by Marta Perry
He shrugged again. “School’s for wimps, that’s what Theo says.”
“Theo’s wrong.” She wanted so much to make him believe that. “Doing well in school opens doors for you.”
“Maybe I don’t want doors open.” Jay flung his head back defiantly, jet-black hair falling in his eyes. “Maybe I’d rather do things my way, not yours.”
“Jay—”
But he swung around and darted off, not even waiting to finish the cleanup work and be paid.
Ken looked after him with raised eyebrows. “Tough guy.”
“He’d like to make you think so.” She wondered how much to say to him. If she opened up a bit, maybe he’d be willing to take an interest in the boy. “My grandfather knew Jay’s family when he lived in New Mexico. Jay is Zuni, like us. When his mother died, his dad moved here, but Jay’s had a tough time adjusting to life away from the Pueblo.”
“So you’re trying to help him.”
She shrugged. “I remember what it feels like—not belonging. Unfortunately, Jay’s trying to impress the wrong people.”
“That Theo he mentioned?”
“He won’t get anything but trouble emulating somebody like Theo Crale.” She gave him a challenging look. “Now, if he had someone else to look up to, someone he admires—”
Ken’s expression turned bleak, his brown eyes seeming to darken. “Not me,” he said harshly. “He admires someone who can fly. And that’s something I may never do again.”
The only light in the abandoned tunnel came from a battery lantern on the rickety table, and the woman picked her way across the littered tunnel floor carefully. She wasn’t about to ruin a new pair of Italian shoes just because he had summoned her.
Most people had heard rumors of the tunnels that had once run from The Springs to what had then been Colorado City, the rowdy, wide-open town in frontier days. Colorado City had long since been absorbed into Colorado Springs proper, and the tunnels forgotten, until he had found a use for them. That was like him, to take something and pervert its ordinary purpose to something bent.
She stopped at the table. He’d have heard her come down—he had ears like a fox.
“Stop playing games and come out here. I don’t have much time.”
A footstep grated, and he appeared in the archway. “You always have time for me, don’t you, querida?”
She forced a smile, trying to show an affection she didn’t feel. “You sound even hoarser than usual. These tunnels aren’t good for your throat.”
“Yet another thing for which I have to thank the Vances and Montgomerys. Making me hide like a rat in these tunnels, while they live the high life.” He yanked out a chair and slumped into it. “I understand Kenneth Vance is back in town.”
“So I’ve heard.” She said the words cautiously, not wanting to stir his icy rage to life. He’d been livid at the failure of the attack he’d engineered on Vance’s plane through his drug contacts in South America.
“These Vances have more lives than a cat. Just like my new name.” He gave a bark of gravelly laughter. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“If you say so.” She shifted position, careful not to touch the dusty table. “You have something you want me to take care of?”
“Yes.” He slapped his palms down on the tabletop. “Kenneth Vance is about to discover that Colorado Springs is just as dangerous as his missions over South America. And since he’s spending so much time there, it will be a pleasure to bring Montgomery Construction down with him.”
She knew better than to argue, or to wonder how he knew so much about what Kenneth Vance was doing. He had his methods, and he didn’t tolerate disagreement with his plans.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Step up the vandalism—not enough to make the police take notice, just enough to make them nervous. I don’t want a full-scale investigation at this point. You can use that fool O’Brien.”
“He’s getting scared. The police are paying too much attention to him.”
He glared at her. “He’ll do as I say if he knows what’s good for him. So will you.”
She shrugged. “Of course. Don’t I always? I just don’t see the point of breaking windows and painting on walls.”
“I told you. Make them nervous. Make them wonder. And then, just when the Montgomerys and Vances think success is within their grasp—” He slammed his palm down on the tabletop again, so hard it shuddered. “Then we finish them.”
“When did you find this?” Ken barked the question at the night watchman.
Frank Collins bent, his belly straining over his belt buckle as he planted hands on his knees and stared at the slashed tires on the truck. “I told you. Around six this morning.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone then?”
The man shrugged. “I didn’t figure there was anything you could do about it then. I might as well wait until you got here.”
“That’s not your decision to make. You should have reported.” He gritted his teeth. It probably would have done no good, but he still wished the man had followed orders. “Did you find any sign of how they got in?”
Collins shot him a resentful glance. “Nah. Could have come over the fence, I guess.”
He suspected Collins hadn’t bothered to look. The first thing he was going to recommend to Quinn was that they hire someone else to take over the night patrol. Since that was Quinn’s car coming toward them, he wouldn’t have to wait long to tell him.
The car shrieked to a stop next to them. Quinn got out quickly, face tight with worry.
Ken glanced at the mechanic who’d been checking the rest of the machinery in the equipment yard. “Jess, did you find anything else?”
“Amateur hour,” the man said. “Sugar in a couple of tanks, but we caught it before any harm was done.”
Quinn reached them in time to hear that. He ran a hand through his hair, some of the strain leaving his eyes. “That’s good to hear. Double-check everything before any equipment goes out of the yard.”
“That’s going to put us behind at the hospital site,” Jess warned.
