Miranda cleared her throat and faced the man nearest her, the one who felt it his right to touch her so freely. She glanced once at Rolf before her gaze flew back to the man.
"This is Fletcher Travis, archaeologist, numismatist and all-around genius. It's been so long…" She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "Russell would have so loved to see you again, Fletch."
The man, this Travis, frowned suddenly. "Miranda? Is he—"
Rolf watched her. She met the man's gaze squarely, chin lifting still higher. A convulsive spasm moved in her throat. "He's… gone."
Travis put his arms around her and hugged her, but only briefly. Saunders lowered his head, eyes closed, while the youth, Darryl, finally snapped out of his stupor. He covered his face with one hand and turned away from the others. From the look of things, Rolf thought the boy was crying, but he couldn't be certain. The fourth man, the belligerent one whom he had yet to meet, seemed unmoved.
Saunders wrapped Miranda in a firm embrace the moment Travis released her. She hugged him in return, but, Rolf noted, she didn't bury herself in Saunders the way she had in Rolf's arms. She hadn't clung to Travis in such fashion, either, and for that he felt inexplicably glad.
"I can't believe… when? Is there anything I can… You'll take some time off, of course… and I… Oh, Miranda, I am so very sorry." The old man stammered and it was difficult for Rolf to follow his words, but the meaning was clear.
"Under the circumstances, Professor Saunders, don't you think it would be in everyone's best interests to move the find?" The angry man spoke without emotion. "Miranda isn't going to be up to having hordes of scientists and students, not to mention the press, trooping in and out at all hours."
Rolf disliked his tone. For though he attempted to sound concerned for Miranda, Rolf heard another motivation behind the words.
"Well, I hadn't thought—" Saunders began.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" All at once, Miranda's eyes blazed and she took a step nearer the man. "Just where would you suggest we move him, Jeff? We all know there is only one other place with the facilities to preserve—"
"That's right. We have the facilities at Cryo-Life. You're going to shoot me for that?"
"You're not taking him," she said slowly. "This project was my father's life's work, and I'll be damned if I'll hand it over to you!"
"I'll be there whether you like it or not. C.L. paid dearly for the right to have access to this find, and I'm going to make sure they get their money's worth." He took a step closer, and Rolf felt sorely tempted to throttle him. He wasn't certain why. Perhaps the way the man's small brown eyes moved deliberately over her body. "If you don't mind my presence in your little basement lab for the next twelve months, then I have no objections."
She blinked, and for the second time since he'd known her, Rolf saw fear in her eyes. The first time had been when he'd brutally kissed her in the tiny bathroom. She tore her gaze from the man's and glared at Saunders. "Is this true?"
"Your father knew about it, Miranda. It was a financial decision. We needed the funds."
"So badly you were willing to sell out to a company that exists only to bilk sick people out of their life's savings?" Her voice rose as she spoke, and the fire blazed again from her eyes.
"We're scientists, just like you," the one called Jeff fairly shouted. "We offer terminal patients an option."
"Hand over your money and we'll freeze your body," Miranda shouted right back. "We don't know how to thaw you out yet without killing you, but don't let a little thing like that bother you. We'll figure it out while you're on ice. What kind of an option is that?"
"Their only option, at the moment. And a find like this one could give us the answers we still don't have. Saunders says it's perfectly preserved. I need to get my hands on a cell sample, see whether there's been any crystallization of the cell walls."
"Not one cell." Miranda forcibly lowered her voice. "Not if I have to stand guard over him myself."
"You really think that would bother me… Randi?"
She turned deathly white when he called her that and one hand came flying upward. Rolf caught it deftly before she could slap the man senseless, as no doubt she'd intended to do. Gently he pulled her aside, while Fletcher Travis gripped the dog by one arm and growled at him, "Get off it, Morsi. She's been through enough. Open your mouth again and you'll lose a few teeth."
