“Uh-oh,” Rand said, looking at Sam. “You haven’t told him yet?”
“Told me what?” He focused on Sam, his entire demeanor suddenly wary. “Is this what you wouldn’t tell me before?”
“I think I’ll just take this and—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sam said, cutting Rand off. “You did it, you stick around for the fallout.”
Rand drew back with a deep sigh. Sam took an equally deep breath and turned to face Ian. “They know where you live, Ian. And it’s already been in the news that you were released from the hospital today.”
That startled him. “It was? Why on earth would I be in the news?”
“You were a hit-and-run victim, and you work for Redstone. That’s enough to make the papers in this town,” Rand said.
Sam frowned as Rand tap-danced around the truth, just as she had done with Ian for so long now. But she didn’t see any other way to do it; her perceptions may have been rattled, but she was still fairly sure Ian wouldn’t stand for what had really been arranged.
“Josh thinks, and we agree, it’s not safe for you to stay here,” she told Ian. “Especially now that they know they didn’t kill you or even seriously incapacitate you.”
Somewhat to her surprise, he took that part well.
“Oh. I guess that’s true.”
“Good,” Rand said briskly. “You want to put that thing on disk, or print it out? Maybe you should do both, just to expedite things.”
Ian did as Rand asked, quickly. Rand took the disk and the rather lengthy printout from him.
“Don’t get mugged for it,” Ian said dryly.
Rand grinned. “I’ll try not to.”
Well, great, Sam thought. Now they’re joking buddies, but I’m still persona non grata. How’d that happen?
She shoved the rather whiny sounding thought aside. “You want to pack a few things?” she suggested.
“Okay.”
He said it with resignation. But Sam knew there was one more hurdle coming. And despite his apparent capitulation about not staying here, Sam doubted the rest was going to go down as easily.
“Some inconspicuous grocery bags would be best,” Rand put in. “And now, I think, since we’re fairly certain you’re not under observation at the moment. You should be able to get next door without being seen.”
Well, that did it, Sam thought as Ian’s expression froze.
“Next door?
He enunciated the words carefully, as if to make sure he’d heard correctly. And then he turned his gaze on Sam, like the business end of a laser.
“With you?”
She braced herself, knowing he would probably hate her even more before this was over.
Knowing it would be a small price to pay for keeping him safe.
Chapter 13
Ian thought he hid his emotions fairly well when Samantha answered him in an expressionless voice.
“That was Josh’s plan, yes.” She dodged his gaze, as if she felt a bit of a coward invoking the boss’s name. “Time is a factor here, and we don’t have time to discuss this.”
“Make sure you take all you need,” Rand told him, “because you can’t be running back just because you forgot something. You might be spotted.”
He was feeling a bit beleaguered. In fact, he felt like telling them both to get the hell out of his house. But he didn’t. Because deep down he knew, no matter how much he wished otherwise, that they were right. So he fought down the urge, and quashed the roiling, confused feelings he couldn’t even begin to sort out just now.
“What about my work?” he asked instead.
“You get a vacation,” Samantha said.
Ian frowned. “I can’t take a vacation now. I just started work on what could be the answer to our whole problem.”
“Then we’ll hook you up to the lab from next door, with your laptop,” Samantha said. “We’ll tell your boss you’re working from home. It’ll have to do.”
For a long, silent and rather strained moment Ian just looked at her. “I suppose it will,” he said at last.
Rand and Samantha exchanged glances, and he thought he saw her give him a barely perceptible nod. And knew it when Rand said, “I’ll get this off to Redstone. I’ll be in touch later to see if you need anything.”
“You can come cook for us,” Samantha said.
“Be nice to me and I might,” Rand said with a grin.
And then he was gone, leaving them alone together.
“He cooks?” Ian asked.
“Exquisitely,” Samantha answered.
“Useful.”
“Rand is useful in many ways. It almost makes up for the times when he’s a total idiot.”
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “When were you going to tell me, Samantha? After you were sure you had the coded message?”
She drew back as if he’d swung at her. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. So tell me.”
“I waited,” she said tightly, “because I’m a coward.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I knew you weren’t going to like the idea, and I didn’t want to get into a nasty confrontation with you.”
“Now there’s an understatement.”
He purposely didn’t clarify which part of her statement he was referring to. She hesitated a moment, and he thought he saw pain flicker in her eyes. But then she was all business, as he would have expected from a member of the vaunted Redstone security team.
“Start gathering what you need. I’ll get a couple of grocery bags.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward his kitchen. He watched her go, with that leggy stride that made his pulse quicken. With a silent curse at a body that responded despite his confused emotions, he began to gather some essentials.
“I’ve got three bags here,” Samantha said as she came back from the kitchen. “Will that be enough?”
Thankful for her neutral tone, he turned to look at the pile he’d built so far. “I think so,” he said. “That’s it.”