“Do it as fast as you can, but don’t skip anything. I don’t want any foul-ups.” Quinn turned on Collins. “How could anyone get in here without you spotting them?”
Collins shrugged, not meeting their eyes. “Can’t be everywhere at once, can I?”
Quinn made a dismissive gesture. “All right. You can go home.”
He waited until the man was out of earshot before snorting. “He was probably asleep in the office the whole time.”
“Replacing him is the first thing I was going to suggest,” Ken said. “How serious is it to fall behind at the hospital site?”
“Serious.” Quinn’s face grew tauter. “There’s been nothing but trouble there, and the hospital board is looking over my shoulder the whole time. There’s a substantial penalty for not completing on schedule. After the losses from the fire, we can’t afford to lose anything else.”
“I’m sorry, man. You counted on me.”
Quinn’s expression eased, and he punched his arm. “Forget it. Nobody expected you to spend your nights here. How do you think they got in?”
“Good question.” The thoughts that had been lurking under the surface came out. “No obvious break-in signs. I can’t help but wonder about the people Julianna had in here yesterday.”
Quinn gave a short nod. “Hard to believe, but you’d better check it out. Talk to her.”
Easy to say. Not so easy to do. He glanced at his watch. She should be here by now. He’d better get it over with.
Julianna moved away from the window when she saw Ken coming toward the office. It was hard to concentrate on work when everyone had heard about the vandalism, but standing around watching certainly wouldn’t help matters.
“How bad is it?” she asked as he came through the door.
“Not as bad as it could have been, I guess.” Concern set vertical crease lines between his eyebrows. “Sugar in the gas t
anks, some slashed tires.”
Ken shrugged out of the denim jacket he’d worn against the early morning chill. Did he realize that the caramel color of the sweater he wore brought out gold flecks in his brown eyes? Probably not, and probably she shouldn’t be noticing that.
“Sounds like something teenagers would do.”
He nodded, coming to sit on the corner of her desk. “That’s what I thought, too. If someone really wanted to cause trouble for the company, they wouldn’t bother with such small stuff.”
“The police—”
He shook his head. “Quinn doesn’t want the police called. The company doesn’t need any more negative publicity to make clients nervous about hiring us.”
“I understand that, but surely we have to do something—at least try to find out who did it.”
“He seems to think I can do that.” Ken’s frown deepened. “I keep telling him I don’t know anything about security, but he won’t listen.”
“He’s known you a long time. He has confidence in you.” Odd, that she was reassuring Ken. She’d always thought he had more confidence in himself than anyone she knew. The accident must have dented that somewhat.
“Well, I’m trying.” He frowned down at her, and something inside her tightened at his grim expression. “How well do you know the people who were here yesterday for your practice drill?”
For a moment she was speechless. So that was the reason for this little conversation. He wasn’t confiding in her. He was questioning her.
She straightened. “How well? Very well. They’re people I’ve worked with for several years, for the most part. They’re the kind of people who volunteer their time to do a dirty, dangerous job because they care.” She was getting heated, but she didn’t care.
“Look, I realize you feel you know them, but—”
She couldn’t sit still and listen. She thrust her chair back, standing so that their eyes were level.
“I do know them. They risk their lives for something they believe in. People like that don’t go out and commit vandalism for a hobby.” How could he begin to think that?
His gaze was steady on hers. “We don’t always know people as well as we think we do.”
“I know them.” She saw them in her mind’s eye. “I trust my life to them when we go out on assignment together. Believe me, I know them.”
“What about Jay? Do you know him, too?”
It was as if a pit had opened under her feet, and she teetered on the edge. “I—”
She stopped. She couldn’t lie to Ken about the boy, even though she thought she understood him. “I told you. My grandfather has known his family for years. I’ve known Jay for about five or six months, since he moved here.”
“You said he ran with a gang.”
Her hands tightened into fists. “I did not say that. He’s not a gang member. He’s a good kid, a bright kid. He’s just looking for a place where he can belong.” She looked steadily at Ken. “I know how that feels. That’s why I’m trying to help him.”
“I’d like to trust your judgment on him, Julianna. But you have to admit, it raises questions. He was here at the yard yesterday, and you told me he’s been influenced by some undesirables. And you said yourself the vandalism sounded like something teenagers would have done.”
“Not Jay,” she said stubbornly, her heart sinking. “Look, if you accuse him of this, you’re going to ruin any chance I have of getting through to him.”
“If he vandalized your workplace, I’d say you’ve already lost him.”
She wanted to shake him, and she gripped her hands together to keep from giving in to the temptation.
“That’s so easy for you to say. You’ve never had to struggle to belong. You don’t have the faintest idea what it’s like to be someone like Jay Nieto.”
He straightened, his face tightening, giving back glare for glare. “Or Julianna Red Feather?”
“I know who I am.” If she were any angrier, she’d strike sparks. “I don’t need validation from anyone else.”
