. Look what you did when Sidney was in trouble. That took courage to go into your apartment—with what, pepper spray?”
“I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“I know.”
“I wish I knew what it was they wanted. I’ve told the police everything about my life since the day I was born and nothing explains this.”
They both fell silent. Every once in a while she would sneak a peek at his profile. He was so strong and confident. She didn’t want him to leave. She would never admit it, though.
She didn’t realize she was staring until he said, “What are you thinking about now?”
“You.”
Frowning, he glanced at her. “Yeah?”
“I was wondering if I would ever see you again once you leave.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say probably not.”
“That’s not good enough. I need to know.”
“Why?”
“If I knew I would run into you again sometime in the future, then tonight would be a quiet evening. Watch a little television and go to our separate bedrooms.”
He was intrigued. “And if you’d never see me again?”
“I can assure you it wouldn’t be a quiet evening.”
TWENTY
“WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A QUIET EVENING.” SAM SOUNDED irritated. “So you don’t want to go out to dinner then?” she asked innocently.
“That’s not what you’re suggesting.”
She would have tried to come up with a few more suggestive hints, but was prevented from doing so by his frown. She decided to stop provoking him. He would be gone in the morning, and she’d be glad about it. Damned glad, as her brothers would say. It had hurt her that he had such regret over a kiss. One little kiss. Granted, it had been amazing, and his mouth had been firm and demanding, and oh my God, his tongue …
Apparently, she was the only one who had liked it.
She folded her arms and stared straight ahead as she brooded. Sam sure knew how to make a girl feel special.
They both were silent for a few miles. Lyra looked out the window and tried to figure out where they were. Los Angeles had always been difficult for her to navigate.
“Do you miss Scotland?” she asked.
The question took him by surprise. “Yes, I do.”
“What’s it like where you’re from?”
“The Highlands are magnificent,” he said. “When you hike through the glens, you’re surrounded by the most spectacular rolling mountains. Many of the valleys have long narrow lochs that are so deep, they look like pools of onyx. And in the forests, you’ll find the clearest streams on Earth. The fishing there is the best, especially in the cool mornings when the mist is rising from the water.”
“It sounds so beautiful. Why did you ever leave?”
“I moved with my parents when I was young.”
“To the United States?”
“No, not at first. My father has dual citizenship, American and Scottish. Most of his family is in Scotland, but he was raised here. After university he went to work for the State Department, and he met my mother when he was stationed at the consulate in Edinburgh. A couple of years later, my parents left the diplomatic service, and moved to the family estate outside Cairnmar, a small village in the Highlands where most of the Kincaid clan still lives.”
“Is that where you were born?”
“No, I was born in the United States. My mother and father had come back for a visit, and, from what I’ve been told, I arrived on the scene a few weeks earlier than expected. Shortly afterward, we returned to Cairnmar, and I lived there until I was ten. That’s when my father was called to work for the government again, and we were transferred to Paris. After that we lived in Algeria, then Tokyo, and a half dozen other places before I was out of high school. By that time, we were living in the United States, so I went to university here. After law school, I joined the FBI.”
“Are your parents still alive?” She realized she was grilling him again. She couldn’t explain why she was so interested. Maybe it was because he had been given every detail of her life before he met her, and she wanted to even the playing field.
“Yes,” he answered. “A few years ago, my mother and father moved back to Cairnmar, and I try to go home to see them as often as I can.”
“Would you ever want to live there again?”
“I’ve thought about it. I love this country, but I guess I’ll always be a little homesick for the Highlands.”
They were just pulling off the highway when the rain started. Sprinkles quickly turned into a torrential downpour. By the time they reached the campus, the grass was under water and the dirt had turned to mud.
The rain stopped as swiftly as it had begun. Sam found a parking spot at the end of the lot and backed in so Lyra wouldn’t have to step in the mud to get to the pavement.
As Lyra was reaching for her backpack in the trunk, she asked, “Do you want to change into hiking boots now?”
“I’ll wait.”
Sam tried to take the backpack from her, but she slipped one strap over her shoulder and said, “I’m used to it.”
That was the last time he looked at her until they were inside the building. He was occupied watching the people walking along the sidewalks, sitting on benches, standing in windows. He analyzed every possible sniper position, while he kept her tight against him.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered as they crossed the quad, which offered little protection. The trees grew close to the buildings, and the rest of the space was a big open expanse. He felt as though they were targets in a shooting gallery. “We have to find another way in and out of this place.”
“Don’t worry about it. You won’t be back here.” She hadn’t meant her remark to be a jab, but it sounded like one, so she quickly said, “The new bodyguard can worry about it.”
Sam didn’t respond. His face was set in stone as he continued to scan. He didn’t relax his guard once they were in the classroom building either, making Lyra walk close to the wall as he led the way. It seemed that every man who walked past knew her name. Sam heard “Hi, Lyra” at least twenty times.