She glanced from his face to the pile of books, folders, computer printouts and disks, then back to his face. “Do you think you might want to pack some clothes? Maybe even a toothbrush?”
He felt himself start to flush. “I was getting to that.”
He paid little attention to what he did grab in the way of clothing, barely remembered to toss in a razor and a spare pair of glasses. Then he grabbed the laptop he only rarely used, made sure he had the power cord and stuffed it into a carrying case. By the time he was done with that, he had himself under control.
At first, when they stepped inside the house next door, he was startled. Mrs. Howard had been a collector, and her home had shown it, with shelves and display cases full of figurines and knickknacks. It had all been far too cluttered and loud for his taste. The living room had held so much floral furniture and so many little tables that he’d always felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Now the sight of a room with bare walls and only a sofa, a single table and a lamp startled him.
Of course, he realized. Why furnish a place that’s only a front for your undercover assignment?
That sour feeling knotted his stomach once more, and when Samantha brushed past him with the bags she’d been carrying and set them on the back of the sofa, he grimaced. He didn’t think she’d seen, but then she turned on him.
“Look,” she said sharply, “I don’t care how angry you are at me—” She stopped abruptly, grimaced herself and started again. “That’s not true. I do care. But right now it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters to me is that you be all right. And I’ll do what I have to to ensure that.”
He wanted to ask why it mattered to her, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her answer. He gave himself an inward, scornful smile when he realized it was because he was afraid of being a fool again, afraid of believing she meant what she’d said in the way he would like her to mean it.
He would not b
e a fool again.
Sam saw Ian’s expression harden, as if he were steeling himself against her. And it dug into her gut in a way she’d never felt before. In some small part of her mind she realized that in order for her to hurt him, he had to have cared, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
How could she explain to him that she’d meant what she’d said literally, that it had become so very important to her that he be all right? She felt…centered when she was with him. She could talk to him as she never could to anyone else, even Rand. Perhaps especially Rand, with his near-constant teasing.
But she’d hurt him, simply by doing her job.
“I’m sorry, Ian,” she said softly.
He shrugged, not looking at her. “It’s my fault as much as yours. I should have known better.”
She frowned. “Known better?”
“Women like you don’t hang with guys like me. Not by choice, anyway.”
“Guys like you?”
“Geeks. Nerds. You know.”
Sam drew back slightly. That’s how he saw himself? “We call them propeller heads,” she said.
His head snapped around as he stared at her; she had his full attention now.
“Let me tell you a story,” she said, her voice tight, “about a misfit. A gawky, gangly girl who was a foot taller than any girl in her class, and most of the boys. Who had hair so white kids taunted her, calling her ‘ghost,’ or ‘albino.”’ She saw by his expression he knew what she meant. “A girl who had the additional burden of being smart enough to intimidate most of the boys. A girl who was, in a word, a freak.”
Ian winced, but she went on doggedly.
“When she grew up, things changed. That same girl found that the boys who had laughed at her had become men who flattered her. Men who seemed to think she should forget how cruel they had been, just because they were being nice now.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha,” Ian said, with a note of quiet pain in his voice that gave her pause. But she had to finish, now that she’d begun.
“Don’t be. It taught me that most of the men who flatter me now would have been among those who’d laughed at me then. They’d never have given that kid a second glance.” She shook her head, lowered her eyes. There was no way he could understand the way she’d felt. “Sorry. I’m not even making any sense.”
“Yes, you are,” he said vehemently. So vehemently that her gaze snapped back to his face. “I spent my life being the weird one. The one who scored high on IQ tests but flunked basic courses. The one who always got in trouble because my school projects were too off center.”
He took a gulping breath before going on.
“The one who had no friends because I was seen as too studious, too smart, too shy, too quiet. Now that it’s a buzz phrase, I get praised for being able to think outside the box. Then it was hell.”
He understood, Sam thought, staring. He truly understood. He’d seemed infinitely comfortable in his own skin, but she realized now that he’d had to fight his way to that peace just as she had. That he bore his own scars, no less deep and painful than her own.
The blurting out of such personal revelations made her feel both closer to him and more awkward around him. And it seemed to affect him, too; as if by tacit consent, they both backed away from the high emotions.
They busied themselves getting him settled in, both seemingly relieved to keep the conversation on the surface. She tried to think of it as if he were a roommate moving in temporarily, but that didn’t work; she’d never had a roommate who’d made her pulse jump the way Ian could. So she tried instead to play it as if it were Rand moving in to complete a job. That, too, was a miserable failure; the sisterly warmth she felt for her old friend bore no resemblance to what she felt for Ian.
Whatever that was. It seemed she could only think about it in terms of what it wasn’t. And it wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before.
Lord, you can’t make sense even to yourself, she thought.
With renewed effort she quashed her rebellious thoughts and concentrated on acting as if this were just business. She bustled around, showing him where things were, a notepad in her hand as she made a list of things he might need that she didn’t have.