"Now, gentlemen, please. We're all on the same team here. There's no need for this bickering." Saunders's soft manner and overly flamboyant use of his hands for gesturing made his words all the more weak.
Miranda ignored them and glared at Rolf as angrily as she had at the other man. "Why did you do that?" She slid her gaze to the hand still gripping her wrist.
Rolf kept his voice low. "Miranda, I know not why you hate the man. Only that you have been dealt a terrible blow and are not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking just fine, thank you."
"Then why do you argue the fate of a… a find which no longer exists?"
She blinked quickly, then slowly closed her eyes and kept them that way as she released all the air from her lungs. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. "God, what was I thinking?"
"Dr. O'Shea?"
She turned at the young man's call. Rolf wondered how she held on to her composure with all of this hitting her at once. He further wondered about the silent turmoil he sensed between her and the dog, Jeff Morsi, not to mention the closeness he felt sure Miranda shared with Fletcher Travis.
"Your father did know about this," Darryl went on, finally rejoining the rest of the group. His eyes were still damp and terribly red rimmed. "He hated it, but he agreed to it. Said there was no choice. He was planning to tell you about it, but… well, I guess he knew how you'd react."
"Miranda, if you want the find left where it is, I'll respect your wishes," Saunders said gently. "But you have to know we can't delay. We only have possession for one year, and there is so much to be done. The studies need to begin right away."
"Right away," she repeated in a monotone.
"Yes. It would be inhuman of me to expect you to take part at a time like this. I'll take your place, if you like. But we simply cannot delay."
"You… want to begin… today?"
He nodded, dropping a withered hand upon her shoulder. "We can do the initial exam and testing with just the three of us, if it will help. I've brought Travis in to examine the coins that were recovered. He's the best in the field. Russell would have approved. The press release can be postponed until tomorrow, but no longer, I'm afraid. And then the entire archaeology department is going to expect an opportunity to view it." He licked his lips. "You don't even have to be present if you don't want to, Miranda. But I'm afraid we have to begin today."
"Right," Jeff nearly sang. "Cryo-Life has a signed contract with Beaumont. We're to be allowed initial inspection of the find today, and today it will be. We'll follow you home, Randi."
Her head swung around and the glare in her eyes was fierce. "If you ever call me that again—"
"You'll what?"
"What she will do should not be your first concern, Morsi." Rolf hadn't meant to step to her defense, but he'd remained silent for as long as he cared to. Regardless of his feelings—or lack thereof—for Miranda, he instinctively disliked the swine. And Rolf's instincts about men were rarely wrong, though his record with women was far less intact.
Rolf drew Miranda with him toward the stairs they'd ascended when they'd arrived. She accompanied him without resistance and when he glanced down, he caught her studying him with a puzzled frown rippling the bit of flesh between her brows.
Chapter 8
"You are tired, Miranda."
She agreed. The pain crushing her chest was damn near unbearable. That she'd known her father's heart condition was severe, that she'd guessed it to be terminal, helped very little. Always the knowledge that he might still be with her if not for the break-in lurked in her mind. It wasn't fair.
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br /> "I… want to thank you." She glanced at Rolf as she drove the Toyota toward the house. "You were a great deal of help to me back there."
"I did nothing."
She swallowed hard, her mind going back to the moment when she'd heard that low, steady tone stop utterly and found herself held in those massive arms. He might think he'd done nothing. He would probably never know just how much he'd really done.
"You did, you just aren't aware of it."
He studied her face for a long moment. "You are grateful I stopped you from striking Morsi? Is it for this you thank me?"
She carefully pasted a stony expression over her face. "No, I'll never thank you for that."
"What is he to you?" Rolf persisted.
Face impassive, or as impassive as she could make it, Miranda forced words to her lips through a rapidly constricting throat. "Nothing. He is nothing."
"I think you lie." When she looked at him quickly, he shrugged. "Women do. I am not surprised."
"You have a low opinion of women."
"You have a low opinion of Morsi," he countered.
"I have reason." She returned her gaze to the street.