Professor Mahler’s door was open a crack, and Lyra knocked on it.
“Come in, come in,” he called impatiently.
The professor sat at his desk with stacks of papers in front of him. He was signing his name to what appeared to be legal documents. When he looked up and saw Sam standing behind Lyra, his lips clamped together in a pinched expression. He moved two stacks of papers aside and pulled out one of his desk drawers.
“I forgot to have you sign a form for the competition. If it isn’t postmarked by the end of the day, you won’t be able to submit your children’s short to the board.”
Like the proverbial absentminded professor, he rifled through the drawer and went through three stacks of papers before finding the entry form and envelope.
“I see your friend is still at your side … with his firearm,” he said with noticeable disgust in his voice.
Sam gave no response, but Lyra felt the need to defend him. “He is required to carry a weapon.”
“Yes. Big Brother FBI would have such rules. I hope he isn’t going to be a distraction for you. If you think he might be, I’ll give this opportunity to another student.”
“He won’t be a distraction,” she assured. “In fact, he’s leaving tomorrow.”
Mahler’s pinched lips relaxed, and he handed the form to Lyra. “I may be doing you a disservice by letting you submit. You only have two weeks to come up with an idea—a stellar idea,” he corrected. “You must be honest with yourself, Lyra. If you don’t think it has a chance to win or place, then don’t submit it. It would reflect poorly on me.”
“Professor, aren’t you going to approve it before I submit it?”
“No time for that. You’ll need every minute of the next two weeks. Now fill out that form and get it in the mail today.”
“Yes, I will.”
As she was walking out the door, the professor called out, “Fill in every line. You don’t want to be disqualified for something as minor as not writing down your phone number. Shut the door behind you.”
Lyra saw the scowl on Sam’s face and said, “Isn’t Professor Mahler a sweetie?”
“I’ve got another name for him.”
Lyra took a seat in an empty classroom and filled out the application. She stopped in an office two doors down to get postage and the smiling secretary kindly offered to mail it for her.
“Hi, Lyra.” A young man carrying a large box passed them in the hall.
“Hi, Jeff.”
And so it started again. This time Sam decided to count, and five men tried to engage her in conversation before Lyra and he got to the building’s exit. Their familiarity bothered him, but he wasn’t ready to admit why. Other than being friendly, Lyra didn’t seem interested in any of them.
“How come there’s no man in your life?”
“Who says there isn’t?”
“I’ve read your file, remember? It was thorough.”
“In other words, Sidney told you there wasn’t anyone.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Come on. Let’s go.”
They crossed the quad as quickly as Lyra could move without running. She was long-legged, but her stride wasn’t nearly as long as his.
A strong storm was brewing. The sky grew darker and darker as the black clouds rolled in.
When they reached the car, Lyra hurried to the passenger side and waited for Sam to unlock the doors. He was about to push the button on the remote when he saw the footprints in the mud next to the door. He followed the footprints around to the passenger side.
“Ah, hell,” Sam muttered. “Lyra get away from the car.”
Sam got down on one knee and looked underneath. He saw the red light blinking and backed away. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?” she asked, bewildered by his strange behavior. He had his arm around her and was pulling her away from the car while he reached for the phone in his pocket and punched in a number.
“Sam, who are you calling?” She was tripping to keep up with him.
“Bomb squad.”
TWENTY-ONE
TO HER CREDIT, LYRA TOOK THE NEWS ABOUT THE BOMB squad in stride, probably because she was having difficulty wrapping her head around the notion that someone had planted an explosive device under their car. She was informed it was connected by wires to the ignition, and if Sam hadn’t noticed the muddy footprints, they would both be part of the campus now. She might have ended up on top of one building and Sam on another.
The thoughts were too gruesome. Lyra forced them from her mind.
Sam wouldn’t let her stay around to watch the bomb squad—not that she wanted to—nor would he let her talk to the detectives out in the open. He wanted her away from the crowd and the chaos. No cars were allowed to enter or leave the parking lot. Dozens of onlookers, some angry they couldn’t get to their cars and others curious to see what had brought so many police to the campus, stood behind barricades.
Sam took Lyra into a tiny coffee bar a safe distance away. She sat on a bench while he got her a cup of hot tea. She didn’t realize she was shaking until she tried to hold the cup. Sam took it away from her before she burned herself and put it on the table, then sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Your first bomb?” he asked casually.
She laughed at the ridiculous question.
“That’s better,” he said. “You’re safe now, Lyra. Don’t be scared. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
He was stroking her arm as he pulled her closer. His body was hard and warm.
“You misunderstand, Sam. I’m not scared. I’m angry, very angry. I want answers. I hate being helpless.”
She tried to stand but he wouldn’t let her. “Take a couple of deep breaths.”