“I’ll make Rand pick them up,” she said, hoping her cheerful tone didn’t sound too forced.
Ian blinked. “I’m not even allowed to go out?”
She stifled a sigh. “For the moment, no. Until we know exactly who’s behind this, it’s for your own—”
“—good. Right. Sure.” He eyed her rather balefully. “Aren’t you good enough to keep me alive on the outside?”
It was Sam’s turn to blink at the surprise attack. But before she could respond, Ian shook his head and let out a compressed breath.
“Sorry. That was…pointless.”
Interesting choice of words, Sam thought.
“I’m sure Josh wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t good.” He looked suddenly thoughtful, much as she imagined he must look when something unexpected happened in his laboratory. “I suppose that explains it,” he murmured.
She wasn’t sure she was supposed to respond, but did anyway. “Explains what?”
He blinked and rejoined her plane. “Why you seem to sense things you couldn’t possibly see.”
“Such as?”
He looked momentarily discomfited but said only, “Things going on behind you, or out of your range of vision.”
Like you watching me? she thought. But she knew better than to ask just now.
“That bothers you?”
“It offends my scientific sensibilities, to believe in that kind of instinct.”
“It could get me—and possibly you—killed not to believe in that kind of instinct.” He drew back slightly. Sam shrugged. “Like it or not, that’s the way it is, Ian. This was not an accident.”
“But it’s so insane.”
“Yes. But still fact. I know you’re upset with me. And I’m the first to admit you have the right. So you can make this a pain from beginning to end, or you can make the best of it, knowing it’s only temporary. Your choice.”
For a long, silent moment he just looked at her. She could almost feel that prodigious intellect working, and she wondered what he was thinking, what facets of this complex turn his life had taken that he was turning over in his mind.
“I believe,” he said finally, “a truce is in order.”
Sam suppressed the urge to let out an audible sigh of relief. “I think that would be wise, if we’re going to get through this without going crazy.”
Not that I won’t, anyway, she admitted ruefully to herself.
Maybe Rand was right. He was always saying she needed to address her dearth of social life. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been so quick to be fascinated by the decidedly unusual Redstone inventor.
Then again, she thought as she watched Ian jam a hand into that thick, gleaming mop of hair, maybe she still would have.
This time the sigh escaped, but it was one of disgust. And aimed solely at herself. Ian gave her a sideways look, as if he were pondering the wisdom of having offered that truce.
“I’ll get my stack of menus,” she said abruptly. “For tonight, we might as well order in.”
Ian nodded. “Anything but pizza, please. That cold piece I had…whenever it was…didn’t sit too well.”
For a moment Sam wondered if he was having residual effects of the rap on the head, but he seemed fine. Then she realized the cold pizza had probably come some time in the middle of his work marathon, and he simply didn’t remember when.
“I’ll handle it,” she promised.
But when she went to pick up the receiver of the cordless phone, she wondered if she was going to survive this job. And for the first time in her career with the team, she didn’t mean physically.
Ian felt a little bit like a puppy, waiting for his food bowl to be set down in front of him. He was hungry, and whatever Samantha had ordered smelled great.
“We’re going to have to do something else,” she said rather fretfully. “I don’t want to draw too much attention to us, and having food delivered every night is going to do just that.”
“It’s only been two nights. Besides, I have it delivered all the time,” he said.
“My point, exactly,” she said. “If the deliveries stop at your place and start up here, anybody who’s been watching wouldn’t have to be a genius to guess you might just have relocated.”
He couldn’t really argue with that logic, so didn’t. Instead he followed her into the living room, where she’d flipped on the small TV Rand had brought this afternoon. She plopped down on one end of the sofa, the only seating in the sparsely furnished room. That left him only the other end, which put a scant two feet between them, hardly far enough for his comfort.
“You didn’t have a TV before?” he asked, more for something to say than out of real curiosity.
“No.”
It took him a moment to figure out that she’d been too busy watching him to be watching television. But now that he was under her nose constantly, that had changed. The realization brought back all the painful memories, and he lapsed into silence as they ate, letting the news be the grim soundtrack for their meal.
After the news they settled on a documentary on extreme weather, something he was surprised to find she had a real interest in. He made himself focus on it, conscious of the effort he had to make not to steal glances at her. Conscious, and annoyed.
How could he still be so fascinated with her, after what she’d done? How could he still be so drawn to her that it was a battle not to sneak looks at her, like a schoolkid with a secret crush?
He tried to tell himself it was simply that she was a fascinating woman, that any man would be curious about her, that any man would want to know more about a woman who looked like Samantha and was a part of one of the best, most lauded corporate security teams in the country. It was natural, he thought. Women were fascinated by men who held dangerous jobs, so why shouldn’t it work the other way around?
He almost had himself convinced that was all it was when, his guard lowered by his musings, he took that glance at her.
One of These Nights Page 15