"As do I."
She didn't respond to that, but drove in silence, her mind numb, her soul empty. She felt unreal, like a shell of a person, a hollow plastic mannequin.
"You care for Fletcher Travis," he stated after a moment.
"Very much. He is one of my best friends."
"A friend only?" He looked at her and she nodded.
"A friend only. We've never been involved romantically. Why are you so curious?"
He only shrugged and was silent for a long moment. "What of the boy?"
Miranda turned again and saw the troubled look in his eyes. "Darryl?"
"He knows, Miranda."
Still numb, she struggled to speak. "What do you mean?"
"He was your father's assistant. This means 'helper'?" At her nod, he continued. "He was with you when you found me in the cave of the Skraelingar?"
"Yes." A slow trepidation made a home inside her and Miranda was shocked that she could feel it there.
"He looked upon my face?"
"Your face was covered with whiskers. Your eyes were closed. Your skin was like a plaster sculpture. You looked nothing like you do now."
"He knows. Watch his eyes, Miranda, and you will see it there."
She sighed and absently pressed her fingertips into her right temple, making small, brutal circles. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Já."
"All right. I'll talk to him, find out if he is suspicious." She lowered her hand, but the throbbing in her head continued. "He won't say anything if I ask him not to. He's a good person, Rolf. My father adored hi—" The last word was cut off by a sudden sob that leapt into her throat. She choked on her effort to suppress it and bit on her lip until she drew blood. She blinked away the stinging tears before they could escape and wished her throat would stop burning and spasming.
"Why do you do this?"
"Do what?" she asked, not comprehending.
Frowning harder, he studied her. "You do not behave like the women I have known."
"I'm not like other women." Without meaning to, she'd quoted her father. She hadn't realized just how thoroughly his words had embedded themselves into her thought processes. She wasn't like other women. She swallowed hard. "I am not ashamed of it. Would you prefer it if I fell into a sobbing heap at your feet?"
Shaking his head, he replied, "I dislike tears."
"Tears are healthy. It simply happens I prefer to shed mine in private, as I'm sure you do, as well." She blinked. "I imagine you're feeling the same way I am right now. Or worse. You've lost your entire family, your world."
He averted his gaze. "I am a man. A warrior. I will withstand the loss."
She sighed. "Men feel sadness and heartache as much as women do, Rolf."
"Nei, this is a lie."
"You can deny it to yourself, but not to me. Men have spent centuries denying they had emotions. Today we know better. Men have even been known to cry when they're hurting."
Rolf's face hardened. "Never will you see Rolf Magnusson spill tears like a woman!"
She shrugged. "And you ask me why I'm not crying. Sounds like you understand already."
He frowned across the space of the car's interior at her. She studied his face and saw the sadness in his eyes. She wondered how much of it was his own, and how much was there strictly for her loss. She was certain part of it was for her. She knew he must be feeling a pain nearly identical, if not more intense, than her own, whether he would admit it or not.
She'd pulled the car partially into the driveway and come to a stop as the force of his pain and her own became unbearable. "I know you're hurting, Rolf, and I'm sorry."
"Make the car move, Miranda. The others come."
She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two bigger, sleeker cars waiting in the street with their signal lights flashing impatiently. She finished pulling into the driveway and out of the road. They pulled quickly in behind her.
As she reached for the door handle, Rolf caught her arm. She paused and looked around at him. His face grim, he spoke in a low, deep voice, slightly hoarse. "I did not say I have no pain, only that I could withstand it." He met her gaze, his own steady. "I know what you are feeling, and I, too, am sorry."
Before she could formulate a response, he was opening his door and getting out. He waited for her to join him before walking to the front entrance. Miranda watched his gaze narrow and wondered why only briefly. All at once she realized that the two officers who'd stood guard at the front door were no longer there. As her stunned eyes moved upward, she noted the pry marks on the door itself. She reached up to touch it and jumped when it swung slowly inward with a slight groan.