“Am I interrupting?” The lilting feminine voice from the doorway had both of them swinging around. “I certainly don’t want to, but I did think the construction company was open for business.” Dahlia Sainsbury lifted a perfectly arched dark eyebrow, looking at Ken as if he were a tall drink and she was thirsty. “Or was I wrong?”
THREE
Ken wasn’t sure who disconcerted him more, Julianna with her tacit accusation of prejudice or this woman, with a look that suggested enjoyment at their embarrassment.
Julianna recovered quickly, anger smoothing from her face as if it had never been. “Ms. Sainsbury. I don’t believe Mr. Montgomery is expecting you this morning, is he?”
So this woman was apparently a client. Her elegant suit and high heels seemed out of place at the construction company. She let the door click closed behind her.
“I’m sure he’ll spare a few minutes to see me. I’d like to discuss the display areas he’s designing for the museum. Just let him know I’m here, dear.”
There was a casual dismissal of Julianna in her tone. Enough to make Julianna bristle, he’d think, but somehow he was sure that she had already been annoyed from the moment she saw the woman.
Julianna smiled faintly. “I’m afraid Mr. Montgomery is not in the office just now.”
“Find him, then,” the woman said, her tone dismissive. Without sparing a sideways glance for Julianna, she advanced toward Ken, holding out her hand.
“We haven’t met. I’m Dahlia Sainsbury. I’m the new curator of the Impressionist Museum.”
He took her hand, aware of the delicate touch of expensive perfume in his nostrils. Everything about Ms. Sainsbury looked expensive, from the top of her sleek, dark head to the gloss of her leather heels. Being the curator of a museum must pay a lot better than he’d have thought.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kenneth Vance.”
She held his hand a little too long. “Of course. Our very own Air Force hero. Naturally I’ve heard of you.”
“Thanks,” he said shortly, attempting to draw his hand away.
She put her other hand over his, the gesture implying an intimacy that didn’t exist. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. We must get better acquainted. I know several members of your family already. And, of course, Quinn Montgomery.”
Julianna didn’t seem to be making an effort to find Quinn. “Ms. Sainsbury has asked our cabinetry department to create some display areas for the museum.”
The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “A job I can find someone else to do, if Montgomery Construction can’t handle it.”
“I’m sure we can,” he said smoothly, not having the faintest idea whether Quinn would agree, but not wanting a potential customer to walk out the door. What on earth was wrong with Julianna? “I think Quinn is out in the yard. I’ll just see if I can find him.”
Dahlia’s smile was triangular, like a cat’s. “Send the secretary. You and I can get better acquainted.”
Even if he’d been interested, he wouldn’t have cared for so blatant an approach. “I’ll get Quinn—”
“I’m here,” Quinn announced, coming in. “Ms. Sainsbury. How nice to see you. Surely I haven’t forgotten an appointment with you, have I?”
Ken stepped back with a sense of relief. Quinn could handle this—he was out of his depth.
“I had some wonderful new ideas for the display area.” The woman shifted that intense look to Quinn. “I simply must bounce them off you. I was just telling your girl that I was sure you’d want to see me.”
Quinn’s smile tightened a fraction at the condescending reference to Julianna, but he took the woman’s arm and turned her toward his office.
“I have a few minutes. Let’s get your thoughts down.” He ushered her into the private office and closed the door.
Julianna tossed the pencil she’d been holding across the desk. It bounced and hit the floor.
Ken picked it up and handed it back. “I ga
ther you don’t care much for Ms. Sainsbury.”
“I suppose you think she’s gorgeous.” Juliana bit off the words as if they didn’t taste good. “Half the men in Colorado Springs have developed an interest in art since she took over the museum.”
He shrugged. “Frankly, I prefer something a little less obvious. Are she and Quinn an item?”
“I hope not.” Consternation dawned in her eyes. “I really hope not. But she does seem to be showing up a lot to discuss this project.”
“Quinn’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Did Julianna have a personal reason for her concern? “Is there something I should know about between you and Quinn?”
She seemed to forget her annoyance with him in her surprise. “Quinn? No, of course not. We’re friends, that’s all.”
He wasn’t sure why that should make him feel relieved, but it did. “Well, whatever she thinks, I’d say his interest in Ms. Sainsbury is strictly business. The company can’t afford to lose any jobs, from what I understand.”
“True enough. I shouldn’t let her get to me that way, but if she calls me ‘girl’ one more time, I might knock her off her high heels.”
“Wait till we’ve finished her project,” he suggested.
That earned him one of those rare smiles that lit Julianna’s face and made her eyes sparkle. He’d like to see that expression more often, but it hardly seemed likely.
He leaned against her desk. “Look, about what we were saying earlier. Please believe me. I don’t suspect Jay because he’s Native American.”
“Pueblo,” she said. “He’s Zuni Pueblo. Like me.”
“Pueblo,” he agreed. “Wasn’t your father—”
“My father was Anglo,” she said evenly. “I never knew him. He left before I was born. I barely remember my mother. My grandparents raised me after her death.”
Add that to the list of things he’d never bothered to learn about the shy girl who’d sat in front of him in senior English. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”
“Not at all. My grandparents were wonderful. Still are, in fact.”