O’Malley and another detective joined them and took turns asking Lyra questions while they drank coffee. Every once in a while one or both of them would look at Sam to judge his reaction.
Lyra tried to get some answers of her own, especially about the motive behind the threat, but the detectives were evasive and would only say that they were working on it.
On what? she wanted to ask. Did they have any leads at all? Or were they just humoring her until the culprits gave themselves up?
“I’d like to leave, Sam,” she said wearily after an hour’s interrogation.
O’Malley stood. “We’ll get in touch with you soon. Hopefully with some good information.”
Sam waited until they had left and then said, “I know how frustrating this is for you.”
“When can we get out of here?”
“The new car will be here in a minute.”
“What’s wrong with the car you’re driving? They took the bomb away.”
“That car is a crime scene now.”
“Of course,” she said, feeling foolish. She had watched enough crime shows to know that. Maybe she wasn’t as in control as she thought.
Sam’s cell phone rang a minute later.
“Car’s here,” he told her.
“We have to get our boots out of the trunk before we leave.”
“Sorry, can’t,” he said. “They’re part of—”
“The crime scene,” she recited.
“Right.”
As she stood to leave, she put her hand on Sam’s arm. “I’m so glad you didn’t get hurt.”
Sam couldn’t believe what he did next. He bent down and kissed her. It was quick and over before she could react, but the warmth and softness of her lips made him want more. What was he doing?
“Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “Do you still want to drive to that park?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “We’ll go, but only after I make certain we aren’t being followed. That could take awhile.”
“Fine with me,” she said. “But we also have to go back to the sporting goods store to get another pair of boots.”
“No, that isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, we’re going,” she snapped. “I’m not walking up that hill without boots, and neither are you unless you want hepatitis, encephalitis, dumbitis …”
His smile stopped her rant. That adorable smile could melt hearts—and probably did, she thought.
The car was black, shiny, and what the FBI driver called a dream.
“Let me run it down for you,” the eager young man said. “It’s got bulletproof glass and armor in the doors. The hood and trunk lids are reinforced, and the wings over the tires make it tough to shoot out one of them. Shooter would have to come at them from below, which is impossible … unless you drive over him, I guess.
“It’s built like a tank, but don’t worry, with an 850 engine it’s got more power than a race car. I don’t think a bomb could take this baby apart,” he exaggerated.
He opened the passenger door for Lyra and winked at her when she thanked him.
“You’re gonna be real safe inside this ride, Miss,” he drawled as he draped himself over the door.
Sam walked around to the driver’s side and was about to get in when he heard Lyra ask, “Is there a gun in the glove compartment that I could borrow?”
“I don’t think so, but here’s my card. My name’s Ed. If you need anything …”
He shut the door before she could say, “I need a gun.”
Sam opened the glove compartment to make sure there wasn’t a weapon.
“I want a gun,” she insisted. “Any kind will do.”
“No.”
“All right. I’ll get my own.”
His jaw was clenched. “No, you won’t.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He didn’t like her smile on
e little bit. “You’re not getting a damn gun. You’d kill yourself.”
Oh, please. “Sam, you read my file—if there really is a file on me.”
“There is, and I’ve read it.”
“Then you know that I was born and raised on a ranch in Texas.” In other words, there wasn’t a gun she couldn’t take apart, clean, put back together, and shoot with impressive accuracy. Her brothers had taught her how to shoot, and whenever she returned to the ranch, she practiced.
“You never know when a gun might come in handy. That’s what my brothers would tell me,” she explained. “To kill rattlesnakes, of course.”
“There aren’t any snakes here.”
“Oh, yes, there are. The men who planted that explosive are definitely snakes.”
He couldn’t argue with her there.
“Buckle up, Lyra,” Sam said as he turned the key in the ignition.
The car was a gem to drive. The engine purred, and barely touching the gas pedal sent them flying. Sam took them on five different highways, a dozen overpasses, and a maze of side streets, and when he was convinced no one was tailing them, he found another sporting goods store and pulled in.
Fortunately, the store carried the same brand of boots and had their sizes as well. Lyra picked out socks for both of them and put them on the counter. Ignoring her protest, Sam paid the bill, and they walked out wearing their new boots. Lyra knew she looked ridiculous wearing a skirt with hiking boots, but they were necessary attire for where they were going.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, once he had pulled onto the street. “While you were changing shoes, the clerk told me about a good sandwich place just down the street.”
“Oh, no, we can’t eat before we climb the hill. We should stop and get some bottled water for after, but no food. You wouldn’t be able to keep it down.”
“Sure I would.”
Forty-five minutes later, he was gagging like a man who had mixed his beer with whiskey and wine. The stench made his eyes water, and he kept muttering what Lyra assumed were curses in a different language. Every once in awhile, she’d hear “Ah, man … brutal …”