Rolf's hand closed on her shoulder to pull her back. He stepped past her and peered inside. "Stay here, Miranda," he whispered, before ducking into the house and vanishing from her sight.
"The hell I will," she whispered right back as she slipped in behind him.
The first sight to greet her as she walked into her living room was that of Officer Morgan's still body, and the pool of deep crimson beneath his head.
Miranda froze. Her gaze remained glued to the poor man's pale face even as the others came in behind her. In some far-off region of her consciousness, she was aware of Darryl gasping for breath, and then the sound of his inhaler. She heard Jeff swear and reach for the phone to call the police, then Fletcher shouting at him not to touch anything. She heard Erwin Saunders's shocked exclamations. Yet she only stopped staring when a pair of large hands gripped her shoulders and turned her from the sight. "No one is here now," Rolf told Fletcher. His grip on her tightened. "Miranda?"
She looked up, saw Rolf's eyes searching her face. He kept saying her name over and over, shaking her slightly. She swallowed hard and forced her mind to obey her commands. She fought the shock that wanted to take control.
"What is happening? My God, is this all a nightmare? Has the world gone completely insane?"
"Take her into the study, Magnusson." Vaguely she recognized Fletcher's confident voice. "You've already got the phone in your hand, Morsi. Go ahead and make the call. No one touch anything. There might be fingerprints, or some other evidence." Fletcher knelt beside the police officer as Rolf attempted to tug Miranda into the study.
"Police are on the way," Jeff announced, holding one hand over the mouthpiece.
"Tell them to send an ambulance, too. This cop isn't dead."
Miranda felt a whirlwind of confusion sweep through her mind. She felt Rolf's gaze capture hers. She saw something in those blue eyes, something to cling to, to keep her afloat in the sea of insanity engulfing her.
"My God, the find. Saunders, do you think…" Jeff's words trailed off as he raced through the room and into the basement. Seconds later his voice came wailing back to them. "It's gone! My God, it's gone!" Fletcher and Professor Saunders immediat
ely bolted down the stairs to join him.
Darryl gasped deeply, hoarsely. Then again and again, wheezing more loudly with each exhalation. Miranda finally broke eye contact with Rolf to glance in the younger man's direction. He struggled to lift the inhaler, but dropped it. His wide eyes remained on Rolf as he fell to his knees, patting the carpet in search of the medication.
Rolf released Miranda and knelt beside him, closing one hand over the inhaler and handing it to Darryl. He took the shaken student's forearms and helped him stand, then eased him into a chair. "You are ill? What is it?"
The youth kept looking up into Rolf's eyes while he fitted the inhaler to his lips and sucked two spurts of medication into his lungs. Miranda forced herself to move forward. "He has asthma. It affects the breathing, Rolf. That's a drug that makes it better," she explained, calmly, she thought, given the upheaval in her mind.
Darryl's breathing eased. He glanced around him and saw that he was alone with Rolf and Miranda. His eyes still wide, he stared from one to the other and back again.
"It is the shock of finding Officer Morgan that makes you ill?" Rolf asked.
At his words, Miranda came to her senses. What on earth was the matter with her? She moved away, still listening to their conversation, but belatedly attending to the unconscious man on the floor. He probably has a family, she thought sadly, tugging a blanket from the sofa and tucking it around him. A wife. Children, perhaps. She lifted his feet and propped them up with throw pillows, then stationed herself near his head and pressed two fingers over the cut on his right temple until the flow of blood slowed to a trickle. She kept the pressure on and watched his chest rise and fall.
Darryl remained agitated, his eyes never leaving Rolf's face now. "It's you—" He began panting once more, and lifted the inhaler for another shot.
"Me? I cause this fit?" Miranda looked up to see Rolf shake his head. "There is no need, boy. Those who call themselves my friends have in me a loyal protector. Those who are my enemies die mercifully swift deaths." He eyed the youth's awestruck face. "Choose."
Miranda's Viking Page 10
